"`Yet what is love, good shepherd, sayn?'
`It is a sunshine mixt with rain.'"
Sir Walter Raleigh.
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Places like Underham offer peculiar attractions to maiden ladies, who
find in them equal protection from the solitude of the country and
relief from the somewhat dreary desolateness of a great town. It might
have been an old friendship for Mrs Miles which first brought Miss
Philippa Lee into the neighbourhood, but she firmly resisted all
attempts to decoy her nearer to Thorpe. She took a small house not far
from the Featherlys, and there devoted herself to the care of her orphan
nephew with that pathetic self-renunciation which we see in not a few
women's lives. She pinched herself to send him to a public school, and
would gladly have supported him at college, but even had this been
practicable for such straitened means, there were circumstances which
prevented more than a secret sighing on her part. Marmaduke had, on his
mother's side, a great-uncle who was the one rich man in a poor family,
and who if not actually childless was so by his own assertion to all
intents and purposes, his daughter having mortally offended him by a
marriage against his will. She was the Margaret Hare of whom we have
heard Mr Mannering speak, for it was not until after her marriage that
her father, upon an access of fortune, changed his name to "Tregennas,"
and a little later, perhaps in a fit of desolation, took for his second
wife and made miserable until her death an aunt of Mr Miles, the Vicar
of Thorpe. The connection, although scarcely deserving of the name, was
sufficient to form an additional link between the families, and
Marmaduke read with the Vicar, and won Marion's love while they were
little more than girl or boy.
To Mr Tregennas--who, it must be allowed, took a certain interest in
his great-nephew, if interest is proved by occasional gifts of
sovereigns and somewhat arbitrary advice on the subject of his
education--Marmaduke meanwhile looked as the maker of his fortunes. He
was careful from the first to withhold Miss Philippa from contradicting
him, as, to tell the truth, she was not disinclined to do. Odd little
shoots of jealousy crop up even in the most loving. Add to this that
Mr Tregennas strongly opposed her favourite college scheme, and it will
not be surprising that more than once Miss Philippa would very
willingly, as she expressed it, have put her foot to the ground, if only
Marmaduke had not knocked that very ground from under her, by adopting
his uncle's views. And he was possessed of a certain languid self-will
with which he invariably carried his point, even at the time when he
appeared to yield, so that people were sometimes puzzled to reconcile
cause and effect. Nevertheless, it was no doubt a severe disappointment
when Mr Tregennas, instead of assisting him to enter a profession,
advised his seeking employment in one of the great manufacturing firms
of the north, and indeed actually applied to the heads before he had
received an answer to his suggestion. Whether his will was the
strongest, or his nephew's philosophy overcame dislike, his plan was
carried out, and Marmaduke had been for two years engaged in the most
distasteful occupation that could have been provided for him. It was,
perhaps, this very sense of ill-usage which rooted the more firmly his
belief that he was to be his uncle's heir. A grievance quickly excites
the idea of compensation, and Marmaduke welded the two together so
persistently that the one stood on nearly the same level as the other.
The force, however, which prevented his throwing up his work had never
proved sufficient to conquer his repugnance towards it, and the fact of
feeling himself a victim, while it seemed to give him a right to feed
upon future hopes, made it also a duty to seek alleviations in the
present; so that a trifling vexation, or other change of mood, not
infrequently brought about a flying visit to Thorpe and a drain upon
Miss Lee's slender resources.
He had told Marion at the dinner-party that he must see her alone the
next day, and, accordingly, when he walked to the Vicarage, at a time
when Mr Miles and John were likely to be absent, Marion was waiting
eagerly for him. Mrs Miles, who was in the room, was made more uneasy
by his increasing thinness than by her daughter's determination to go
out with him, for although no open engagement existed between the two,
it was one of those events which might be expected to fell into shape at
some future time, and which, if it were connected with Marion's will, it
was hopeless for her mother to resist, even had she been disinclined
towards it. But Marmaduke had a gentle ease of manner pleasant to those
with whom he was thrown into contact, and Mrs Miles really loved and
pitied him, and was grieved at his looks.
"Does your Aunt Philippa give you porter jelly, Marmaduke?" she asked
anxiously. "I wish she would. I am sure it is the very best thing.
Sarah shall heat some beef-tea for you in a moment, if you will only
take it."
"Nothing will do me good while I have to work in that hole," said
Marmaduke, with a dreary intonation in his voice. "Life is simply
existence. And to think that I have had two years of it already!"
Marion, who had looked at him as he spoke, did not say a word until they
were out of the house, and in the deep lane, fresh with a cool beauty of
water and shining cresses. Then, as they walked on, Sniff paddling
beside them, she asked quietly,--"Is anything the matter?"
