"I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE."
The scene which took place that night between the mother and daughter
may be easily conceived. Emily told her tale, and told it in a manner
which left no doubt of her persistency. She certainly meant it. Lady
Elizabeth had almost expected it. There are evils which may come or
may not; but as to which, though we tell ourselves that they may
still be avoided, we are inwardly almost sure that they will come.
Such an evil in the mind of Lady Elizabeth had been Cousin George.
Not but what she herself would have liked him for a son-in-law had it
not been so certain that he was a black sheep.
"Your father will never consent to it, my dear."
"Of course, Mamma, I shall do nothing unless he does."
"You will have to give him up."
"No, Mamma, not that; that is beyond what Papa can demand of me. I
shall not give him up, but I certainly shall not marry him without
Papa's consent, or yours."
"Nor see him?"
"Well; if he does not come I cannot see him."
"Nor correspond with him?"
"Certainly not, if Papa forbids it."
After that, Lady Elizabeth did give way to a considerable extent.
She did not tell her daughter that she considered it at all probable
that Sir Harry would yield; but she made it to be understood that
she herself would do so if Sir Harry would be persuaded. And she
acknowledged that the amount of obedience promised by Emily was all
that could be expected. "But, Mamma," said Emily, before she left her
mother, "do you not know that you love him yourself?"
"Love is such a strong word, my dear."
"It is not half strong enough," said Emily, pressing her two hands
together. "But you do, Mamma?"
"I think he is very agreeable, certainly."
"And handsome?--only that goes for nothing."
"Yes, he is a fine-looking man."
"And clever? I don't know how it is; let there be who there may in
the room, he is always the best talker."
"He knows how to talk, certainly."
"And, Mamma, don't you think that there is a something,--I don't know
what,--something not at all like other men about him that compels
one to love him? Oh, Mamma, do say something nice to me! To me he is
everything that a man should be."
"I wish he were, my dear."
"As for the sort of life he has been leading, spending more money
than he ought, and all that kind of thing, he has promised to reform
it altogether; and he is doing it now. At any rate, you must admit,
Mamma, that he is not false."
"I hope not, my dear."
"Why do you speak in that way, Mamma? Does he talk like a man that
is false? Have you ever known him to be false? Don't be prejudiced,
Mamma, at any rate."
The reader will understand that when the daughter had brought her
mother as far as this, the elder lady was compelled to say "something
nice" at last. At any rate there was a loving embrace between them,
and an understanding that the mother would not exaggerate the
difficulties of the position either by speech or word.
"Of course you will have to see your papa to-morrow morning," Lady
Elizabeth said.
"George will tell him everything to-night," said Emily. She as she
went to her bed did not doubt but what the difficulties would melt.
Luckily for her,--so luckily!--it happened that her lover possessed
by his very birth a right which, beyond all other possessions, would
recommend him to her father. And then had not the man himself all
natural good gifts to recommend him? Of course he had not money or
property, but she had, or would have, property; and of all men alive
her father was the least disposed to be greedy. As she half thought
of it and half dreamt of it in her last waking moments of that
important day, she was almost altogether happy. It was so sweet to
know that she possessed the love of him whom she loved better than
all the world beside.
Cousin George did not have quite so good a time of it that night. The
first thing he did on his return from Ulleswater to Humblethwaite
was to write a line to his friend Lady Altringham. This had been
promised, and he did so before he had seen Sir Harry.
DEAR LADY A.--I have been successful with my younger
cousin. She is the bonniest, and the best, and the
brightest girl that ever lived, and I am the happiest
fellow. But I have not as yet seen the Baronet. I am to do
so to-night, and will report progress to-morrow. I doubt I
shan't find him so bonny and so good and so bright. But,
as you say, the young birds ought to be too strong for the
old ones.--Yours most sincerely,
G. H.
This was written while he was dressing, and was put into the
letter-box by himself as he came downstairs. It was presumed that the
party had dined at the Falls; but there was "a tea" prepared for them
on an extensive scale. Sir Harry, suspecting nothing, was happy and
almost jovial with Mr. Fitzpatrick and the two young ladies. Emily
said hardly a word. Lady Elizabeth, who had not as yet been told, but
already suspected something, was very anxious. George was voluble,
witty, and perhaps a little too loud. But as the lad who was going
to Oxford, and who had drank a good deal of champagne and was now
drinking sherry, was loud also, George's manner was not specially
observed. It was past ten before they got up from the table, and
nearly eleven before George was able to whisper a word to the
Baronet. He almost shirked it for that night, and would have done so
had he not remembered how necessary it was that Emily should know
that his pluck was good. Of course she would be asked to abandon him.
