"HAVE YOU NOTHING TO SAY TO ME?"
"Yet a princely man!--
If hard to me, heroic for himself!"
_Mrs. Browning's 'Aurora Leigh.'_
When Queenie saw Garth coming towards her she shrank back for a
moment in natural trepidation and some little dismay, the meeting was
so utterly unexpected; but her self-possession soon returned. "It is
better to get it over," she said to herself, "and to know the worst
at once."
They shook hands without looking at each other, and then Garth turned
back and walked by her side in silence. Neither knew exactly how to
begin the conversation.
Garth was the more nervous of the two; he had passed a sleepless
night, and his condition of mind was truly wretched. The bitter
impulse that had led him to unburthen his mind to his sister had by
this time passed away, but his resolve was still unaltered. As he
lay awake in his restlessness he argued the whole matter with
himself; pride, and a certain stubbornness of will, may have had a
voice in his decision, but the more he thought about it the less he
felt that he could take advantage of the girl's evident affection and
secure her wealth for himself.
"How can I do this mean thing?" he repeated again and again to
himself. "Even if Langley be right, and she has grown to care for
me, it may be only temporary, and she has seen no one else. Ought we
not to urge her rather to leave Hepshaw and take her proper position
in the world! It may be a dangerous test perhaps, as Langley says,
and it may end in my losing her altogether, for how can I give her
her freedom and expect her to be faithful? but at least my conscience
will be clear." And then he swore to himself that, as far as he was
concerned, he would not coerce her movements. If she went his
judgment would applaud her resolution; if she stayed his trouble
would be a hard thing to bear, for he must then wrap himself up in
reserve and coldness, and this would be difficult to him. "She
cannot really misunderstand me, the thing is too evident," he said,
striving to comfort himself. And indeed he was not without some
interior consolation; his very self-sacrifice and unselfishness,
constrained and unnecessary as they might appear to others, gave him
a certain feeling of strength and security. His conscience was
clear, his independence assured and well-defined, while somewhere,
deep down in some hidden recess, lay a secret hope of Queenie's
steadfastness and fealty. Langley's words still rang sweetly in his
ears: "She will stand the test, severe as it is, but she will suffer
terribly." Ah! well, would he not suffer too?
But this meeting was painful to him. What was he to say to her? and
how was he to bring himself to speak of what was in his mind without
betraying his hidden trouble, and perhaps hurting her feelings?
"Were you going to see Langley?" he asked, just when the silence was
becoming embarrassing.
"Yes; is she at home?" returned Queenie venturing to raise her eyes,
and then becoming conscious all at once of Garth's paleness, and
evident constraint of manner.
"She was sitting at her needlework when I left her just now, and was
lamenting that Cathy was not there to help her. I think we miss
Cathy more and more every day."
"I know I do," sighed Queenie, and there came over her a sudden
yearning to unbosom herself to this faithful friend. Langley was
good to her, but she was not Cathy.
Garth echoed the sigh, but scarcely for the same reason. Cathy's
warm-hearted sympathy would not have helped him.
"I have just left Miss Cosie. Mr. Clayton, have you nothing to say
to me, nothing special, I mean?" Queenie was growing desperate,
while Garth was secretly marvelling at her boldness. His paleness
and changed looks filled her with dismay. "I think you must have
something to say to me," with a little sharpness in her voice.
That roused him in a moment.
"Yes; of course we have a great deal to say to you, Miss Marriott. I
told Langley last night that she ought to write to you. I need
hardly tell you, I suppose, that you have our warmest congratulations
on your good fortune?"
"I don't think I care much about congratulations."
"Nevertheless, you must put up with them," with a faint smile. "You
must pay the penalty of being a rich woman."
"Were you very much surprised?" looking him full in the face; but he
did not return her glance.
"I am afraid I must own to a very fair amount of astonishment; such a
romantic story has never before been told in Hepshaw. It savours a
little of Hans Andersen."
"Ah, I know you think me silly, and all that," she replied, in a
voice that was at the same time proud and pained. "I shall never be
able to make any of you understand why I did it. I begin to see a
grave ending to my little joke; and yet it made me so happy."
"I almost wish you had told us from the beginning."
"That would have spoiled everything. You and Mr. Logan would have
made me resign my school at once, and my pleasant summer holiday
would have been at an end. Perhaps it was cowardly; but I could not
bear being rich."
"That sounds strange."
"Ah, but it is true," she returned earnestly. "Such a little would
have contented me; five hundred a-year would have made me a happy
woman; I told Mr. Logan so. We would have taken a cottage, Emmie and
I, larger and prettier than the one we are in, and we should have
been as happy as the day is long; but now, what am I to do with it
all?" putting out her hands with a sudden gesture of repugnance and
helplessness.
He seemed struck with that, and hesitated for a moment before he
answered her; there was a certain forlornness in her words and aspect
that touched him. They had reached the end of the lane; but now he
made a movement as though to retrace his steps, and she turned
obediently and walked on again by his side. As she did so he stole a
swift glance at her. Did she look any different in his eyes now she
was an heiress? His survey took in the tall, slim figure in the
simple black dress. That was the hat, surely, to which Dora had
objected, and yet how well it suited her. He noted all the little
details--the indescribable air of finish that had always pleased his
fastidiousness, the set and poise of the pretty head, the mixture of
girlish frankness and modesty that gave such a charm to her manner;
and then again that inward voice made itself heard. "Oh, if she were
only poor, and I dared speak to her!" and the struggle within him
gave a little hardness to his voice.
