ACCEPTED.
Mr. Fenton lingered another week at Lidford, with imminent peril to the
safe conduct of affairs at his offices in Great St. Helens. He could not
tear himself away just yet. He felt that he must have some more definite
understanding of his position before he went back to London; and in the
meantime he pondered with a dangerous delight upon that sunny vision of a
suburban villa to which Marian should welcome him when his day's work was
done.
He went every day to the cottage, and he bore himself in no manner like a
rejected lover. He was indeed very hopeful as to the issue of his wooing.
He knew that Marian Nowell's heart was free, that there was no rival
image to be displaced before his own could reign there, and he thought
that it must go hard with him if he did not win her love.
So Marian saw him every day, and had to listen to the Captain's praises
of him pretty frequently during his absence. And Captain Sedgewick's talk
about Gilbert Fenton generally closed with a regretful sigh, the meaning
of which had grown very clear to Marian.
She thought about her uncle's words and looks and sighs a good deal in
the quiet of her own room. What was there she would not do for the love
of that dearest and noblest of men? Marry a man she disliked? No, that
was a sin from which the girl's pure mind would have recoiled
instinctively. But she did like Gilbert Fenton--loved him perhaps--though
she had never confessed as much to herself.
This calm friendship might really be love after all; not quite such love
as she had read of in novels and poems, where the passion was always
rendered desperate by the opposing influence of adverse circumstances and
unkind kindred; but a tranquil sentiment, a dull, slow, smouldering
fire, that needed only some sudden wind of jealousy or misfortune to fan
it into a flame.
She knew that his society was pleasant to her, that she would miss him
very much when he left Lidford; and when she tried to fancy him
reconciled to her rejection of him, and returning to London to transfer
his affections to some other woman, the thought was very obnoxious to
her. He had not flattered her, he had been in no way slavish in his
attentions to her; but he had surrounded her with a kind of atmosphere of
love and admiration, the charm of which no girl thus beloved for the
first time in her life could be quite proof against.
Thus the story ended, as romances so begun generally do end. There came a
summer twilight, when Gilbert Fenton found himself once more upon the
dewy lawn under the walnut-trees alone with Marian Nowell. He repeated
his appeal in warmer, fonder tones than before, and with a kind of
implied certainty that the answer must be a favourable one. It was
something like taking the fortress by storm. He had his arm round her
slim waist, his lips upon her brow, before she had time to consider what
her answer ought to be.
"My darling, I cannot live without you!" he said, in a low passionate
voice. "Tell me that you love me."
She disengaged herself gently from his embrace, and stood a little way
from him, with shy, downcast eyelids.
"I think I do," she said slowly.
"That is quite enough, Marian!" cried Gilbert, joyously. "I knew you were
destined to be my wife."
He drew her hand through his arm and took her back to the house, where
the Captain was sitting in his favourite arm-chair by the window, with a
reading lamp on the little table by his side, and the _Times_ newspaper
in his hand.
"Your niece has brought you a nephew, sir," said Gilbert.
The Captain threw aside his paper, and stretched out both his hands to
the young man.
"My dear boy, I cannot tell you how happy this makes me!" he cried.
"Didn't I promise you that all would go well if you were patient? My
little girl is wise enough to know the value of a good man's love."
"I am very grateful, uncle George," faltered Marian, taking shelter
behind the Captain's chair; "only I don't feel that I am worthy of so
much thought."
"Nonsense, child; not worthy! You are the best girl in Christendom, and
will make the brightest and truest wife that ever made a man's home dear
to him."
The evening went on very happily after that: Marian at the piano, playing
plaintive dreamy melodies with a tender expressive touch; Gilbert sitting
close at hand, watching the face he loved so dearly--an evening in
Paradise, as it seemed to Mr. Fenton. He went homewards in the moonlight
a little before eleven o'clock, thinking of his new happiness--such
perfect happiness, without a cloud. The bright suburban villa was no
longer an airy castle, perhaps never to be realized; it was a delightful
certainty. He began to speculate as to the number of months that must
needs pass before he could make Marian his wife. There was no reason for
delay. He was well-off, his own master, and it was only her will that
could hinder the speedy realization of that sweet domestic dream which
had haunted him lately.
He told his sister what had happened next morning, when Martin Lister had
left the breakfast table to hold audience with his farm bailiff, and
those two were together alone. He was a little tired of having his visits
to the cottage criticised in Mrs. Lister's somewhat supercilious manner,
and was very glad to be able to announce that Marian Nowell was to be his
wife.
"Well, Gilbert," exclaimed the matron, after receiving his tidings with
tightly-closed lips and a generally antagonistic demeanour, "I can only
say, that if you must marry at all--and I am sure I thought you had quite
settled down as a bachelor, with your excellent lodgings in Wigmore
Street, and every possible comfort in life--I think you might have
chosen much better than this. Of course, I don't want to be rude or
unpleasant; but I cannot help saying, that I consider any man a fool who
allows himself to be captivated by a pretty face."
"I have found a great deal more than a pretty face to admire in Marian
Nowell."
"Indeed! Can you name any other advantages which she possesses?"
"Amiability, good sense, and a pure and refined nature."
"What warrant have you for all those things? Mind, Gilbert, I like the
girl well enough; I have nothing to say against her; but I cannot help
thinking it a most unfortunate match for you."
"How unfortunate?"
"The girl's position is so very doubtful."
"Position!" echoed Gilbert impatiently. "That sort of talk is one of the
consequences of living in such a place as Lidford. You talk about
position, as if I were a prince of the blood-royal, whose marriage would
be registered in every almanac in the kingdom."
"If she were really the Captain's niece, it would be a different thing,"
harped Mrs. Lister, without noticing this contemptuous interruption; "but
to marry a girl about whose relations nobody knows anything! I suppose
even you have not been told who her father and mother were."
