FULL COMPENSATION.
It did not fall to Margaret Hungerford's lot to resume the topic of
her interrupted conversation with her father. Mr. Baldwin took that
upon himself, and so sped in his mission, that the old gentleman
declared himself happier than he had ever been in his life before; and
then, suddenly and remorsefully reminiscent of his late domestic
affliction, he added, "If only poor Sibylla were here with us to share
all this good fortune!" An aspiration which Mr. Baldwin could have
found it in his heart to echo, so full was that heart of joy.
In the love of this man for Margaret there was so much of generous
kindness, such an intense desire to fill her life with a full and
compensating happiness, to efface the past utterly, and give her in
the present all that the heart of the most exacting woman could covet,
that he regarded his success with more than the natural and customary
exultation of a lover to whom "yes" has been said or rather implied.
That Margaret realised, or indeed understood, even in its broad
outlines, the alteration in the external circumstances of her life
which her becoming his wife would effect, he did not imagine; and he
exulted to an extent which he would hitherto have believed impossible
in the knowledge that he could give her wealth and position only
inferior to his love.
Beyond a vague understanding that Mr. Baldwin was a very rich man for
a commoner, and that, as the property was entailed on heirs general,
Lady Davyntry would have it in the event of his dying childless, Mr.
Carteret had no clear notions about the position in which his
daughter's second marriage would place her, and Mr. Baldwin's
explanations rather puzzled and confounded the worthy gentleman. He
had shrunk as much as possible from realising to himself the
circumstances of Margaret's life in Australia, the disastrous
experiences of her first marriage, and he now showed his dread of them
chiefly by the complacency, the delight with which he dwelt upon the
happiness which he anticipated for her in the society of Mr. Baldwin,
so accomplished a man, so perfect a gentleman, and withal such a lover
of natural history. He was not disposed to take other matters deeply
into consideration, and it was chiefly Haldane with whom the
preliminaries of the marriage, which was to take place soon, and with
as little stir or parade as possible, were discussed. The young man's
exultation was extreme. He expressed his feelings pretty freely, after
his usual fashion, to everybody; but he reserved the full flow of his
delight for James Dugdale's special edification.
"It isn't the correct thing to talk to Baldwin about, of course," he
said one day; "but I find it very hard to hold my tongue, when I think
of that ruffian Hungerford, and that it was through me she first saw
him, and got the chance of bringing misery on herself I long to tell
Baldwin all about him. But it wouldn't do. I wonder if he knows much
concerning him."
"Nothing, I should say," returned James shortly,--he never could be
induced to say much when the topic of Margaret and her lover was in
any way under discussion,--but the unsuspecting Haldane, in whose eyes
James Dugdale, though a more interesting companion, was a contemporary
of his father, and in the "fogey" category, did not notice this
reluctance.
"Well, I suppose not," said Haldane musingly. "It's a pity; for he
would understand what we all think about _him_, if he did; and I don't
see how he is to realise that otherwise."
"Margaret will teach him how he is estimated," said James sadly.
"I hope so," was Haldane's hearty and emphatic reply. "By Jove! it's a
wonderful thing, when you come to think of it, that anybody should
have things made up to them so completely as Madge is going to have
them made up. I don't mean only his money, you know. I wonder how she
will get on in Scotland, how she will play her part among the people
there. I daresay Baldwin's neighbours will not like her much; I
suppose the mothers in that part of the world looked upon him as their
natural prey."
"I don't know about that," said James, "but I fancy Margaret will be
quite able to hold her own wherever she may go; she is the sort of
woman who may be safely trusted with wealth and station."
This was by no means the only conversation which took place between
the ex-tutor and the ex-pupil on the subject then engrossing; the
attention of the families at Davyntry and Chayleigh; Haldane's
exuberant delight was apt to communicate itself after a similar
fashion very frequently, and altogether he subjected his friend just
then to a not inconsiderable amount of pain.
During the few weeks which intervened before the period named, very
shortly after their engagement, for the marriage of Margaret
Hungerford and Fitzwilliam Baldwin, there was no approach on
Margaret's part to any confidential intercourse with James Dugdale. By
tacit mutual consent they avoided each other, and yet she never so
wronged in her thoughts the man who loved her with so disinterested a
love, as to believe him alienated from her, jealous of the good
fortune of another, or grudging to her of the happiness which was to
be hers.
