"Hush!" said Dora, soothingly, some hours later, as she sat in Minnie's
room beside her, holding a hand in her own. "All will be fair and bright
soon, dear Minnie. Mr. Burton has been the mover in all this, to win
you; I think that man loves you, in truth I do."
"And would _you_ counsel me," cried the sobbing girl, "to marry so
unworthy a creature?--this prying, mean, wicked man?"
Dora was silent a moment, in embarrassed thought; then she looked up and
answered, though not at ease, evidently, "Why, he may seem many harsh
things now; jealous of his cousin, he knows scarcely which way to act. I
think you might be happy with him."
"With Marmaduke Burton!" she exclaimed, and her tears dried up in her
starting eyes with wonder. "Marry him! I'd die sooner than even harbour
the thought a moment! Oh, Dora! can _you_ counsel me to so terrible a
thing?"
"I do it, Minnie, to save you," her cousin replied, looking on the
ground, and half-sighing as she spoke. "I dread your being led into some
entanglement with--with--Mr. Tremenhere."
"And if I loved him, Dora, what then?"
"Oh, 'twould be a disgrace--an irretrievable, false step!" cried the
other in agitation. "Think what he is! A man without name, position,
character, perhaps--what do you know of him?"
"And what do you know _against_ him, Dora?" asked Minnie, no longer
sobbing, but in a low, firm voice.
"This--that, in my opinion, no honourable family should forget its
dignity, and become allied to a blighted name, a name with the stain
of----"
"Do not say that!" exclaimed her cousin, rising with energy, and pacing
the room for an instant; then, as suddenly stopping before Dora, she
continued, "Do not so harshly, and I am sure unjustly, judge a
fellow-sister. 'Tis only in the hand of Time, the fate which may await
ourselves; perhaps, calumnies we may suffer from--innocent now, innocent
then, too. Dora, I love that man; I never knew how well, until I weighed
it by my tears. I love him the deeper for every one I have shed this day
for him!"
Dora was very pale, and did not reply.
Minnie continued: "Why do you hate him so much? Why did you seek him?
Dora, dear Dora, tell me that!" She knelt before her cousin, on a stool
at her feet, and, taking both hands, looked up in her face.
For some moments Dora was painfully silent. "No," she thought, "I will
not tell her how weak I once was, in nearly loving him." This was the
war within her. "I met him," she said at last, aloud, evading the first
question, "because I feared you might love him. He bore the character,
in Florence, of a reckless man--such a man as you, my innocent cousin,
should not marry; I sought and begged him to quit this place and you!"
"Oh!" cried Minnie, blushing at the picture before her mind's eye, "he
must have fancied I had spoken of him with love, and we had scarcely met
then, except as strangers. I hope he does not think this now. How could
you have sought him for such a motive as that?--how touch on so delicate
a subject?"
"I feared nothing," answered Dora haughtily; "my own dignity prevented a
false construction being placed upon what I said or did. You are a child
in the ways of the world, and, in your innocence, might compromise
yourself, family, all, with this nameless man. I do not say any thing
personally against him, but _our_ name has ever been without stain; do
not you, Minnie, by a base alliance, stamp it with a reproach."
"Dora," and the girl spoke low and impressively, "I may never, perhaps,
meet Miles Tremenhere again; I feel certain, if I do, that only trouble
will arise from it, for all seem against him, poor fellow; but this
believe, that, if I truly know myself--if that man love me, unless I
become his wife, I never will marry another; for he is so surrounded in
my heart by every noble sentiment, from his wrongs, and the holy mission
he has taken upon himself, that none other could hold the place in my
esteem which he does. Do you know, Dora, I thought you loved him, and
for that reason I dreaded my own heart's inclination towards him; now I
am assured you do not, I seek no longer to check my affections; for
though I may never be his wife, there can be no error in my love, for I
never shall marry another."
Dora could not reply. The brow contracted--the cheek slightly flushed as
in scorn--and then she grew pale and calm. "It is useless speaking to
you," she said, after a thoughtful pause; "not now, at least--to-morrow
we will resume our conversation. I will leave you now, Minnie; I do not
wish my mother to know I have been here--she would question me, and I
wish this conversation unknown to her." She rose hastily, as if some
newly-formed plan impelled her to do so. "Good-night, dear cousin, and
pray, think of all I have said; 'tis fondly meant."