"I think you ought to look at it in quite another light," he began
gravely. "It is a great responsibility that has come to you, a
talent for which you must account. I don't think you ought to hide
it under a bushel in the way you are doing."
"You mean that Mr. Logan must find another mistress? Brierwood
Cottage ought to have another tenant?" she returned huskily, speaking
out her greatest fear.
"I certainly do mean something of the kind; but there will be plenty
of time to discuss that. You cannot decide on your future plans
without a good deal of consideration. At present I have something
else to say, something for which I wish I could find adequate words.
I don't know," stammering and hesitating, "how I am to thank you for
your goodness, your generosity--"
"Mr. Clayton," stopping him, "will you do me one favor?"
"What is that?"
"I know what you are going to say, please let it be unsaid."
"But that is impossible."
"It need not be impossible. Why should there be any talk of such
things between us?"
"Because it is right that there should be such talk. Do you think
that I am to say nothing at all about my gratitude?"
"Not to me," raising her eyes with a pleading look in them that he
found difficult to resist. "If we talk of gratitude you know it is I
that am your debtor. Have you forgotten how good you were to us when
we were poor and friendless?"
"I have forgotten nothing," he returned, hastily; "but, all the same,
you must let me speak. I am largely in your debt, Miss Marriott, and
for what is to me a very serious sum; but I do hope that in less than
two years' time I may be able to repay both interest and capital."
"As you will," she replied carelessly, but he saw that she was much
hurt. What could this paltry sum matter to her? Could he not
understand how great had been the privilege of helping him?
"You must try to comprehend how we business men feel about such
things," he said gently to her, for there were tears in her eyes, and
her face was averted from him. "It is too late now, but I wish you
had given me the option of accepting or refusing the loan."
"How could I, when I knew you would have refused it from me?" walking
on quickly as though afraid of her emotion.
"If I had my refusal would not have hurt you, I would have made you
understand my feelings so thoroughly; but of course it is too late to
talk about that now. I suppose I am very proud, but I cannot bear
the thought of this debt being between us; all my life I have had
such a horror of this sort of difficulty and being beholden to any
one."
"How can you, how can you be so proud with me?" burst forth from her
lips. "Do you mean that this--this trifling act of kindness will
come between us and hinder us from being friends?"
"We must always be friends, I think," he returned, still more gently,
for he saw how sorely he was hurting her. "Why should you say such
things? you are vexed with me or you would not say them. I wish I
could make you understand how truly grateful Langley and I am."
"Langley will not talk to me about principal and interest," she
retorted with a little flash of indignation, "and--and I could not
have believed that you would have done it."
"Come, come, I cannot have you vexed with me like this," he said,
stopping her and taking her hand. "You know I must go directly, and
I have wasted ever so much time already. Won't you promise me to
think better of it, and not be hurt with me any longer?"
"I don't know," looking down, for his voice was rather too persuasive
in its eloquence.
"You know very well, do you not, that I would not say or do anything
to hurt you really? but my position is a difficult one. I don't
think I ever before realized how difficult it was. Things seem all
in a tangle somehow, and it is out of my power to right them."
"Why?" she asked timidly, and her brief indignation died away.
Something in his manner reassured her; he had not really turned
against her.
"That is just what I cannot tell you. My affairs have all got
crooked, and there is no shaping them. I suppose time and patience
are needed, but there's terribly hard work before me. I don't want
to lose heart over it. I could not bear you just now to say what you
did."
"About not being friends?"
"Yes; whatever happens we must be friends, dear friends, always. I
think you might promise me as much as that."
"I do promise you that," she said, looking straight at him; and the
expression in her eyes haunted him long afterwards, it was so frank
and sorrowful.
"Then I am content," he replied, and then almost abruptly he lifted
his hat and moved away. Had she understood him? Could she follow
the meaning of those vague words? Had she comprehended that it was
only friendship for which he asked, and with which he professed
himself content? He could not make up his mind how far she had
understood him.
He would have been almost aghast at his success if he could have read
Queenie's thoughts as she went down the lane again, and strove with a
sick heart to piece together the fragments of talk in her memory.
How gentle he had been with her, and yet his very gentleness had been
inexorable. Alas! she saw but too plainly that her riches and that
miserable debt were dividing them. The pride and independence of the
man rose between them like a wall of rock.
"He loves me, but he never means to tell me so," she said to herself
in unutterable bitterness. "He will break both our hearts first."
As she entered the drawing-room at Church-Stile House Langley put
down her work with a pleasant smile and word of greeting.
"Have you come to be congratulated, my dear?" she said, taking the
girl in her arms, and kissing her with more than usual affection.
Queenie suffered the caress passively, and then sat down by the fire,
shivering slightly as though she were cold.
"You have given us all a great surprise."