In the experience of her own feelings, in the engrossment of her own
heart and thoughts in the new and roseate prospects which had opened
suddenly before her, after her long wandering in dreary ways, she had
learned to comprehend James Dugdale. She knew now how patiently and
constantly he had loved and still loved her; she knew now what had
given him a prescient knowledge of her former self-sought doom; she
knew what had inspired the efforts he had made to avert it from her.
Inexpressible kindness and pity for him, painful gratitude towards
this man whom she never could have loved, filled Margaret's heart; but
she kept aloof from him. Explanation between them there could not
be--it would be equally bad for both. He who had so striven to avert
her misery would be consoled by her perfect happiness; in the time to
come, the blessed peaceful time, he should share it.
So she and James lived in the usual close relation, and Mr. Carteret
and Haldane talked freely of the coming event, of the splendid
prospects opening before Margaret; but never a word was spoken
directly between the two.
A strongly appreciative friendship had sprung up between Mr. Baldwin
and James Dugdale. The elder man regarded the younger without one
feeling of envy of the good looks, the good health, the physical
activity,--in all which he was himself deficient,--but with a thorough
comprehension of the difference between them which they constituted,
and an almost womanish admiration of one so richly dowered by nature.
Since Mr. Baldwin's engagement to Margaret,--though James had loyally
forced himself to utter the congratulations of whose truth and meaning
none could form a truer estimate than he,--there had been little
intercourse between them. Mr. Baldwin now claimed Margaret as his
chief companion during his daily and lengthy visits to Chayleigh; and
she, with all a woman's tact and instinctive delicacy, quietly aided
the unobserved severance between himself and James, of which her lover
was wholly unconscious.
So the time--a time of such exceeding and incredible happiness to
Margaret, that not all her previous experience of the delusions of
life could avail to check the avidity with which she enjoyed every
hour of it, and listened with greedy ears to every promise and
protestation for the future--went on.
On one point only she found she was not to have her own wishes carried
out, wishes shared to the utmost by Mr. Baldwin. Her father did not
take kindly to the idea of leaving Chayleigh. His reasons were
amusingly characteristic.
"You see, my dear," he said, when the matter had been urged upon him,
with every kind of plea and prayer by Margaret, and with respectful
earnestness by Mr. Baldwin, "I should never feel quite myself, I
should never feel quite comfortable away from my collection. You, my
dear Margaret, never had any great taste in that way, and of course
you don't understand it; but there's Baldwin, now. You wouldn't like
to part with your collection, would you? You have a great many other
reasons for liking the Deane, of course, besides that; but considering
only that, you would not like it?"
"Good heavens, sir!" exclaimed Mr. Baldwin, "how could you imagine
such a thing as that we ever dreamed of parting you and your
collection? Why, we should as soon have thought of asking you to leave
your arms or legs after you. Of course you'll move your collection to
the Deane; there's room for a dozen of the size."
Mr. Carteret was a little put out, not exactly annoyed, but _gêné_;
and Margaret, who understood him perfectly, stopped her lover's flow
of protestation and proposal by a look, and they soon left him to
himself; whereupon Mr. Carteret immediately summoned James, and
imparted to him the nature of the conversation which had just taken
place.
"Baldwin is the very best fellow in the world, James," said the old
gentleman in a confidential tone; "but, between you and me, we
collectors and lovers of natural history are rather odd in our ways;
we have our little peculiarities, and our little jealousies, and our
little envies. You know I would not deny Baldwin's good qualities; and
he has been very generous too in giving me specimens; but I have a
kind of notion, for all that, that he would have no objection to my
collection finding its way to the Deane."
Here Mr. Carteret looked at James Dugdale, as if he had made a
surprisingly deep discovery; and James Dugdale had considerable
difficulty in concealing his amusement.
"Now you can, I am sure, quite understand that, however I may
appreciate Baldwin, I have no fancy for seeing my collection, after
working at it all these years, merged in another--merged, my dear
James!"
And Mr. Carteret's tone grew positively irate, while he tapped
Dugdale's arm impatiently with his long fingers.