There was noticeable in her manner to him--at all times--a difference
from her usual fashion of speaking. The abruptness, something even of
the brightness, was gone, and in its place seemed to have grown a soft
care, a tenderness almost like protection. And at this moment their
natures might have been transposed, for Marmaduke turned upon her with
an impetuosity unlike himself.
"Anything! I tell you, Marion, that what I go through is unendurable.
You might know better than to ask such a question as that."
"But why--what is it?" she persisted, with a vague trouble lest
something more than she had heard was to be unfolded to her. Her
loyalty to Marmaduke made her always ready to feed his self-pity, but
she was afraid that he had taken some rash step.
"What good can a man do with work that he loathes?"
"You must remember to what the work will lead," she said, relieved.
"When?--how? It is absolute folly to dream that matters going on as
they are going now can ever lead to anything satisfactory. How much do
you suppose that I can squeeze out of a paltry hundred and fifty a year?
Even Anthony acknowledges it to be absurd, and Anthony is Utopian
enough to believe that everything grows out of nothing. That may do
very well for him, who will never need to prove it," added Marmaduke,
bitterly.
They were both leaning against a stile, and looking towards the cloudy
distance of the moors. Marion slipped her hand softly into his.
"Surely we all heard when you went there that it would bring better
things in a few years?"
"You talk of years as if they were days," he said in the same tone.
"Nobody denies it. When I have drudged at that disgustingly low
business for half a dozen years, I shall probably be fifty pounds a year
better off than I am now, and by the time we are both too old to take
pleasure in life we shall be able to marry, and this seems to content
you perfectly."
Marion caught away her hand with a sudden movement. It made him turn to
look at her, and the hurt anger in her eyes brought back his usual
gentleness of manner at once. He was desirous to bind all her feelings
on his side, and he knew her well enough to be aware that his shortest
means of doing this was to revert to the wretchedness of his position.
"Forgive me, dearest," he said; "you don't know what a poor wretch a man
becomes when he grinds along in one eternal round of small miseries. It
is such a horrible separation from you all. And what is the good of
being old Tregennas's heir, if he can't put his hand into his pocket and
let me live like a gentleman?"
"He promised that, did he not, Marmaduke?"
"It depends upon what you call promising. He is not the man to say out
honestly, `Marmaduke Lee, you're my heir, and I'll give you a fit
allowance till you come into the property.' If he had, I should not be
as I am. But he said quite enough. Of course I am his heir. There
isn't a Jew in the country but would lend me a few thousands on the
chance. Of course I am his heir. I wish you would make your father
understand, and then he might allow us to consider ourselves engaged; at
present it's like dropping a poor wretch into a pit, and blocking up his
one glimpse of blue sky. I tell you, Marion, again, I cannot endure
this state of things any longer. I've not got it in me to toil on in
that dirty hole without so much as an atom of hope to cheer one."
They were both silent for an instant, and then Marion cried out
passionately, "Toil! I would toil day and night for the joy of earning
a sixpence which I could lay aside and say, `This is ours.'" There was
such a swift leaping out of the love of her heart in word and eyes, that
it seemed fire which must needs kindle whatever it touched, if only for
a moment. But no answering glow passed across his pale face. He looked
away again as if what she said had not any relation to his thoughts, and
she presently continued more timidly. "Surely it would be the height of
imprudence to give up your work? And you know that if you did so my
father would be less than ever likely to consent to our engagement, than
now when you are at least on the road to independence."
"I can't go on as I am," he said, a little doggedly. "Mr Miles must
give me something to hold by, or I shall throw up the whole concern. I
have nearly done so a dozen times already."
"Is there no way of influencing Mr Tregennas?" asked Marion, after a
minute's troubled thought.
"That's what I wanted to speak to you about. As I said before, it isn't
fair that he should leave me in such a position. It's not as if I
should have to work for my bread all the days of my life, like some poor
devils. By and by I shall step into as pretty a place as you'll find
anywhere, and why I should have to do compensation now by sitting on a
high stool and addling my brain over ledgers is more than I can see. If
he'd only say something definite one would know what one had to go upon.
But--"
"But what?"
"O, you must understand, Marion, that I can't very well go to him and
say this sort of thing!"
"Why not?"
"Why not? Well, women are queer about such matters, but I should think
you might guess it's not the way to make yourself agreeable to an old
fellow who has you in his power."
"It is only justice," said Marion, whose cheek had flushed under the
presence of an absorbing pity for Marmaduke which swept her away like a
flood. "I wish I could tell him what I think."
"You can do something better," said Marmaduke, seeing she had reached
the point to which he had been leading.
"What? Only tell me."
"Get your father to interfere."
She shook her head, moving her hands nervously. "You know he will not.
He is so scrupulous about such matters. Over and over again I have
heard him say he would never ask a favour of his uncle."
"A favour! But I am not demanding an allowance of a thousand a year.