"Have I?"
"I was so startled when Garth told me last night that I could hardly
take in the sense of his words. To think that it is you, and not Mr.
Logan, who has been our secret benefactor!"
"Don't, Langley; I feel as though I could not talk about it."
"Will you let me talk about it instead, dear Queenie; I feel as
though I can never love you enough for what you have done for us, and
Cathy will feel the same; it was such true friendship. Ted was here
just now singing your praises. I wish you could have heard him."
Queenie only sighed. What was all this to her if Garth and she were
divided.
The heaviness of her aspect moved Langley to compassion. What could
have happened to have quenched her brightness so entirely.
"Have you seen Garth?" she asked, taking up her work again, and
pretending not to notice her companion; a dull red flushed the girl's
face from cheek to brow at the question.
"Yes; I met him just now."
"He feels very much about all this."
"Does he?" looking at the fire.
"You must not misunderstand him if he feels the weight of his
gratitude rather a heavy burthen just now, he has been sorely tried,
poor fellow; and then men think so differently about these sort of
things."
"There is no need for you to make excuses for him," speaking with
difficulty, "he was very kind, and took great pains to show me he was
grateful. Ah! if he only knew how I hate that word," with a little
burst of excitement.
Langley was silent; she understood too well the nature of the wound
that had been received. And then what was she to say that would in
any degree comfort her?
"I have done nothing deserving of the word," went on Queenie
vehemently. "I have given what literally has cost me nothing; it was
such a privilege and happiness to help you all."
"Yes, dear; I quite understand."
"I could scarcely sleep for happiness, and now it all seems spoiled
somehow. I have grown to loathe my riches, and yet I was disposed to
love them; they hang like a millstone round my neck. I must give up
my school now, and then I suppose Emmie and I must go away."
"For shame! I will not have you talk in this miserable fashion."
"Where is it rich people are expected to live? Caleb wanted me to
take a great house in Carlisle, and visit the Dean, and all the great
folk in the Close. Fancy Emmie and I visiting at the Deanery!" and
the girl laughed half hysterically; "would any of you come over and
see me then, I wonder?"
"Wait and see," returned Langley with a quiet smile. "Once friends
always friends, that's the Clayton motto. Have you really made any
plans about your future, Queenie?"
"No, I have made no plans," she answered drearily; "there is plenty
of time for that. I don't mean to leave Hepshaw yet, unless you all
drive me away. I think I will go home now, Langley; I am not quite
myself, and all this talk troubles me. I think I will go back to
Emmie." And then Langley again took her in her arms, and kissed her
and let her go; she could find no words with which to comfort her,
and indeed the girl was very sore at heart.
When she entered her own little parlor she found Emmie lying on the
rug in the firelight, in a listless fashion that was habitual with
her now. She crept up from the ground rather slowly when she saw her
sister; but for once the child's lassitude and evident weakness
escaped her notice.
"How late you are, Queen!"
"Yes, dear, very late; I have been sitting with Miss Cosie, and then
with Langley."
"Did you get the stuff for little Janie? How tired you look; and how
cold your hands are!" as Queenie knelt down mechanically and warmed
them over the blaze. "I was just feeling very dull, and wishing that
you would come in. I have such dull, stupid thoughts sometimes."
"You shall tell me about them presently," returned her sister
hastily; "I want to speak to you now. Emmie, I have often told you
stories, some of them very sad, and that made you cry; but I have a
real story to tell you to-night."
"Oh, not a sad one, Queen."
"Why not, my sweet?"
"I could not bear it to-night," answered the child with a shiver; "I
have been seeing pictures in the fire, and they are all the same
thing--sad, every one of them; and when I go to sleep at night I
always dream of Alice and little Nan, and think I am with them. I
have woke up and cried often lately to think what you would do if it
were true, and I were obliged to leave you."
"Oh, Emmie, for pity's sake, hush! I have had as much as I can bear
to-day."
"And then I ask God to let me stop a little longer, because I am sure
that you would be so lonely without me, unless--" and here the
childish face wore a wistful expression. "I wish I were not so
young, and then, perhaps, I might help you."
"My darling," not understanding her in the least, "you always help
me! You are the blessing of my life, and I could not do without you
at all. Hush! I will not have any more of this," as Emmie seemed
inclined to interrupt her. "You must listen to my story first, it is
very interesting and exciting, and is all about Uncle Andrew." And
then she narrated to her breathless auditor the whole history of the
will, and her whim and all its consequences. "There," she said as
she finished, and speaking with an attempt at cheerfulness, "isn't
that the nicest fairy story I have ever told you?"
"I don't know," returned the child doubtfully. "It is very
wonderful, and I do love Uncle Andrew very dearly for leaving you all
the money; but I don't like being so terribly rich, Queenie."
"No, darling; no more do I."
"It was a lovely thought of yours, lending them that money; and it
was dear of you to let me have my wish, and for us two to live in
this cottage. We shall never be so happy anywhere else, Queen."
"Oh, Emmie, I know that too well!" And then, to her own distress and
the child's, she suddenly broke down and burst into a fit of weeping.
"Never so happy again, little Emmie; never again!"