"But, sir," said James, "I quite understand all that; but how about
parting with Margaret? If she is to be at the Deane, hadn't you better
be there also? She is of more importance to you than even your
collection, is she not?"
"Well, yes, in a certain sense," said the old gentleman, rather
dubiously and reluctantly; "in a certain sense, of course she is; but,
then, I can go to the Deane when I like, and she can come here when
she likes; and so long as I know she is happy (and she cannot fail to
be _happy_ this time), I don't so much mind. But I really could not
part with my collection; and if it were moved and merged, I should
feel I had parted with it. No, no, Margery and Baldwin will be great
companions for each other, and they will do very well without us,
James; we will just stay quietly here in the old place, and I am sure
Haldane will undertake not to move my collection when I am gone."
Immediately after this conversation, Mr. Carteret applied himself with
great assiduity to the precious pursuit which, in the great interest
of the domestic discussions then pending, he had somewhat neglected,
and showed his jealous zeal for his beloved specimens by a thousand
little indications which Margaret perceived, and which she interpreted
to Mr. Baldwin, very much to his amusement.
"Haldane," said James Dugdale to Captain Carteret, "I think you had
better give Margaret a hint that she had better not urge her father's
leaving Chayleigh; depend upon it, he will never consent, except it be
very much against his will; and if she presses him, she will only run
the risk of making him like Baldwin very much less than he does at
present."
"You are quite right," said Haldane, who was busily engaged in mending
the eldest Miss Crofton's riding-whip; "but why don't you tell her so
yourself?"
James was rather embarrassed by the question; but he said, "It would
come better from you."
"Would it? I don't see it. However, I don't mind. I'll speak to her.
All right."
Haldane did speak to Margaret; and she acquiesced in James's opinion,
and conformed to his advice. The subject dropped, and Mr. Carteret
entirely recovered his spirits. Haldane had another little matter to
negotiate with his sister, in which he was not so successful. He knew
the wedding was to be very quiet indeed; but everybody either then
knew, or soon would know, that such an event was in contemplation; and
he could not see that it could make any difference to Margaret just to
have the eldest Miss Crofton for her bridesmaid. He could assure his
sister the eldest, "Lucy, you know," was "an extremely nice girl," and
her admiration of Margaret quite enthusiastic.
Margaret was quite sure Lucy Crofton was a very nice girl indeed; and
she would have her for her bridesmaid, had she any intention of
indulging in such an accessory, but she had none; and Haldane (of
course men did not understand such matters) had not reflected that to
invite Miss Lucy in such a capacity must imply inviting all her family
as spectators, and entail the undying enmity of the "neighbourhood" at
their exclusion.
"O, hang it, Madge," said Haldane in impatient disdain of this
reasoning, "we are not people of such importance that the
neighbourhood need kick up a row because we are married or buried
without their assistance."
"We are not," said Margaret gently, "but Fitzwilliam is; and don't you
suppose, you dear stupid boy, that there are plenty of people to envy
me my good fortune, of which they only know the flimsy surface, and to
find me guilty of all sorts of insolences that I never dreamt of, if
they only get the chance?"
"I never thought of that. You're quite right, after all, Madge," said
Haldane ruefully.
"There's a good deal you have never thought of, and which my life has
made plain to me," said Margaret; and then she added in a lower tone,
"Can you not understand, Hal, how terribly trying my wedding will be
to me, how many painful thoughts it must bring me? Can you not see
that I must wish to get through it as quietly as possible?"
This was the first word of reference, however distant, to the past
which her brother had heard from Margaret's lips; this was the first
time he had ever seen the hard, lowering, stern, self-despising look
upon her face, which had been familiar to all the other dwellers at
Chayleigh before his return, and before she had accepted her new life
and hope.
She looked gloomily out over the prospect as she spoke. She and
Haldane were walking together, and were just then opposite to the
beeches. She caught Haldane's arm, and turned him sharply round, then
walked rapidly away from the spot.
"What's the matter?" said her brother. He felt what she had just said
deeply, notwithstanding his _insouciance_. "What are you walking so
fast for? You look as if you saw a ghost!"
"What, in the daylight, Hal?" said Margaret with a forced laugh. "No,
we are rather late; let us go in."