All I want to know is how I stand. And if Mr Miles sees in black and
white that I am his heir, he will no longer object to an engagement. I
tell you plainly, I can't work unless I see some end before me.
Besides, one must go step by step, and if he would acknowledge my
position straightforwardly, by and by other things would follow. No one
is so well entitled to ask as your father. Marion, you don't want to
keep me in this misery?"
She was at no time insensible to these appeals, and perhaps less than
ever on such a morning as this, when things about her were shining,
dancing, singing in a burst of happy life, could she endure any weight
of gloom for the man she loved best in the world. To some of us every
echo of a happiness which does not at the same time fill our own souls
with its music seems only discord. We cry out against it with voices
that clash and jar and sadden themselves with the dissonance, when if we
would be but content to listen in patience, some tender vibrations of an
eternal harmony should reach us from afar, and satisfy us with their
beauty. To Marion it was a positive wrong that the skylark high in the
air was singing joyously; that the fresh breeze stirred into brightness
the little stream which ran along the meadows; that the sound of the
scythe and the chatter of the hay-making folk rose now and then with
cheerful distinctness above lesser summer sounds; that Sniff was yelping
with delight after the birds he was vainly chasing. Marion told him
sharply to be quiet, but he only stopped for a moment, and looked at her
with his head on one side at an angle of consideration, before he was
off again, his little red tongue hanging out, his brown eyes on fire
with excitement. Marmaduke, who was leaning moodily against the gate,
waiting for Marion to speak, said at last,--
"Anthony is a lucky dog, with the world before him, and no one to please
but himself. But I don't know that such sharp contrasts are the most
encouraging reflections in the world."
The languor and depression of his voice pierced the girl's heart like a
thorn. She exclaimed impetuously,--
"Something must be done,--my father shall write,--nothing can be so bad
as that you should suffer in this way."
She put out her hand again, and he took it in his, and began to thank
her in the gently caressing tones which fell easily from his lips. Her
resolution, indeed, carried a greater relief to him than seemed to be
contained in it. It was not only that he wanted to escape from the
irksomeness of his duly toil, and believed the acknowledgment of his
position the first step towards it, but he was also fretted by a wearing
anxiety lest the position might never be his, and the very assumption of
a certain claim on his part by Mr Miles might have a good effect, and
remove a vague uneasiness, for which he could not account, of Anthony as
a possible rival. Poor Marion thought it to be love for her which urged
him; but although he did love her after a fashion, she was only one of
the pleasant things he wanted to sweep into his net. He was full of
satisfaction at the promise she had given.
"Who are these--by the watercourse?" he said. "One of them looks like
Anthony."
"And the other is Mr Chester," said Marion, abstractedly. "Come."
"Yes, it is the Squire. I can see his red face, and that little
flourish of his stick which he gives when he is angry. They see us by
this time, and we may as well hear the battle-royal, if there is one.
Listen."
Mr Chester's loud voice came up well before him.
"I tell you, sir, I tell you your father will live to see you a carping
radical yet. When a young fellow gets this sort of notions into his
head, we all know what'll be the end of it. Everything respectable goes
out by the heels, and he makes a fool of himself over balloting and
universal suffrage, and a heap of rascally French republicanisms. How
d'ye do, Marion, how d'ye do? Glad to see you, Marmaduke. Hope you're
not infected with any of this modern rubbish?"
"No, sir, I'm a Conservative. A Liberal-Conservative," added the young
man under his breath, not expecting to be heard. But the Squire's quick
ears caught the word.
"Don't be half anything. There's nothing I think so poorly of as a man
that can't make up his mind. He says this on one side and that on
another, till he knows no more than a teetotum where his spinning will
lead him. I should have twice the opinion of Anthony if he could say
straight out what he means, instead of calling himself one thing and
talking himself into another." There was a good deal of truth in the
Squire's accusation, and the clash was not one for which he had any
sympathy. Anthony himself was too young not to be sore upon the charge
of inconsistency. He said hotly,--
"Really, sir, I don't know what hedges and draining have to do with the
ballot. I have not been the one to say anything about it."
"I'm only showing what these ideas lead to," said Mr Chester, enjoying
his adversary's irritation. "I'm content to take my land as it came to
me. That's good theology, ain't it, Marion? By the way, I forgot to
tell you that young Frank Orde comes to-morrow. Come up to dinner, all
of you, will you? I dare say he's as bad as the rest, but you'll not
make me believe my father hadn't as good common-sense as the young
fellows that find fault with his farming."
Sometimes, by talking loudly enough, a man becomes impressed with so
confident a sense of triumph, that the sound of his own voice is like
the salvo of guns over a victory. It was so now with the Squire, who
remained in high good-humour during the rest of the walk, and gave
Anthony to understand that he looked upon him as crushed and annihilated
by an overwhelming weight of argument.