All next day Eliza was paler than her wont; her face wore a restless
troubled expression, and she went about the house in an absent
preoccupied manner, very different from usual.
Mary Conlan, who watched her face all day, thought that the omens
of the night before, which seemed to indicate some dire misfortune,
had roused her to serious reflection, and that she was making up her
mind to abandon all thoughts of Crofton for ever, and return to her
allegiance to Hogan, hoping it might yet be possible to avert the
threatened evil.
Yet whatever her thoughts may have been, that evening found Eliza in
the garden as usual, glancing up and down the road; and twilight saw
her leaning over the gate engaged in earnest conversation with Crofton.
Thus on each succeeding evening she might be seen. Those who had known
her from a child came to her with advice and warnings. But some stood
aloof and shook their heads. 'Sure, it's no use,' they said. 'She can't
help the doom that's on her, poor thing; best leave her alone.'
Her father, too, seriously remonstrated with her. He did not indeed
know how frequent her meetings with Crofton were, for he, worthy
man, was generally napping in his chair after his day's labour when
the interviews at the garden-gate took place; still, he had heard
and seen enough to make him very uneasy. Even supposing that Crofton
were in earnest and wished to marry Eliza, he felt sure that such an
unequal marriage would not bring happiness to her in any way. And
besides, he had set his heart on her wedding Hogan, whom he cordially
liked, with whom he could trust her; and everything would be open and
straightforward, she living on the spot, and among the people with whom
she had been brought up. He tried to represent the thing clearly to
Eliza, how Charles Crofton's family would be offended, and how he would
needs break his engagement to Miss Courtney. He tried to shew her all
the unpleasantness that must result.
She heard him in a silence that seemed dogged, pouting her lips when he
spoke of the advantage she would have in always remaining amongst them
as Hogan's wife. In the same manner she listened to all the rest who
spoke to her on this subject; but no promise could be extracted from
her to discontinue her meetings with Crofton. From that time, however,
the garden interviews were given up, but only, as it appeared, for a
more secret meeting-place.
One evening after dusk, as Hogan was walking along a path between some
fields, he heard voices behind the hedge. He stood still a moment. He
could not mistake that tone, with its accent of refinement. It was
certainly Crofton and Eliza. They seemed as if taking leave of each
other. He could not overhear their words, save a few disconnected ones.
'To-morrow morning,' Crofton was saying, 'before any one'---- The
remainder of the sentence was lost.
Then came Eliza's voice, low and somewhat tremulous; and Crofton again,
in tender impassioned tones. Then there was a few moments' silence,
and they seemed to part. But the footsteps returned, and again he
heard their voices, as if they could not bear to tear themselves from
each other without more last fond words and (Hogan clenched his hand
as the suggestion arose) caresses. A low murmur only reached him now,
followed by another short silence. How was it filled up? he wondered;
and he ground his teeth in anger, and the hot blood mounted to his
forehead. Steps now came along by the hedge. He walked on. He knew
Crofton was behind him. In a few minutes the latter came up, and as he
passed, looked at Hogan sharply, with an expression of annoyance on
his handsome face; but he said gaily, though with a touch of insolence
in his tone: 'Wandering absorbed in thoughts of love, Hogan; or only
considering what crops you will sow this year? Which, may I inquire?'
'It doesn't concern any one but myself, I think, sir; but my thoughts
are honest at anyrate.'
'Which means that somebody else's aren't, and I suppose I am that
somebody. But I assure you, my good fellow, I haven't the slightest
intention of filching anything from your barns, or committing other
depredation upon you.'
'I don't know,' muttered Hogan, as the other passed on whistling an air.
'She must pass just now,' he said to himself, and stopping, leaned on
part of a broken wall, half concealed from view. In a little while he
heard the rustle of a dress and a light tread. Eliza came by, a bright
flush on her cheek. She started a little on seeing him; then with a nod
and a careless 'Good-evening,' was going on, when he detained her.
'You've just parted from Mr Crofton?' he said.
'Well,' she answered, looking full at him; 'and what then?'
'Eliza!' he burst out passionately, 'is it all over between us? Tell me
at once, and crush me with one word. I would rather know. This suspense
is more than I can bear. It is killing me.'
She hesitated. 'Well, Will, I suppose so.'
'You suppose so! You can say it thus coolly, and call me by the name
you used to speak so tenderly once, and not so long ago either. O
Eliza!' His voice fairly broke down, and he covered his face with his
hand.
She stood by, her cheeks a deep crimson, her eyes cast down, beating
her palm with a flower she held, a rare hot-house flower. Hogan knew
well who had given it to her.
'And will he marry you?' he asked.
She ceased the restless movement and looked up quickly.
'Will he marry me?' she repeated indignantly. 'Will I marry him? Ask
that, rather. _He_ thinks the compliment's there.'
'He is so much above you, Eliza. Take care you are not making your own
misery. I speak now only as a friend, one interested in your welfare.
Oh, take care; I warn you before it is too late!'
She stamped her foot on the ground in sudden anger, and her eyes
flashed.
'I am sick of these warnings!' she exclaimed. 'I'm not bound to stand
here and listen to them from you; and what's more, I won't either!' She
darted past him and sped swiftly along the path.