The pleasure of Lady Davyntry in the perfect success of all her most
cherished wishes would have been delightful to witness to any observer
of a philosophic tendency. It is so rarely that any one is happy and
grateful in proportion to one's anxiety and effort. Such purely
disinterested pleasure as was hers is not frequently desired or
enjoyed.
"If anybody had told me I could ever feel so happy again in a world
which my Richard has left, I certainly would not have believed them,"
said Eleanor, as Margaret strove to thank her for the welcome she gave
her to the proud and happy position soon to be hers; "and you would
hardly believe me, Madge, if I were to tell you how short a time after
the day I tried to make Fitz spy you through the glass there, and he
was much too proper and genteel to do anything of the kind, I began to
look forward to this happy event."
To do Lady Davyntry justice, it was some time before she admitted
minor considerations in support of her vast and intense satisfaction;
it was actually twenty-four hours after her brother had informed her
that Margaret had accepted him, when she found herself saying aloud,
in the gladness of her heart and the privacy of her own room, "How
delightful it is to think that now there is no danger of his marrying
a Scotchwoman! How savage Jessie MacAlpine will be!"
The dew was shining on the grass and the flowers, the birds had hardly
begun their morning hymn, on a morning in the gorgeous month of June,
when Margaret Hungerford, wrapped in a white dressing-gown, and
leaning out of the passion-flower-framed window of her room, looked
out towards the woods of Davyntry. The tall, fantastic, twisted
chimneys and turrets, rich with the deep red of the old brickwork,
showed through the leaf-laden trees. Margaret's pale, clear, spiritual
face was turned towards them, her hands were clasped upon the
window-sill; she leaned more forward still, and her long hair was
stirred by the light wind.
"The one only thing he asks me for his sake," she murmured; "but O,
how difficult, how impossible, never to look back, never voluntarily
to look back upon the past again! To live for the present and the
future, to live only in his life, as he lives only in mine. Ah, that
is easy for him, or at least easier; and it may be so--but for me, for
me." She swayed her slight figure to and fro, and wrung her hands. It
was long since the gesture had ceased to be habitual now. "I will try,
I will keep my word to you, in all honest intention at least, my
darling, my love, my husband!" She slightly waved one hand towards the
woods, and a beautiful flush spread itself over her face. "I will turn
all my heart for ever from the past, if any effort of my will can do
it, and live in your life only."
A few hours later, the quietest wedding that had ever been known in
that part of the country took place in the parish church of Chayleigh,
very much to the dissatisfaction of the few spectators who had had
sufficient good fortune to be correctly informed of the early hour
appointed for the ceremony.
"Gray silk, my dear, and a chip bonnet, as plain as you please," said
Miss Laughton, the village dressmaker, to Miss Harland, the village
milliner. "I should like to know what poor Mrs. Carteret, that's dead
and gone, but had as genteel a taste in dress as ever I knew, would
say to such a set-out as that."
"I expect, Jemima," replied Miss Harland, who had a strong dash of
spite in her composition, and felt herself aggrieved at the loss of
Mrs. Hungerford's modest custom in the article of widow's caps--"I
expect madam would not have caught Mr. Baldwin easy, if Mrs.
Carteret was alive; and gray silk and chip is good enough for her. I
wonder what she wore at her wedding, when she ran away with Mr.
Hungerford--which he was a gay chap, whatever they had to say against
him."
In these days, the avoidance of festive proceedings on the occasion of
a marriage is not unusual; but when Margaret was married, that the
bride and bridegroom should drive away from the church-door was an
almost unheard-of proceeding. Nevertheless, Mr. Baldwin and Margaret
departed after that fashion; and Lady Davyntry only returned to
Chayleigh to console Mr. Carteret, who really did not seem to need
consolation.
A few days later, as Margaret and her husband were strolling
arm-in-arm in the evening along the sea-shore of a then almost unknown
village in South Wales,--now a prosperous and consequently intolerable
"watering-place,"--Mr. Baldwin said to her--they had been talking of
some letters he had had from his steward:
"I wonder if you have any doubts in your mind about liking the Deane,
Margaret. I am longing to see you there, to watch you making
acquaintance with the place, taking your throne in your own kingdom."
"And I," she said with a smile and a wistful look in her gray eyes,
"sometimes think that when I am there I shall feel like Lady
Burleigh."