RECOMPENSE.
The next morning, at about twelve o'clock, Martin Gurwood arrived in
Pollington-terrace, and found Alice alone in the drawing-room.
'I came especially to see you,' he said, after the first greeting,
'and yet I scarcely expected to find you had left your room so early.
Yesterday was a day of severe trial to you, dear Mrs. Claxton, but you
seem to have gone through it bravely.'
'If I did,' said Alice, with a half-mournful smile, 'I think it must
have been owing to my pride. I did not know I possessed any of that
quality until there came occasion for its display. But I suffered
dreadfully from reaction during the night, and was as low and as
hysterical as my worst enemy could wish me.'
'But that feeling has passed away now?'
'O yes; with the morning light came brighter thoughts and better
sense; and when your name was announced, I was thinking seasonably
enough, as it seemed to me, of the mercy of Providence in giving me
such kind friends in the midst of my affliction.'
'I am glad to find you in this frame of mind, dear Mrs. Claxton, as I
have come to talk to you on a subject which will require your
particular attention.'
His voice faltered as he spoke, and the colour forsook her cheeks as
she listened to him.
'My particular attention,' she repeated, with a forced smile. 'It must
be something serious, then.'
'It is serious, but not, I hope, distasteful,' said Martin. 'I have
been with Mr. Statham this morning. I went to him to give him the
opportunity of speaking to me upon a matter which I knew he had most
deeply at heart, and which must sooner or later have been broached by
him.'
He looked at her keenly, watching the effect of his words. Her face
expressed great interest, but no alarm, no regret. He was glad of
that, he thought to himself.
'I was with Humphrey for an hour, and when I left him I told him I
should come straight to you. Mine is a strange errand, Alice'--it was
perhaps the first time he had addressed her by her Christian name,
and the word as spoken by him rang musically but mournfully on her
ear--'a strange errand for a confirmed old bachelor!'
Alice started at the word.
'Yes,' continued Martin, very pale, but striving hard to smile and to
command the inflexions of his voice, 'it is the old story of people
preaching what they never intend to practise. Dear Alice, Humphrey
Statham loves you, and I am here to ask you to marry him?'
Bravely done, Martin, at last! Bravely done, though you were asking
for what you knew was equivalent to your death-warrant; bravely
spoken, without a break in your voice, though her dear eyes were fixed
upon you, and you had taken into yours that little hand which you were
urging her to bestow upon another.
Alice was motionless for a moment. Then she drew back, shuddering and
crying, 'I cannot, I cannot.'
'Stay, Alice,' said Martin, in his soft soothing tone. 'Humphrey
Statham is a great and a good man, and you owe him much. You know that
I would not unnecessarily wound your feelings, dear Alice; but I must
tell you that when we first discovered who you were, it was entirely
owing to Humphrey Statham's chivalry, patience, and good sense that
matters were arranged as they were, and that you were up to yesterday
kept in ignorance of the fraud which had been practised. On you. I,
misinformed and bigoted as I was, had intended to take other steps,
but I yielded to Humphrey's calm counsel. Ever since that hour he has
watched over your best interests with the keenest sympathy. Any
comfort you have experienced is due to his fostering care and
forethought, and so late as yesterday you yourself heard him plead
your cause with eloquence, which was inspired by his affection for
you.'
He paused for a moment, and Alice spoke. 'It is not that,' she said;
'it is not that. I know all I owe to Mr. Statham; I have long since
acknowledged to myself how kind and good he has been to me. But,' she
added, with downcast eyes and flushing cheeks, 'how can I let a man
like that take me for his wife? He thinks he loves me now, and
doubtless he does. He is not the man to be led away by his feelings,
but the love of any man for me would be exposed to a worse trial than
that of time or use. Could Mr. Statham bear to know that the world was
talking of his wife, to guess what it said? Is not the world filled
with persons like Mr. Wetter, and should I not by marrying any honest
man expose him to the sneers and gibes of such a crew. I could not do
it! I would not do it!'