"I know that well, Dora," answered Minnie, tenderly embracing her. Dora
seemed impatient to leave. Taking her taper in her hand, she hurried
down the passage, and rapped gently at Aunt Dorcas's room-door; first
assuring herself that Minnie's was closed. She remained for some time
with Aunt Dorcas, and, briefly relating her unsuccessful suit with her
cousin, implored Dorcas to act for her. Surely some motive more than
deep interest in Minnie guided her, though possibly unknown to herself;
for this anxiety and fear for consequences were far beyond the usual
forethought of a young girl. Such, generally, see all _couleur de rose_
where two love, especially if young and handsome: futurity, interest,
etc., they leave to older hearts, to cause heart-ache and care. The
results were various next day, of all these plottings and consultations.
The first was, Lady Ripley, to her daughter's surprise, sent her word
early in the morning, by her maid, to prepare for their departure for
town. Truth to say, Lady Ripley was delighted to find a good excuse for
leaving Gatestone, where she had promised to remain a month longer. She
was anxious to return to town on Lord Randolph Gray's account, as we
have seen; and she made poor Minnie's imprudence the excuse. In vain
Lady Dora endeavoured to make her change her determination, urging the
necessity of some one to watch over Minnie. She felt terrified,
agitated, beyond expression, at the thought of leaving; but all her
efforts to remain were fruitless. Lady Ripley _would_ go; and she told
Juvenal, that Minnie's misconduct obliged her to remove her innocent
daughter from her influence, lest _her_ name should become in any way
compromised. This more than ever decided him on secluding Minnie in her
room, to mark his disapprobation. And, as this conversation took place
late the previous evening--in fact, while Dora was with Minnie--the
latter was not a little overwhelmed with shame and indignation, when
ordered next morning to "remain in her own room, until something should
be decided about her." Sylvia was furious--all her jealousy of Lady
Ripley broke forth in invectives against her intriguing daughter, as she
termed Dora. Dora implored for Minnie; Dorcas argued the imprudence, not
to say injustice, of so erroneous a step as thus degrading the girl in
all eyes; it would make her lose all self-respect, and only engender
recklessness. But Juvenal was like all fools--obstinate. Moreover, he
was backed by Marmaduke Burton, himself too short-sighted to foresee
the consequences which might ensue. He hoped by hypocritically
expressing his regret in some manner, by letter or personally, as
Juvenal promised _he_ should see her, to win at least a kind feeling
through gratitude. Narrow-minded persons reckon only naturally, to the
extent of their powers of reasoning. Minnie read him as she would an
open page, and despised him tenfold more, if possible, for his narrow
policy. Dora, in consternation and regret, took leave of the weeping
Minnie. Alas! those tears would soon be dried by the wrong course
pursued with her, and only give birth to silent resolution and suspicion
of all, even for awhile of her dearly loved aunt, Dorcas. Dora was gone;
Sylvia in earnest consultation with Mrs. Gillett, both agreeing that the
master of the house, and Minnie's guardian, to do as he willed with
her--was an idiot; for had not Lady Dora acknowledged that she alone was
in fault; and had they not both witnessed the lovers meeting? Poor
Minnie had been selected by them as a go-between. It was dreadful; but
Mrs. Gillett, with her usual caution, said but half what she really
thought, and in an after scene with Juvenal, though she pleaded for
Minnie's liberty, at the same time so impressed him with the idea of her
condemnation of all but himself--and this without any great deceit on
her part, for the last speaker always had most reason in Mrs. Gillett's
mind--that he fearlessly gave her free permission to visit Minnie, how
and when she pleased; indeed, the key of the rooms (for there was a
small music one where she was in the habit of practising, adjoining her
bedroom) was intrusted to the housekeeper's safe keeping. "I tell you,
Mrs. Gillett," he said, "it will do her good--one excellent lesson like
this will save the girl--she has grown very headstrong of late."
Poor, blind Juvenal; his excellent lesson was as a stepping-stone to
many sorrows--a finger-post down a long dark lane hedged with care, like
thorns! Dorcas, as usual, did the most sensible thing of any of them.
She walked over quietly, and in a spirit of conciliation, to Farmer
Weld's, where Tremenhere was staying, and, requesting an interview, was
shown into the room where he sat, but not alone--to her great surprise
Mr. Skaife was his companion. Tremenhere rose in surprise, and some
slight confusion. Had the farmer himself been there, the entrance might
have been accomplished with more difficulty; as it was, only a servant
was in the outer hall (a sort of large, homely, perfect old English farm
kitchen) as she entered, and, innocent of wrong, shewed her in to where
the two sat. After the momentary movement of embarrassment, Tremenhere
offered her a chair, and in his own quiet gentlemanly manner, expressed
his pleasure, whatever the cause, at her visit. He knew she was Minnie's
almost mother, and he regarded her accordingly. Skaife rose, and coming
forward said, "You are doubtless surprised to meet me here, and
especially before visiting Gatestone. But I returned late last night,
and this morning called to see Mr. Tremenhere--whom I may call my
friend, I believe--in an affair interesting to both of us."
