THE THIRD LETTER TO A LONDON FRIEND.
Dear Jack,
If this letter is wild, and incoherent, and rhapsodical, be sparing of
your astonishment and blame. A scribe in my state of mind is not
responsible for his epistles. Therefore be patient and read this
letter carefully, for herein you will find a reason for these excuses.
If you do not find my explanation all-sufficient, then you are not the
sympathetic friend I took you for. What, indeed, is the use of
friendship if it does not encourage and sympathize and congratulate?
Were you in love--which you are not, judging from your cynical
letters--I would patiently listen to your maunderings, so hearken to
mine. If you wonder at this preamble learn the reason in three
sentences. I love her! She loves me! We are engaged. Here I consider
you have an ample explanation.
Now, do not repeat that time-honoured sneer, "I told you so," and
chuckle cynically over my capture by Cupid. It is true that he has
chained me, but I glory in such bonds. Did you but see her face and
hear her voice you would no longer wonder at my surrender. Who
conquers Mars may be beaten by Venus. There is a classical nut for
your cracking.
Doubtless you consider events have moved speedily, seeing I have thus
wooed and won my future wife in so short a space of time. You are
perfectly right in such supposition. The events of a year have been
crammed into seven days. Every hour has brought forth a surprise, and
the result is--as above. My position has been anything but pleasant of
late; but now I trust my troubles are over, though, according to the
unfulfilled portion of Mother Jericho's prophecy, the worst are still
to come. A pleasant prospect, truly! but one rendered endurable by my
present happiness.
Miss Linisfarne is the parent of my troubles and happiness. I told you
about her in my last letters. A faded beauty in ill-health, who is my
tenant at the Court. Ignorant of my identity, she thought I was simply
a decayed gentleman, reduced to poverty and to the shelter of a
caravan. With that inconsistency which is so noticeable a feature of
the sex, she ignored my vagabondage, and, in the character of a
broken-down gentleman, invited me to the Court. For some inexplicable
reason she took a violent fancy to me, and ultimately proposed to
marry me. You look surprised, and frown,--the first, at the
information; the second, that I should impart it to you, and thus
betray a woman's folly.
As a matter of fact, unless I tell you all I can tell you nothing, and
so must be content to accept your censure. I would not speak of such a
thing to others; but to you, who are my second self, and have been the
receptacle of my confidences since we were at Eton, I am surely
justified in making the revelation. And, after all, my friend, you can
put away those wire-drawn notions of honour, as Miss Linisfarne is not
worthy of being considered in any way. She is a base and designing
woman. You must agree with this estimate of her character--harsh
though it seems--when I tell you that she tried to lower Meg in my
eyes, and almost succeeded in blackening my character to Meg. Such
uncalled-for malignancy is, to my mind, worthy of blame. She must be
beaten with her own weapons, punished for her spiteful behaviour, and
generally condemned--at all events in this letter, which is strictly
confidential.
It is useless for me to attempt to fathom her character. Originally it
may have been a noble one, but twenty years of solitude have warped it
strangely. Dr. Merle, who is the father of Meg, made a confession to
me the other day. He heard a rumour that I was to marry Miss
Linisfarne, and thereupon came to tell me that I was not to do so. He
justified this declaration by the confession that his real name was
Mallard--that he had been engaged to Miss Linisfarne twenty years ago,
and that she had ruined his life. More than this he refused to tell
me, but said Tinker Tim could reveal all. The gipsy declined
confession until I married Meg; so, as I intend to do so shortly, I
hope to be fully informed of all these mysteries. As I surmised, there
is a connection between Tim and Dr. Merle and Miss Linisfarne; but
what it is I cannot guess, so must possess my soul in patience until
the gipsy chooses to open his mouth.
After my interview with Merle--or Mallard, as that is his real name--I
received a message from Miss Linisfarne asking me to call and see her.
I went unwillingly, as I was by no means prepossessed in her favour by
the revelation of the doctor. The interview was of the most painful
character. She said that Meg was engaged to a certain Byrne of
Silkstone, and finally offered me her hand, her name, and her wealth.
I refused all three, and, not knowing how to extricate myself from so
awkward a position, uttered the name of Mallard. Its effect was
magical. She fainted, and I, having committed her to the care of her
housekeeper, hastened away. I need hardly say that nothing will induce
me to set foot again in her house.
Much perplexed at my position, I consulted Mr. Jarner, as he is gifted
with good common sense, and is remarkably shrewd in giving advice. He
ascribed her strange conduct to hysteria, and said there was no truth
in her assertion that Meg was engaged--nay, more, that Byrne of
Silkstone was a myth. Why Miss Linisfarne should tell such falsehoods
and offer to marry me I cannot say; but, as I remarked before, it is
useless to attempt to fathom her character. My own opinion is, that
seclusion has tended to unhinge her mind and destroy her self-control.
No sane person would have acted as she has done. From charity,
therefore, let us give her the benefit of the doubt, and say that she
is mad.
Yet there is a method in her madness which is hurtful to those whom
she designs to injure. I am one of those unfortunates. When she found
that I refused to marry, her love changed to hate, and she is a living
example of the truth of Congreve's couplet--
"Heav'n has no rage like love to hatred turned,
Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned."
With a view, therefore, to blast my happiness, she sought Meg, and
lied to her as she did to me. Declared that I wished to marry her for
the sake of her wealth, that I was a base villain, an escaped
criminal, a nameless outcast, and made me out to be the most abandoned
of mankind. Meg retorted with spirit, and defended me, but could not
help thinking that there might be some truth in these accusations. I
can hardly blame her for such belief. She knew nothing, or
comparatively nothing of me, whereas Miss Linisfarne has been her
friend and benefactress for years.