'There would be no question of that,' said Martin Gurwood. 'Recollect
that your story in its minutest details is known to Mr. Statham, and
that he is the last man in the world likely to act upon impulse, or
without a calm analysis of the motives that prompt him. There is no
one who can testify to this so strongly as myself, and I can declare
to you solemnly that it was made clear to both of us long since how
blameless you were, and how grievously you had been sinned against. Do
not abide by that hastily-spoken decision, Alice, I beseech you. Think
of what a noble fellow Humphrey is; recollect how true and steadfast
and triumphant has been his advocacy of your cause; recollect that he
is no longer young, and that on your reply to the question I have put
to you hangs the hope of his future life.'
Bravely spoken, Martin! The work of expiation progresses nobly now!
Alice was silent for a moment. Then she said, 'If I could think
this--'
'Think it, believe it, rely on it! Standing to you, in the relation
which was half self-assumed, half imposed upon me by the force of
circumstances; loving you, as I do, with a brotherly regard--' (his
voice faltered for an instant here; but he quickly regained its
command)--'I could not be blinded in a matter in which your future
happiness is involved, even by my affection for Humphrey Statham.
Hearing this, you need have no farther fear. See, Alice, I may go back
to Humphrey and make him happy, may I not? I may tell him, at least,
that there is hope?'
Again a pause. Then the low but clear reply:
'You may.'
'God bless you, dear, for those words!' said Martin, bending down and
touching her forehead with his lips. 'They will give new life to the
noblest fellow in the world!' Then, as he drew back, he muttered to
himself; 'It is all over now.'
'And you,' said Alice, laying her hand gently on his arm, 'you spoke of
yourself just now as a confirmed bachelor; but I have had other hopes
for you.'
'What do you mean?' he cried.
'Women's eyes are quick in such matters,' she said. 'Have you been too
absorbed to perceive that there is one by whom your every movement is
watched, your every thought anticipated? one for whose first proofs of
kindness to me I was indebted to the interest she takes in you? one
who--'
'I think you must be mistaken, my dear Alice,' said Martin coldly. 'It
has been ordained that my life is to be celibate and solitary; and
what pleasure I am to have is to be derived from the contemplation of
your happiness. So be it; I accept my fate. Now I must hasten back to
Humphrey with the good news.'
He kissed her forehead again, and left the room. As he passed down the
stairs, he saw through the open door Pauline seated at the table in
the dining-room writing. She looked up at his approach; and though he
had intended going straight out, he could not resist her implied
invitation to speak to her.
'After all, it will be better so,' he said to himself.
'I thought you would be here this morning, Monsieur Martin,' said
Pauline timidly. 'You have seen Alice, and you find her better than we
could have hoped for, do you not?'
'Yes,' said Martin, 'I certainly found her better; but it was my good
fortune to be the bearer of some news to her which I think has left
her better still.'
'The idea which had haunted her previously--was it true? had he come
to make the announcement?
'You the bearer of news?' she asked in tremulous tones.
'Yes,' he replied cheerily; 'good news for Alice, and news in which
you, dear Mrs. Durham, will consequently rejoice. There is every
reason that you, who have been so faithful to the trust reposed in
you, so stanch a friend to us all, should be the first to hear it.
Dear Alice is going to be married to Humphrey Statham.'
The tension of suspense had been so great that Pauline had scarcely
strength to express her delight.
'Yes,' said Martin, speaking slowly and with emphasis, but purposely
averting his eyes from his companion. 'It is a great blessing to me to
know that two persons whom I love so dearly will be happy. I daresay
it seems strange to other persons, and indeed it does sometimes to
myself, to think that I, who am a confirmed bachelor, and who from
very early youth determined to lead a single life, can take interest
in settling the domestic matters of my friends. But in this instance,
at least, I take the greatest interest; and I am sure that you will
have the good sense to understand and appreciate my motive.'
'You pay me a great compliment by saying so, Monsieur Martin,' said
Pauline in a low constrained voice. Then, after a little pause, she
asked, 'Have you five minutes to spare, Monsieur Martin, while I talk
to you about myself?'
'Certainly,' said Martin; 'I was on my way to Humphrey with the news.'
'It is good news, and he can wait for it five minutes. If it were bad,
it would go to him quickly enough,' said Pauline. 'I will not detain
you longer than the time I have mentioned. I told you I wanted to talk
to you about myself; and the subject is therefore not one in which I
take much pleasure, or, indeed, much interest.'