"Do you mean Miss Dalzell?" exclaimed Dorcas in astonishment.
"Oh, no!" answered Skaife, looking equally amazed at this abrupt
question--being, as he was, totally ignorant of the recent events; "I
allude to that poor girl, Mary Burns, whom I have placed in safety from
further insult, at the request of Mr. Tremenhere, as business prevented
his leaving this neighbourhood himself."
"It is kindly and rightly done by both," said Dorcas, scarcely knowing
what she should next say--then added, without farther consideration of
how far it might be prudent to inform Tremenhere of all--"But I may be
pardoned for regretting that Mr. Tremenhere should not have been
occupied elsewhere, as the events of the past few days threaten more
painful results, I fear, than he anticipated when engaging in them."
"Good heavens! what do you mean, madam?" he asked, starting up aghast.
Skaife sat like one petrified; something painful was paralyzing his
faculties; he could not speak at first. Tremenhere glanced at him, after
the first exclamation had escaped him. "I beg pardon," he said, in
agitation. "I should, perhaps, be an importunate witness. I will go,"
and he prepared to do so.
"No, stay; pray, remain, Mr. Skaife," cried Dorcas. "I am glad you are
here: you may perhaps exert your influence as a clergyman, as well as a
friend, with Mr. Tremenhere."
Women who have never loved overlook and ignore many penalties attached
to such chains round the heart; they are like a felon's irons,
resounding with every step we take, and galling somewhere, especially
when but little hope is linked with them. Such was poor Skaife's case,
and something now whispered him, that that _little_ would soon be lost.
Her next words confirmed this fear; for, neither of them answering her
last speech, she continued hastily, as if resolved to utter all the
worst at once, addressing herself to Miles--"You are perhaps not aware,
Mr. Tremenhere, that your most imprudent--most unfortunate meetings of
late, with Miss Dalzell, have been discovered, and reported to all, but
first to her uncle and guardian--my brother."
"I am aware of that," he articulated through his set teeth.
Skaife felt cold at heart, and he felt, too, the blood deserting his
cheek. For an instant a movement of indignation arose against Miles, as
if he had deceived him; then the justice of the man triumphed, and
bitter as his regret, his awakening regret, was--for he felt some
painful revelation was about taking place--he exonerated the other from
all wrong towards himself, ignorant as he was of his affection for
Minnie, and, even if he had been acquainted with it, bound by no
friendship or honour to him, to act otherwise than his inclinations
dictated.
"All is known," continued Dorcas, in a sad tone; "and my heaviest grief
is, that her uncle should have taken, I fear, so ill-advised a step as
the one of coercion with Minnie."
"Coercion!" exclaimed both Miles and Skaife in a breath.
"Yes; he has determined upon keeping her confined to her room, until
you, Mr. Tremenhere, shall have quitted the neighbourhood, as the only
means of separating you; but I fear he has done a rash thing with a girl
of Minnie's high spirit."
Tremenhere rose hastily from his seat, and grasped the arm of his chair,
as if to subdue his feelings; he only ejaculated "Oh!" but there were
volumes of thought in that one word, and the resolute compression of his
stern lip, as he half-smiled. Dorcas was looking thoughtfully on the
ground. Skaife's eyes were fixed upon Tremenhere's face; he read his
fate there, if her affection equalled his, in intensity and firmness.
Tremenhere caught his eye, and, smiling in friendly confidence, as
seeming to say, "You shall know all," dropped silently into his chair.
"I have come," said Dorcas, more composedly, "to ask, to implore you,
Mr. Tremenhere, by the friendship which no unfortunate circumstance has
banished from my thoughts--to leave this place, and forget any foolish
words which may have passed between you and Minnie. Believe me, all
pursuit will be vain--her uncle _never_ will consent."
Skaife looked anxiously for the reply. Tremenhere rose
impetuously:--"Madam," he cried, "in what light am I to regard this
visit, with which you have honoured me?--as a friendly one, or as one
dictated by Mr. Formby?"
"I come at my own heart's dictating," she answered meekly, "to one whom
I liked, even though a wayward, impetuous boy--to one whom I sincerely
pity; but whom, nevertheless, I cannot countenance as a suitor to my
niece."