Of course she would be told that it was her duty to give him up. Of
course she would give him up unless he could get such a hold upon her
heart as to make her doing so impossible to her. She would have to
learn that he was an unprincipled spendthrift,--nay worse than that,
as he hardly scrupled to tell himself. But he need not weight his own
character with the further burden of cowardice. The Baronet could
not eat him, and he would not be afraid of the Baronet. "Sir Harry,"
he whispered, "could you give me a minute or two before we go to
bed?" Sir Harry started as though he had been stung, and looked his
cousin sharply in the face without answering him. George kept his
countenance, and smiled.
"I won't keep you long," he said.
"You had better come to my room," said Sir Harry, gruffly, and
led the way into his own sanctum. When there, he sat down in his
accustomed arm-chair without offering George a seat, but George soon
found a seat for himself. "And now what is it?" said Sir Harry, with
his blackest frown.
"I have asked my cousin to be my wife."
"What! Emily?"
"Yes, Emily; and she has consented. I now ask for your approval." We
must give Cousin George his due, and acknowledge that he made his
little request exactly as he would have done had he been master of
ten thousand a year of his own, quite unencumbered.
"What right had you, sir, to speak to her without coming to me
first?"
"One always does, I think, go to the girl first," said George.
"You have disgraced yourself, sir, and outraged my hospitality. You
are no gentleman!"
"Sir Harry, that is strong language."
"Strong! Of course it is strong. I mean it to be strong. I shall make
it stronger yet if you attempt to say another word to her."
"Look here, Sir Harry, I am bound to bear a good deal from you, but I
have a right to explain."
"You have a right, sir, to go away from this, and go away you shall."
"Sir Harry, you have told me that I am not a gentleman."
"You have abused my kindness to you. What right have you, who have
not a shilling in the world, to speak to my daughter? I won't have
it, and let that be an end of it. I won't have it. And I must desire
that you will leave Humblethwaite to-morrow. I won't have it."
"It is quite true that I have not a shilling."
"Then what business have you to speak to my daughter?"
"Because I have that which is worth many shillings, and which you
value above all your property. I am the heir to your name and title.
When you are gone, I must be the head of this family. I do not in the
least quarrel with you for choosing to leave your property to your
own child, but I have done the best I could to keep the property and
the title together. I love my cousin."
"I don't believe in your love, sir."
"If that is all, I do not doubt but that I can satisfy you."
"It is not all; and it is not half all. And it isn't because you are
a pauper. You know it all as well as I do, without my telling you,
but you drive me to tell you."
"Know what, sir?"
"Though you hadn't a shilling, you should have had her if you could
win her,--had your life been even fairly decent. The title must go to
you,--worse luck for the family. You can talk well enough, and what
you say is true. I would wish that they should go together."
"Of course it will be better."
"But, sir,--" then Sir Henry paused.
"Well, Sir Harry?"
"You oblige me to speak out. You are such a one, that I do not dare
to let you have my child. Your life is so bad, that I should not be
justified in doing so for any family purpose. You would break her
heart."
"You wrong me there, altogether."
"You are a gambler."
"I have been, Sir Harry."
"And a spendthrift?"
"Well--yes; as long as I had little or nothing to spend."
"I believe you are over head and ears in debt now, in spite of the
assistance you have had from me within twelve months."
Cousin George remembered the advice which had been given him, that
he should conceal nothing from his cousin. "I do owe some money
certainly," he said.
"And how do you mean to pay it?"
"Well--if I marry Emily, I suppose that--you will pay it."
"That's cool, at any rate."
"What can I say, Sir Harry?"
"I would pay it all, though it were to half the property--"
"Less than a year's income would clear off every shilling I owe, Sir
Harry."
