_GOODNESS PREVAILS_.
Desirous as Lady Latimer was to do Mr. Harry Musgrave a service, her
good-will towards him ended there. She perversely affected to believe
that Miss Fairfax's avowed promise to him constituted no engagement, and
on this plea put impediments in the way of her visits to Brook, lest a
handle should be given to gossip. Bessie herself was not concerned to
hinder gossip. With the exception of Lady Latimer, all her old friends
in the Forest were ready to give her their blessing. The Wileys were
more and more astonished that she should be so short-sighted, but Mr.
Phipps shook her by both hands and expressed his cordial approbation,
and Miss Buff advised her to have her own way, and let those who were
vexed please themselves again.
Bessie suffered hours of argument from my lady, who, when she found she
could prevail nothing, took refuge in a sort of scornful, compassionate
silence. These silences were, however, of brief duration. She appealed
to Mr. Carnegie, who gave her for answer that Bessie was old enough to
know her own mind, and if that leant towards Mr. Harry Musgrave, so much
the better for him; if she were a weak, impulsive girl, he would advise
delay and probation, but she was of full age and had a good sensible
head of her own; she knew Mr. Harry Musgrave's circumstances, tastes,
prejudices, and habits--what she would gain in marrying him, and what
she would resign. What more was there to say? Mr. Laurence Fairfax had
neither the power nor the will to interpose authoritatively; he made
inquiries into Mr. Harry Musgrave's university career, and talked of him
to Mr. Cecil Burleigh, who replied with magnanimity that but for the
break-down of his health he was undoubtedly one of those young men from
whose early achievement and mental force the highest successes might
have been expected in after-life. Thereupon Mr. Laurence Fairfax and his
gentle wife pitied him, and could not condemn Elizabeth.
Mrs. Carnegie considered that Bessie manifested signal prudence,
forethought, and trust in God when she proposed that her nest-egg, which
was now near a thousand pounds, should supply the means of living in
Italy for a couple of years, without reference to what might come after.
But when Elizabeth wrote to her uncle Laurence to announce what manner
of life she was preparing to enter upon, and what provision was made for
it, though he admired her courage he wrote back that it should not be so
severely tested. It was his intention to give her the portion that would
have been her father's--not so much as the old squire had destined for
her had she married as he wished (that, she knew, had gone another way),
but a competence sufficient to live on, whether at home or abroad. He
told her that one-half of her fortune ought to be settled on Mr. Harry
Musgrave, to revert to her if he died first, and he concluded by
offering himself as one of her trustees.
This generous letter made Bessie very glad, and having shown it to Lady
Latimer at breakfast, she went off with it to Brook directly after. She
found Harry in the sitting-room, turning out the contents of his old
desk. In his hand at the moment of her entrance was the white rose that
he had taken from her at Bayeux; it kept its fragrance still. She gave
him her uncle's letter to read, and when he had read it he said, "If I
did not love you so much, Bessie, this would be a burden painful to
bear."
"Then don't let us speak of it--let me bear it. I am pleased that my
uncle Laurence should be so good to us. When you meet I know you will be
friends. He is in elysium when he can get a good scholar to talk to, and
he will want you to send him all sorts of archæological intelligence
from Rome."
"I have a piece of news too--hopeful news from Christie," said Harry,
producing one of the artist's rapid scratches. "It is to tell me that he
is on the committee of a new illustrated magazine of art which is to
start at Christmas, and that he is sure I can help them with the
letter-press department while we are in Italy."
"Of course you can. And they will require a story: that sweet story of
yours has some picture bits that would be exquisite if they fell into
the hands of a sympathetic artist. Let us send it to Christie, Harry
dear."
"Very well: nothing venture, nothing have. The manuscript is with you.
Take Christie's letter for his address; you will see that he wants an
answer without loss of time. He is going to be married very shortly, and
will be out of town till November."
"I will despatch the story by to-day's post, and a few lines of what I
think of it: independent criticism is useful sometimes."
Harry looked at her, laughing and saying with a humorous deprecation,
"Bessie's independent criticism!"
Bessie blushed and laughed too, but steadfastly affirmed, "Indeed,
Harry, if I did not think it the prettiest story I ever read I would not
tell you so. Lady Latimer said it was pretty, and you cannot accuse her
of loving you too much."
"No. And that brings me to another matter. I wish you would come away
from Fairfield: come here, Bessie. In this rambling old house there is
room enough and to spare, and you shall have all the liberty you please.
I don't see you as often or for as long as I want, and the order of
things is quite reversed: I would much rather set out to walk to you
than wait and watch for your appearance."
"Had I not better go home? My little old nest under the thatch is empty,
and the boys are away."
"Come here first for a week; we have never stayed in one house together
since we were children. I want to see my dear little Bessie every hour
of the day. At Fairfield you are caged. When her ladyship puts on her
grand manner and towers she is very daunting to a poor lover."