'You should not speak so bitterly,' said Martin kindly. 'There are two
or three of us whose best regard you have won and retain.'
'I did not mean to be bitter, Monsieur Martin,' said Pauline humbly. 'I
will put what I have to say in very few words. It will be obvious to
you that the time has now arrived when the manner of my life must be
again altered. Alice will find, or rather has found, a guardian better
able to watch over and protect her; and my part, so far as she is
concerned, is played out. You know all my story, Monsieur Martin, and
you know human nature sufficiently well to recognise me as a woman of
activity, and to be sure that it would be impossible for me to endure
the nullity of this English life, in which I have no place; and now
that Alice is safe, and going to be happy and respectable for ever, no
occupation. I must be kept from thought, too, Monsieur Martin; from
thinking of the past--you comprehend that.'
'Not of the immediate past,' he said gently, 'Recollect what use you
have been to us: how could we have done without you? It will be
pleasant to you to recollect the services you have rendered to this
poor girl: how by your aid, at that fearful time of trial in the house
at Hendon, we were enabled to overcome the difficulties which arose,
and which would have been too much for us, but for your quickness and
mother-wit. You will recollect how successfully you have watched over
her here, and how her health has suffered but little comparatively
from the dreaded shock under your skilful nursing and kind
companionship. It will be pleasant to recall all these things, will it
not, Pauline?'
'Yes,' said Pauline, pondering; 'but there is another portion of my
past upon which I shall not care to dwell. To prevent the thought of
that coming over me, and striking sorrow and dismay into my soul, I
must give up this dreamy easy-going existence, and take to a life of
action. I am not a strong-minded woman, Monsieur Martin; and God knows
I do not pretend to have a mission, or any nonsense of that kind.
There are not many positions for which I am fitted; some would be
beyond my moral, others beyond my physical, strength. But I must have
a career of some sort; and away in France there are various means of
honest industry for women among my compatriots such as are not to be
found here.'
'You intend to leave England, then?' asked Martin.
'Yes,' said Pauline. 'Why should I remain? As I said before, my part
here is played out. Do you think it will be long before Alice is
married?'
'I cannot say,' said Martin. 'No date has been mentioned; but if I am
consulted, I shall advise that the marriage take place as soon as
possible. There is no reason for delay; and for my own part, I am
anxious to get home again.'
'You will go back to your country parish?' asked Pauline.
'For a time, certainly,' said Martin; 'but my plans are indefinite.'
'On the day of my sister-in-law's marriage, then, when I have placed
her in her husband's hands, and thus satisfied myself that she has no
farther need of me, I shall bid her adieu, and shall go to France. And
I have a request to make to you, Mr. Gurwood, in your position as Mr.
Calverley's executor. You are aware that just before I came to reside
in his house, I placed in his hands two thousand pounds, which he was
good enough to invest for me. I shall now be glad if you will sell
those securities, and let me have the money, for which I shall have a
use about that time. Will you do so?'
'Certainly I will. But is there no chance of your altering your
decision?'
'None. You think it is a right one, do you not?'
'It is a conscientious one, no doubt; but we shall all miss you very
deeply.'
Her earnest eyes were fixed upon him as he spoke. His words were
fair, as he meant his tone to be hearty and regretful; but he was not
clever enough to hide from her his unmistakable pleasure at her
decision. She knew that he approved of her departure for Alice's sake,
and, bitterest thought of all to her, felt it a relief for his own.
There was an awkward silence for some minutes. To break it, Martin
remarked:
'You will be glad to hear that there is no danger of any farther
annoyance from Mr. Wetter. It appears that Humphrey saw him yesterday;
and after what passed between them, he is perfectly satisfied that Mr.
Wetter will not attempt any farther interference.'
'I am pleased to hear it,' said Pauline, 'but not surprised. Henrich
Wetter was always a coward; barking loudly when suffered to run at
large, but crouching and submissive directly the whip is shaken over
him. No, Alice need fear him no more.'