"Listen to me, sir. Though it were ten years' income, I would pay it
all, if I thought that the rest would be kept with the title, and
that my girl would be happy."
"I will make her happy."
"But, sir, it is not only that you are a gambler and spendthrift,
and an unprincipled debtor without even a thought of paying. You are
worse than this. There;--I am not going to call you names. I know
what you are, and you shall not have my daughter."
George Hotspur found himself compelled to think for a few moments
before he could answer a charge so vague, and yet, as he knew, so
well founded. Nevertheless he felt that he was progressing. His debts
would not stand in his way, if only he could make this rich father
believe that in other matters his daughter would not be endangered by
the marriage. "I don't quite know what you mean, Sir Harry. I am not
going to defend myself. I have done much of which I am ashamed. I was
turned very young upon the world, and got to live with rich people
when I was myself poor. I ought to have withstood the temptation,
but I didn't, and I got into bad hands. I don't deny it. There is a
horrid Jew has bills of mine now."
"What have you done with that five thousand pounds?"
"He had half of it; and I had to settle for the last Leger, which
went against me."
"It is all gone?"
"Pretty nearly. I don't pretend but what I have been very reckless as
to money; I am ready to tell you the truth about everything. I don't
say that I deserve her; but I do say this,--that I should not have
thought of winning her, in my position, had it not been for the
title. Having that in my favour I do not think that I was misbehaving
to you in proposing to her. If you will trust me now, I will be as
grateful and obedient a son as any man ever had."
He had pleaded his cause well, and he knew it. Sir Harry also felt
that his cousin had made a better case than he would have believed
to be possible. He was quite sure that the man was a scamp, utterly
untrustworthy, and yet the man's pleading for himself had been
efficacious. He sat silent for full five minutes before he spoke
again, and then he gave judgment as follows: "You will go away
without seeing her to-morrow."
"If you wish it."
"And you will not write to her."
"Only a line."
"Not a word," said Sir Harry, imperiously.
"Only a line, which I will give open to you. You can do with it as
you please."
"And as you have forced upon me the necessity, I shall make inquiries
in London as to your past life. I have heard things which perhaps may
be untrue."
"What things, Sir Harry?"
"I shall not demean myself or injure you by repeating them, unless
I find cause to believe they are true. I do believe that the result
will be such as to make me feel that in justice to my girl I cannot
allow you to become her husband. I tell you so fairly. Should the
debts you owe be simple debts, not dishonourably contracted, I will
pay them."
"And then she shall be mine?"
"I will make no such promise. You had better go now. You can have
the carriage to Penrith as early as you please in the morning; or to
Carlisle if you choose to go north. I will make your excuses to Lady
Elizabeth. Good night."
Cousin George stood for a second in doubt, and then shook hands with
the Baronet. He reached Penrith the next morning soon after ten, and
breakfasted alone at the hotel.
There were but very few words spoken on the occasion between the
father and daughter, but Emily did succeed in learning pretty nearly
the truth of what had taken place. On the Monday her mother gave her
the following note:--
DEAREST,--At your father's bidding, I have gone suddenly.
You will understand why I have done so. I shall try to do
just as he would have me; but you will, I know, be quite
sure that I should never give you up.--Yours for ever and
ever,
G. H.
The father had thought much of it, and at last had determined that
Emily should have the letter.
In the course of the week there came other guests to Humblethwaite,
and it so chanced that there was a lady who knew the Altringhams,
who had unfortunately met the Altringhams at Goodwood, and who, most
unfortunately, stated in Emily's hearing that she had seen George
Hotspur at Goodwood.
"He was not there," said Emily, quite boldly.
"Oh, yes; with the Altringhams, as usual. He is always with them at
Goodwood."
"He was not at the last meeting," said Emily, smiling.
The lady said nothing till her lord was present, and then appealed to
him. "Frank, didn't you see George Hotspur with the Altringhams at
Goodwood, last July?"
"To be sure I did, and lost a pony to him on Eros."
The lady looked at Emily, who said nothing further; but she was still
quite convinced that George Hotspur had not been at those Goodwood
races.
It is so hard, when you have used a lie commodiously, to bury it, and
get well rid of it.