Unfortunately for Miss Linisfarne and fortunately for myself, I
chanced to meet Meg at the Gates of Dawn, and speedily disabused her
mind of all those malignant accusations. I denied that I had asked
Miss Linisfarne to marry me because I wanted her money, and, in proof
of the absurdity of such an idea, confessed my name and rank. Before
doing so, however, I asked Meg to be my wife, and she, believing my
bare word, accepted my offer. Can you wonder, then, that I should love
and honour and esteem a woman who was prepared to marry a nameless
outcast for his own worth? She is as simple and loving as a child, and
I consider myself the most fortunate of men in winning her golden
heart. What is rank, or title, or wealth compared with such pure love!
She loves me, not my worldly advantages. Confess now, cynic as you
are, that I have chosen wisely. Ah, Jack, the noblest gift that God
can bestow on a man is the gift of a pure good woman's heart. I have
gained this pearl without price, and henceforth have nothing better to
gain from heaven.
Meg was somewhat alarmed at finding I was King Cophetua in disguise.
The title frightens her, and she is afraid she will not be worthy of
such high rank. Not worthy, indeed! Could I place a crown instead of a
coronet on her brow, it would be far below her deserts. She is a noble
brave pure woman, who will enable me to fight the battle of life, and
do what good lies in my power. I have no fear of her sinking under the
burden of nobility, as did that puling minx who married the Lord of
Burleigh. When Meg becomes more accustomed to the idea, when she is my
wife, you will see that she will bear her honours nobly. Her beauty,
her heart, her talents, her charms all fit her for such a station.
Even you, Jack, fastidious as you are, will confess that I have the
fairest and most loyal wife in the three kingdoms--ay, in the world.
But enough of these rhapsodies, of which you must be tired. Let me
descend from heaven to earth, and talk of meaner things. Dr. Merle
gave his consent in a scared sort of way, and did not seem to know
what to make of it. He is a poor feeble creature, with a brain sodden
with the drug he takes. Notwithstanding my offer to provide for him,
he declared his intention of remaining at Farbis, which, after all, I
think is the best place for him. He is more fitted for a hermitage
than for the world, as his vice has overmastered his brain and mind
and has ruined his will and self-control. Every time I see him, I
wonder how such a puny creature ever became the father of Meg. The
late Mrs. Merle, or rather Mrs. Mallard, must have been a fine
creature. I asked Meg about her, but she does not remember her mother,
who died during her infancy. As Meg is close on twenty, this remark
proves to me that Merle was not so inconsolable over the treachery of
Miss Linisfarne as he pretends to be, for he must have married very
soon after she jilted him. I can only suppose that he was disappointed
in his wife, and, when she died, came to Farbis with his child to be
in the neighbourhood of his first love. Yet he never attempted to see
her, nor does Miss Linisfarne know that Dr. Merle is the lover of her
youth. From his speedy marriage and subsequent retirement to Farbis
you can see how feeble is his character. There is not a drop of his
blood in the veins of Meg. That true fearless nature must be inherited
from her mother. But how could a woman like Meg have married a rat
like Merle! This thing puzzles me greatly.
Mr. Jarner was delighted with my success, and congratulated me on
gaining the heart of Meg. He considers me the most fortunate of men,
and insisted on my drinking the best half of a bottle of port, in
honour of the event. He is a splendid old man, and quite a character.
With all his love of horses and dogs and sporting, he is deeply
religious, and holds a fairer creed than many of those who use their
outward holiness to cloak a mean soul. None other than he shall marry
Meg and I. If you like to come down and be best man, just say so. I
assure you Jarner is a parson worth meeting.
I don't know if Miss Linisfarne has learned of our engagement. She
must be greatly angered at the downfall of her scheme to part us. At
all events, she gives no sign, but remains shut up at the Court. Meg
is sorry for her, as is only natural; but I cannot feel it in my heart
to pity so malignant a creature. Unless, indeed, she is mad, which
puts a different complexion on the affair.
As soon as my engagement was an accomplished fact, I went in search of
Tinker Tim to tell him of it, and ask for an explanation of the
mysteries. Unfortunately he has gone away on business connected with
his fighting propensities, and will not be back for a week. However, I
saw Mother Jericho, and told her of the accomplishment of her
prophecy. She chuckled and leered like a wicked old fairy godmother,
then damped my joy by hinting that my troubles were not yet over.
"A false father, a false mother. Fire and flame, and brave deeds," she
croaked,--"all these must be before you take your dearie to church.
But you'll win through it all, and be happy. Your children and
grandchildren shall sit on your knee, and she shall be by your side
for forty years and more."
Can you conceive anything more perplexing? Having seen the first part
of her prophecy fulfilled, I am bound to believe the second. Evil is
coming, but it can only come through Miss Linisfarne. She is malignant
enough for anything, but at present gives no sign of her intentions.
What do you make of the prophecy, Jack? "False father, false mother,
fire and flame, and brave deeds." It is a riddle of the Sphinx. I can
only leave its solution to Tim; but, at all events, I am happy to
think that peace will come in the end. One does not appreciate joy
without sorrow, so I am willing to undergo the troubles prophesied by
the sibyl for the sake of being blessed with the last part of the
prediction. All these ills are to take place before marriage, and, as
I propose to be wedded in the autumn, there is not much time for their
fulfilment. "False father, false mother, fire, flame, and brave
deeds"--I leave the solution to your quick wits, my friend.
Here I must close this long letter. Write and congratulate me, and say
if you will come down to assist at the termination of my strange
wooing. I am so happy, Jack, that I can write no more, so must leave
you to guess the joy of your attached friend--
ARDLEIGH.