"She has not seen you since you left London, Harry. I should like you to
meet; then I think she might forgive us," said Bessie, with a wistful
regret. Sometimes she was highly indignant with my lady, but in the
depths of her heart there was always a fund of affection, admiration,
and respect for the idol of her childish days.
The morning but one after this Bessie's anxious desire that my lady and
her dear Harry should meet was unexpectedly gratified. It was about
halfway towards noon when she was considering whether or no she could
with peace and propriety bring forward her wish to go again to Brook,
when Lady Latimer hurried down from her sanctum, which overlooked the
drive, saying, "Elizabeth, here is young Mr. Musgrave on horseback; run
and bid him come in and rest. He is giving some message to Roberts and
going away."
"Oh, please ask him yourself," said Bessie, but at the same moment she
hastened out to the door.
It was a sultry, oppressive morning, and Harry looked languid and
ill--more ill than Bessie had ever seen him look. She felt inexpressibly
shocked and pained, and he smiled as if to relieve her, while he held
out a letter that he had been on the point of entrusting to Roberts:
"From that excellent fellow, Christie. Your independent criticism has
opened his eyes to the beauties of my story, and he declares that he
shall claim the landscape bits himself."
Lady Latimer advanced with a pale, grave face, and invited the young man
to dismount. There was something of entreaty in her voice: "The
morning-room is the coolest, Elizabeth--take Mr. Musgrave there. I shall
be occupied until luncheon, but I hope you will be able to persuade him
to stay."
Bessie's lips repeated, "Stay," and Harry not unthankfully entered the
house. He dropt into a great easy-chair and put up one hand to cover his
eyes, and so continued for several minutes. Lady Latimer stood an
instant looking at him with a pitiful, scared gaze, and then, avoiding
Bessie's face, she turned and left the lovers together. Bessie laid her
hand on Harry's shoulder and spoke kindly to him: he was tired, the
atmosphere was very close and took away his strength. After a while he
recovered himself and said something about Christie's friendliness, and
perhaps if _he_ illustrated the story they should see reminiscences of
the manor-garden and of Great-Ash Ford, and other favorite spots in the
Forest. They did not talk much or eagerly at all, but Christie's
commendation of the sad pretty story of true love was a distinct
pleasure to them both, and especially to Harry. His mother had begged
him to stop at home and let the letter be sent over to Fairfield, but he
wanted the gratification of telling Bessie his news himself; and the
ride in the hot, airless weather had been too fatiguing. Bessie took up
a piece of work and sat by the window, silent, soothing. He turned his
chair to face her, and from his position he had a distant view of the
sea--a dark blue line on the horizon. He had been fond of the sea and of
boats from his first school-days at Hampton, and as he contemplated its
great remote calm a longing to be out upon it took possession of him,
which he immediately confessed to Bessie. Bessie did not think he need
long in vain for that--it was easy of accomplishment. He said yes--Ryde
was not far, and a Ryde wherry was a capital craft for sailing.
Just as he was speaking Lady Latimer came back bringing some delicious
fruit for Harry's refreshment. "What is that you are saying about Ryde?"
she inquired quickly. "I am going to Ryde for a week or two, and as I
shall take Elizabeth with me, you can come to us there, Mr. Musgrave,
and enjoy the salt breezes. It is very relaxing in the Forest at this
season."
Bessie by a glance supplicated Harry to be gracious, and in obedience to
her mute entreaty he thanked her ladyship and said it would give him the
truest pleasure. My lady had never thought of going to Ryde until that
moment, but since she had seen Harry Musgrave and had been struck by the
tragedy of his countenance, and all that was meant by his having to fall
out of the race of life so early, she was impelled by an irresistible
goodness of nature to be kind and generous to him. Robust people,
healthy, wealthy, and wise, she could let alone, but poverty, sickness,
or any manner of trouble appealed straight to her noble heart, and
brought out all her spirit of Christian fellowship. She was prompt and
thorough in doing a good action, and when she met the young people at
luncheon her arrangements for going to the island were all made, and she
announced that the next day, in the cool of the evening, they would
drive to Hampton and cross by the last boat to Ryde. This sudden and
complete revolution in her behavior was not owing to any change in
principle, but to sheer pitifulness of temper. She had not realized
before what an immense disaster and overthrow young Musgrave was
suffering, but at the sight of his pathetic visage and weakened frame,
and of Elizabeth's exquisite tenderness, she knew that such great love
must be given to him for consolation and a shield against despair. It
was quite within the scope of her imagination to depict the temptations
of a powerful and aspiring mind reduced to bondage and inaction by the
development of inherited disease: to herself it would have been of all
fates the most terrible, and thus she fancied it for him. But in Harry
Musgrave's nature there was no bitterness or fierce revolt, no angry
sarcasm against an unjust world or stinging remorse for fault of his
own. Defeat was his destiny, and he bowed to it as the old Greek heroes
bowed to the decree of the gods, and laughed sometimes at the impotence
of misfortune to fetter the free flight of his thoughts. And Elizabeth
was his angel of peace.