'Good-bye, then, Eliza,' called he after her. 'And may you never feel
the sorrow and desolation that I do this evening.'
But she neither stopped nor glanced round at him. He walked on, sighing
as he went. The chill November wind whistled drearily over the fields;
it was November too in his heart. All that night he lay sleepless,
tossing about, unable to find rest for body or mind. At one instant
he was cursing him who had alienated the heart that had once been
wholly his own, vowing vengeance, and resolving to wrest Eliza from him
by some means, before it was too late. The next moment, he bitterly
reproached her for her faithlessness, called her vain, worldly,
worthless, undeserving of serious love; half hoped she might suffer for
her treatment of him, and proudly resolved to think no more of her;
then groaning, and covering his face with his hands, as the thought of
all she had been to him rushed overwhelmingly over his mind, and he
felt how impossible it would be to forget her.
Next morning it was later than usual when he rose, for about daybreak
he had slumbered a little. On going out, whether by accident or design,
his steps turned in the direction of Daly's farm, and his eyes sought
the window of Eliza's apartment. It seemed to him that there was an
unusual commotion in the house. Figures moved hurriedly about the
rooms and flitted past the windows. As he gazed up, the house-door
was suddenly thrown open, and some of the farm-servants, who slept in
the house, rushed out and ran down the garden. At the same instant,
Daly appeared, his face pale and full of distress and agitation. Hogan
hurried forward, some half-formed fear and alarm in his mind, to ask
what was the matter. On seeing him, Daly exclaimed: 'She's gone, gone
from us for ever! disappeared during the night!'
'Who?' cried Hogan. 'Not Eliza? It can't have come to that so soon! You
don't mean that she has fled, fled with _him_?' He asked the question
in a kind of desperation, hoping against hope and probability, for what
else could the words he had heard mean?
'Yes; fled, and of a certainty with Mr Crofton,' answered Daly.
'But they may be overtaken. Let us try to save her before it is too
late.'
'It is too late, I'm afraid. From what I am told, she must have left
about four o'clock this morning. Mary says she heard a slight stir in
the house about that time, but didn't mind it then.'
Hogan turned away, and walked to a little distance. 'Gone!' he murmured
in accents of deep despair.
At that moment Mary Conlan ran up to her uncle. She held a letter in
her hand. 'See!' she exclaimed. 'We found this on the floor, under the
table. It must have fallen down, and no one saw it till now.'
Daly seized it eagerly, and tearing it open, began to read. It seemed
short, for after a minute or two he called to Hogan, and handed it to
him.
It was from Eliza, addressed to her father. She began by saying that
when he read it she would be the wife of Charles Crofton. As she saw
that they would all be against her marriage with him--though why,
she did not know, unless some didn't wish to see her in a position
so different from their own; and as there would be so many obstacles
from Mr Crofton's family, they thought it best to take this step, and
avoid useless remonstrances. She then mentioned the church where they
had been married that morning and the name of the clergyman. She hoped
her father would not be angry. He oughtn't to be; for should he not
be glad of her happiness and rejoice in her social elevation. 'Now
good-bye, dear old dad,' she concluded. 'I know Mary will take good
care of you; and believe that I am still your affectionate daughter,
ELIZA.--To-morrow, I may sign myself Eliza Crofton. Tell Will Hogan not
to be fretting after me.'
'Careless and cold enough; isn't it?' said Daly sadly, as the other
handed back Eliza's letter to him. 'I'm afraid she doesn't mind much
what either of us feels, thinking of the grand life that's before her.
I'll go to town at once and see if it's as she says.'
Hogan made no reply. He walked away; and when he had gone a little
distance, threw himself down on the ground and groaned aloud in agony
of spirit.
Daly's inquiries proved that the marriage had actually taken place that
morning in the church Eliza mentioned. He was even shewn her signature
in the book; and there remained not a doubt that she was actually
the lawful wife of Charles Crofton. Daly felt a certain pride in his
daughter's position; but he sorely missed her bright face and laughing
teasing ways. He felt that he had lost his daughter for ever, and it
sometimes almost seemed to him as if she had died.
As time went on, an occasional letter came, dated at first from London,
afterwards from the continent; but they were as brief as they were far
between, and told almost nothing. She hoped he was in good health. She
was well, and seeing many things she had never even heard of before,
and going into a great deal of gay society. This was usually their
substance.
From the time of Eliza's departure, a great change came over Hogan. He
grew so gloomy and irritable, that those with whom he had formerly been
a favourite began gradually to shrink from him. Few will take misery as
an excuse for broken spirits, and all steal away from the stricken one--
As the ancients shunned the token
Of a lightning-blasted tree.
But there was one who never avoided Hogan. Mary Conlan was often by his
side, always ready with smiles and cheering words. She never alluded
to his grief; but he saw by her actions and her sympathetic eyes how
she felt for him in his sorrow. And though it seemed sometimes, when he
turned from her with a dark brow and monosyllabic answer, that her task
was an ungracious one, yet he blessed her in his heart that she still
did not forsake him, and cherished the kind and gentle words she spoke
as the only thing that made life not utterly a burden.