CUPID IN ARCADY.
When Dan explained to Jarner the equivocal position in which he was
placed by the folly of Miss Linisfarne, the vicar urged him to end all
mysteries by declaring his name and rank. Also to ask Meg to be his
wife, and thus ascertain, beyond all question, the state of her
feelings. Miss Linisfarne's story of an engagement to Byrne of
Silkstone was scouted by Jarner with much wrath.
"What can the woman be thinking of?" he said. "The whole story is
false--there is not even a man in Silkstone called Byrne. She must
have known that you would tell me this, and that I would be able to
deny it."
"No doubt she thought that, in the revulsion of feeling caused by her
false word, I would ask her to marry me."
"Very probably. I do not so much blame as pity her. The poor woman
suffers from hysteria. When she comes to her senses she will be sorry
enough for her behaviour."
"I don't know so much about that, sir. Remember, she is a woman with a
past. A woman with a past is capable of anything in the present."
"Ay, but we know nothing of her past. She may be more sinned against
than sinning."
"Merle--or, to use his real name, Mallard--does not seem to think so."
"A poor creature that, my lord. A man who would sink, as he has done,
because a woman chose to jilt him, is a miserable specimen of
humanity. I should like to know his story."
"So should I, and the story of Miss Linisfarne and of Tinker Tim."
"The last-named person can gratify your curiosity," said Jarner. "Take
my advice, and declare yourself. Then ask Meg to be your wife, and,
when all is accomplished, Tim will tell his story. I agree with you
that there is a mystery, but Tim holds the key thereto."
"Perhaps Meg won't accept me as her husband."
"Try," said the vicar, significantly, and pushed the young man out of
the room.
This action sounds inhospitable; but the hour was late and the vicar
weary, so he thus hinted strongly his wish to be alone. Dan, in nowise
offended, for he was used to the vicar's blunt speech and blunt ways,
accepted the hint in its true spirit, and returned to his camp.
There was but little sleep for him that night. His thoughts were
principally taken up with the curious fulfilment of the prophecy of
Mother Jericho. Much as he despised superstition and ridiculed
palmistry, he could not but admit that the sibyl had forecast the
future with remarkable accuracy. She had predicted that he would meet
his fate at the Gates of Dawn, and there he had seen Meg, whom he now
designed to make his wife. The assertion that he would love one woman,
and be loved by another whom he would dislike, had been fulfilled to
the letter by the declaration of Miss Linisfarne. She had yellow hair
streaked with grey, and hence Mother Jericho's warning to beware of
gold and silver. So far all had occurred exactly as she foretold; but
there was more to come. Miss Linisfarne was to seek to hurt him
through Meg, and there was fire and flame and brave deeds. Also a
false father, and a false mother. These yet unfulfilled events were a
source of great perplexity to him, and he determined to nullify at
least the first by at once declaring his passion to Meg. When they
understood one another, he hoped that Miss Linisfarne would be
powerless to harm him through his promised wife. But all this depended
on the acceptance or refusal of his suit by Meg.
After a restless night he walked down to the beach for a swim, and
left Simon and Peter to guard the dell. As he passed through the Gates
of Dawn, at the hour of sunrise, he beheld Meg coming up from the
seashore. Again the golden glory of the day burned behind her, but she
no longer sang, nor did she dance before the sun like Aurora. On the
contrary, her eyes were downcast, her face sorrowful, and she
attempted to pass Dan without a greeting. The omission vexed him, and
he blocked her path by standing before her. Courtesy forbade her to
force her way past him, so she paused irresolutely, and looked at him
reproachfully. Astonished at this unusual behaviour, and rightly
ascribing it to the influence of Miss Linisfarne, Dan was the first to
speak. He wasted no time in idle talk, but went straight to the point.
"Meg!" he said, looking at her anxiously, "what is the matter? Have I
offended you, that you would pass me by as a stranger?"
"I have nothing to say," she murmured. "Let me pass, please."
"Not till you tell me how I have been so unfortunate as to offend
you."
"You have not offended me. I have no right to control your actions."
"Then Miss Linisfarne has poisoned your mind against me."
Meg lifted her eyes, and looked at him sorrowfully. Boldly as she had
defended him when absent, she could not help believing that there was
some truth in the assertions of Miss Linisfarne. Dan she had only
known for a few months, while Miss Linisfarne was the close friend of
years, therefore it was only natural she should attach more weight to
the assertions of the latter than to those of the former. Experience
only can instruct as to the proper estimate of a friendship.
"Miss Linisfarne told me all," she said, with great dignity.
"All what?"
"Can you ask me?" replied Meg, reproachfully. "Does not your memory
recall your words and acts?"
"I really do not understand you," said Dan, much bewildered by this
speech. "What have I said or done to you that you should thus reproach
me?"
"It is not what you said to me, Dan. I have no fault to find with you
in any way, as I told Miss Linisfarne. But she says you called at
Farbis Court, and----"
"Go on," said Dan, seeing she hesitated. "I admit I called at the
Court."