"As all these I gladly welcome you, except when bearing the last
prohibition," Tremenhere replied, as he took her hand gently, and
pressed his lip upon it with deep respect. "And, as Miss Dalzell's
much-loved aunt, I reverence you, dear madam; nevertheless, in all
candour, I must not deceive you. If Miss Dalzell love me, as I now
believe her to do, not all the uncles or guardians in the world, could
keep her so carefully but that my love and perseverance should reach, to
confirm her in her affection, by the assurance of mine, unalterably
hers!"
"Unless I am in great error," said Skaife, after a moment's intense
thought, "the acquaintance between yourself and Miss Dalzell is of very
recent date?"
"It cannot be of many weeks," answered Dorcas, clinging to the hope that
Skaife's words implied, of its being little matured.
"What signifies date in love?" cried Tremenhere. "The heart rejects all
such. The brightest flowers are those blushing to light in half an
hour's sunshine!"
"And they fade as soon!" ejaculated Dorcas. "Oh, pray, Mr. Tremenhere!
relinquish this mad thought; or leave here for awhile: let time decide
upon the durability of your affections."
"And leave her," he cried, with a scornful laugh, "to the tender mercies
of a guardian, who, for so slight a seeming fault as half an hour passed
in an old ruin, with one she knew from childhood, can dare to use
violence towards her? Oh, no! Had you, dear madam, unadvisedly done so,
I would plead to your good sense and justice; but with men I war as a
man should. What I may do, I know not; but whilst Miss Dalzell is
confined on my account, and unjustly treated, I am bound by honour, as
well as love, to stay and defend her."
"Then you knew one another long since?" said Skaife, sadly. With this
admission from Miles, he saw every hope fade for himself.
"Oh, yes!" answered the other, and the voice grew gentle with the
thought of that fair child; "when yet she was but a baby girl--a fair,
flaxen-haired little thing; and, as we talked of those days together,
year after year like melting icebergs faded away, and we stood side by
side again in confidence and affection, with the sun shining upon us!"
Skaife and Dorcas both simultaneously looked at each other; and the
looks said, "All is over--'tis vain wrestling with fate!"
"Besides," continued Miles, as if reading their thoughts, "there is a
fate in all things. Our meeting has been one; it was so pre-ordained."
"Do not let that urge you," said Skaife, in forlorn hope of influencing
him. "All things are not ordained at our birth; we may turn many evils
aside, though placed in our path, by decision; they are as temptations
and stumbling-blocks--rush on heedlessly, and they overthrow us--avoid
them, they will not follow, but, like daunted cowards, shrink back! This
temptation may be to lure you from a noble thought!"
"By heavens! you do well to remind me of that; I had wellnigh
overlooked it!" exclaimed Miles, standing up in all the majesty of his
proud beauty. "This is a double incentive to win Miss Dalzell, to boldly
stand on the ground her generosity has awarded me; in winning her, I
shall struggle with redoubled energy to _prove_ myself what I _know_ I
am! Thank you, Skaife--thank you; and you, dear madam, pray bear in
mind, that whatever my acts may be, they shall be dictated in all true
affection towards your niece, so that you, the generous, Christian woman
towards myself, may approve me."
"'Tis vain urging you more, Mr. Tremenhere," she said, rising; "I can
but now appeal to my niece's affection for me, and duty towards
herself." She curtsied, and was turning away.
"Not thus," he cried, taking her hand. "Let the man be boy again, and
take the hand in friendship once never refused him; think that all which
may be done, will be done for Miss Dalzell's happiness. I do assure you
I have never told her I loved her, nor has she confessed her's; but I am
well-assured she has read mine, though _my_ hope may be too
presumptuous. Let this comfort you, dear madam--Miss Dalzell holds the
decision in her hands, it is not in mine!"
A faint hope rushed to Dorcas's heart. Skaife had none. He looked upon
Miles, and felt she _must_ love so noble-minded a man, whose soul sat
upon his brow, to record its worth in open day.
The men shook hands, Skaife promising to return soon; and, escorted by
him, Dorcas quitted the farm-house, leaving Tremenhere a prey to many
wild thoughts and schemes.
This day, after a lengthened interview with Juvenal, to confirm him in
his severity and watchfulness, Marmaduke Burton quitted the manor-house.
Somehow he durst not remain after having told all to Juvenal. He
remembered Miles's threats, and so he quitted for awhile, leaving Dalby
to watch and report, as Juvenal also had promised to do; and, above all,
keep the refractory Minnie under lock and key!