"I know quite enough about them. Captain Sedgewick has been candour
itself upon the subject."
"And are the father and mother both dead?"
"Miss Nowell's mother has been dead many years."
"And her father?"
"Captain Sedgewick does not know whether he is dead or living."
"Ah!" exclaimed Mrs. Lister with a profound sigh; "I should have thought
as much. And you are really going to marry a girl with this disreputable
mystery about her belongings?"
"There is nothing either disreputable or mysterious. People are sometimes
lost sight of in this world. Mr. Nowell was a bad husband and an
indifferent father, and Captain Sedgewick adopted his daughter; that is
all."
"And no doubt, after you are married, this Mr. Nowell will make his
appearance some day, and be a burden upon you."
"I am not afraid of that. And now, Belle, as this is a subject upon which
we don't seem very likely to agree, I think we had better drop it. I
considered it only right to tell you of my engagement."
On this his sister softened a little, and promised Gilbert that she would
do her best to be kind to Miss Nowell.
"You won't be married for some time to come, of course," she said.
"I don't know about that, Belle. There is nothing to prevent a speedy
marriage."
"O, surely you will wait a twelvemonth, at least. You have known Marian
Nowell such a short time. You ought to put her to the test in some manner
before you make her your wife."
"I have no occasion to put her to any kind of test. I have a most
profound and perfect belief in her goodness."
"Why, Gilbert, this is utter infatuation--about a girl whom you have only
known a little more than three weeks!"
It does seem difficult for a matter-of-fact, reasonable matron, whose
romantic experiences are things of the remote past, to understand this
sudden trust in, and all-absorbing love for, an acquaintance of a brief
summer holiday. But Gilbert Fenton believed implicitly in his own
instinct, and was not to be shaken.
He went back to town by the afternoon express that day, for he dared not
delay his return any longer. He went back regretfully enough to the
dryasdust business life, after spending the greater part of the morning
under the walnut-trees in Captain Sedgewick's garden, playing with Fritz
the Skye terrier, and talking airy nonsense to Marian, while she sat in a
garden-chair hemming silk handkerchiefs for her uncle, and looking
distractingly pretty in a print morning dress with tiny pink rosebuds on
a white ground, and a knot of pink ribbon fastening the dainty collar. He
ventured to talk a little about the future too; painting, with all the
enthusiasm of Claude Melnotte, and a great deal more sincerity, the home
which he meant to create for her.
"You will have to come to town to choose our house, you know, Marian," he
said, after a glowing description of such a villa as never yet existed,
except in the florid imagination of an auctioneer; "I could never venture
upon such an important step without you: apart from all sentimental
considerations, a woman's judgment is indispensable in these matters. The
house might be perfection in every other point, and there might be no
boiler, or no butler's pantry, or no cupboard for brooms on the landing,
or some irremediable omission of that kind. Yes, Marian, your uncle must
bring you to town for a week or so of house-hunting, and soon."
She looked at him with a startled expression.
"Soon!" she repeated.
"Yes, dear, very soon. There is nothing in the world to hinder our
marriage. Why should we delay longer than to make all necessary
arrangements? I long so for my new home, Marian, I have never had a home
in my life since I was a boy."
"O Mr. Fenton--Gilbert,"--she pronounced his Christian name shyly, and in
obedience to his reproachful look,--"remember how short a time we have
known each other. It is much too soon to talk or think of marriage yet. I
want you to have plenty of leisure to consider whether you really care
for me, whether it isn't only a fancy that will die out when you go back
to London. And we ought to have time to know each other very well,
Gilbert, to be quite sure we are suited to one another."
This seemed an echo of his sister's reasoning, and vexed him a little.
"Have _you_ any fear that we shall not suit each other, Marian?" he asked
anxiously.
"I know that you are only too good for me," she answered. Upon which
Gilbert hindered the hemming of the Captain's handkerchiefs by stooping
down to kiss the little hands at work upon them. And then the talk
drifted back to easier subjects, and he did not again press that question
as to the date of the marriage.
At last the time came for going to the station. He had arranged for Mr.
Lister's gig to call for him at the cottage, so that he might spend every
possible moment with Marian. And at three o'clock the gig appeared,
driven by Martin Lister himself, and Gilbert was fain to say good-bye.
His last lingering backward glance showed him the white figure under the
walnut-trees, and a little hand waving farewell.
How empty and dreary his comfortable bachelor lodgings seemed to him that
night when he had dined, and sat by the open window smoking his solitary
cigar, listening to the dismal street-noises, and the monotonous roll of
ceaseless wheels yonder in Oxford-street; not caring to go out to his
club, caring still less for opera or theatre, or any of the old ways
whereby he had been wont to dispose of his evenings!
His mind was full of Marian Nowell. All that was grave and earnest in his
nature gave force to this his first love. He had had flirtations in the
past, of course; but they had been no more than flirtations, and at
thirty his heart was as fresh and inexperienced as a boy's. It pleased
him to think of Marian's lonely position. Better, a hundred times better,
that she should be thus, than fettered by ties which might come between
them and perfect union. The faithful and generous protector of her
childhood would of necessity always claim her love; but beyond this one
affection, she would be Gilbert's, and Gilbert's only. There would be no
mother, no sisters, to absorb her time and distract her thoughts from her
husband, perhaps prejudice her against him. Domestic life for those two
must needs be free from all the petty jars, the overshadowing clouds no
bigger than a man's hand, forerunners of tempest, which Mr. Fenton had
heard of in many households.
He was never weary of thinking about that life which was to be.
Everything else he thought of was now considered only in relation to that
one subject. He applied himself to business with a new ardour; never
before had he been so anxious to grow rich.