"And there you asked Miss Linisfarne to be your wife."
"I!"
It was all he could say, being dumbfounded by the accusation, which he
guessed was made by Miss Linisfarne.
With her face suffused with blushes, Meg continued to speak in a low,
nervous tone. Since she had discovered that she loved Dan, she felt
ill at ease in his presence, and the subject on which she was forced
to speak was uncongenial. The situation was most trying to a modest
girl like Meg; but her brave spirit did not falter in fulfilling what
she considered to be her duty. Therefore, much as she disliked the
task, she did not shrink from the performance. Dan guessed all this,
and admired her nerve.
"Yes. Miss Linisfarne told me how you wished to marry her for the sake
of her fortune. She said you were poor and nameless, and that you
wished to improve your condition by marriage. Oh, Dan, I never thought
you were so base!"
"Nor am I," he replied, frankly. "It is quite untrue that I wish to
marry Miss Linisfarne. On the contrary---- But that is neither here
nor there. Though she has attempted to blacken my character in your
eyes, I shall say nothing against her. Do you believe this story,
Meg?"
"I told her I did not; but----" She faltered, and looked away.
Angered at the opinion she held of him, which was so galling to his
proud nature, Dan caught her hands.
"Look me in the eyes, Meg, and say if you believe me to be so base."
"I don't think you are base; but you might be tempted----"
"True; but not by Miss Linisfarne. You know better than that, Meg,
I'll swear. Look me in the eyes, and tell me if you believe this
story."
In the steady eyes which met hers, Meg read the truth. All the lies of
Miss Linisfarne faded from her memory. With the instinct of a true and
loving heart, she recognized that Dan spoke the truth.
"I believe you, Dan," she said, frankly. "Miss Linisfarne made a
mistake."
"Miss Linisfarne is---- Well, well! never mind her at present. No, you
need not try to get away, Meg. I have to ask you a question. Can you
not guess what it is?"
"No. I--that is----"
"I see you can. Yes, Meg. Poor and friendless and nameless and
homeless as I am, I wish you to be my wife."
"Your wife!"
"My loved and honoured wife. It is you that have kept me so long at
Farbis. I care nothing for Miss Linisfarne or her money, and a great
deal for you. Dearest, can you accept my love?"
"But I am poor, and----"
"Well! Am I not poor also? I can only offer you a caravan! Come, Meg,
will you be a poor man's wife? You do not speak. They say that silence
gives consent. Meg, dearest wife!"
He drew her unresistingly towards him, and with flushed cheeks and
bright eyes she lay passively in his arms. He bent down to whisper--
"Will you be my wife, Meg?"
She looked up into his face, but uttered no word. Nor was speech
needed, for he saw in her eyes the answer he desired. There, in the
lonely Gates of Dawn, where he had first met her, did he touch her
lips with his own. A great joy filled the hearts of both. Emotion
rendered them dumb, and they could only look silently into one
another's eyes.
"Meg, my darling wife!"
"Dan!"
"Remember, I am a poor wanderer, and you will have a hard life!"
"Not if it is passed with you," she whispered.
"I haven't even a name!"
"Take mine. I love you, Dan! I did not know it till Miss Linisfarne
spoke. Then, when I thought you were to be hers, I felt angered. I
knew then that you were everything to me. In a single moment the whole
of my life seemed to change, and all because I love you."
"My darling!"
He kissed her again. But why strive to describe the indescribable? To
relate a love episode is foolish. Words are too poor to tell all. It
were better to let the reader imagine the looks, and words, and joy of
these two. They felt in that moment the perfect happiness which comes
but once in a lifetime to man or woman. Earth was heaven, and they the
angels who dwelt therein. After a sacred silence, which lasted it
seemed ages, Dan was the first to speak. Having gained his end, he was
now ready to make confession.
"Meg, I have told you a falsehood."
She drew away quickly with a startled look in her eyes, and faltered
out the first thought in her mind.
"Miss Linisfarne?"
"No, no; it has nothing to do with Miss Linisfarne. Do not look so
shocked. It is not a very dreadful story. Do you know who I am, Meg?"
"Yes; you are Dan."
"No; I am not Dan. Nor am I poor; nor am I a vagrant. I wooed you as a
poor man because I wanted a wife who loved me for myself. You have
done so, my dearest, and now I can confess my deception. My name
is--can you not guess?"
"No. How strangely you speak! Tell me! Who are you?"
"Meg, Meg! whom do I resemble?"
"Sir Alurde," said she, quickly. Then, with a sudden light breaking in
on her mind, "Then he was your ancestor?"
"Ah, you have guessed my secret. Yes, Meg, my real name is Francis
Breel."
"Lord Ardleigh!"
"Precisely. And you, my dearest, who took poor Dan for his own worth,
will be Lady Ardleigh of Farbis Court."