'One word more,' said Martin, rising from his seat; 'one last word,
Madame Du Tertre--I shall always think of you by that name, which is
very familiar and very pleasant to me--one last word before I take my
leave. Can nothing more be done for you to help you in the life which
you have chosen?'
Pauline looked at him steadily.
'Nothing,' she replied.
'Recollect that, though I am but a poor country parson, Humphrey
Statham is what may be called a rich man; and I am sure I am justified
in speaking for him, and saying that any amount of money which you
might require would be at your service.'
'Pauline shook her head.
'Money in my country, more especially in the southern provinces, where
my lot will most probably be cast, goes much farther than it does
here; and what I have of my own will enable me not merely to live,
but, as I trust, to do a certain amount of good to others. I am very
grateful all the same, M. Martin, for your generous offer.'
'My generous offer,' said Martin, 'was simply proposing to acknowledge,
in a very slight manner, the existence of a debt due to you by Alice's
friends, and which can never be repaid. We will see later on if we
cannot induce you to alter your decision.'
'Yes,' said Pauline quietly, 'we will see later on.'
Then Martin Gurwood took his leave of her, and walked back to his
hotel. It was nearly over now; he had almost completed his
self-appointed task. So well had he performed his mission, that Alice
evidently had no idea of the sacrifice he was making in yielding her
to his friend, no idea even that he had ever cared for her otherwise
than as her guardian. That was proved by the manner in which she had
hinted at her hope that he might find solace elsewhere. That was a
strange notion too! Could it merely have arisen in Alice's
imagination, or was there any real foundation for it? Had he been so
absorbed in his infatuation about Alice as to have been blind to all
else that was passing round him? He did not know; he could not say. If
it was so, he had acted rightly and honestly in the course he had
taken with Pauline. His infatuation for Alice! That was all over now:
in his intemperate youth he had greatly erred, in his forlorn middle
age was he not justly punished?
And while Martin was jostling through the crowd, Pauline sat with her
eyes fixed upon the fire, her mind filled with cognate thoughts. To
her also the end had come. What had given the relish in her early days
had long since grown distasteful to her; and the hope that had proved
the light of her later life had, after doubtful flickering, at length
been rudely extinguished; and in the hearts both of Martin and Pauline
there was the same dismal consciousness that they were justly punished
for the misdeeds of their youth, and that their expiation was
necessary and just.
Two months after the date of these occurrences, on a bright and balmy
spring morning, at a little City church hiding away somewhere between
enormous blocks of warehouses, Humphrey Statham and Alice were
married.
Brave to the last, Martin Gurwood performed the service, reading it
with a strong manly voice, and imploring the blessing of Heaven on
those concerned with unaffected fervour.
When the ceremony was ended, and the bride and bridegroom had
departed, Martin joined the one other person who had been
present--Pauline.
'Your plans for leaving are matured?' he said.
'So far matured,' she said, with a sad smile, 'that the cab with my
luggage is at the end of the street, and that when I leave this, I go
on board the steamer.'
'Indeed,' said Martin. 'Then you have taken leave of Alice?'.
'Yes; early this morning.'
'And you have told her of your plans?'
'No, indeed, for they are as yet undecided; but I have told her that I
will write and let her know them.'
'Be sure that you do,' said Martin, 'for we are all of us deeply
interested in you. I have brought you,' he added, handing her a
packet, 'your own two thousand pounds. With them you will find two
thousand pounds more--one thousand from Alice as your sister-in-law,
one thousand from Humphrey as your dead husband's old friend. They
bade me give you this with their united love, and hoped you would not
shrink from accepting it.'
Pauline's voice shook very much as she replied, 'I will accept it
certainly; I shall hope to find a good use for it.'
'Of that I have no doubt,' said Martin. They had reached the end of
the street by this time, and found the luggage-laden cab in waiting.
'Good-bye, Madame Du Tertre,' said Martin, after he had handed her
into the vehicle, 'good-bye, and God bless you.'
'Good-bye, M. Martin,' said Pauline, returning his hand-pressure, and
looking for an instant straight into his eyes, 'good-bye.' Then when
the cab had driven off, she threw up her hands and crying out
passionately, 'Adieu à jamais!' pulled her veil over her face and
burst into a flood of tears.