MR. GILMORE'S SUCCESS.
Harry Gilmore, the prosperous country gentleman, the county
magistrate, the man of acres, the nephew of Mr. Chamberlaine,
respected by all who knew him,--with the single exception of the
Marquis of Trowbridge,--was now so much reduced that he felt himself
to be an inferior being to Mr. Cockey, with whom he breakfasted. He
had come to Loring, and now he was there he did not know what to do
with himself. He had come there, in truth, not because he really
thought he could do any good, but driven out of his home by sheer
misery. He was a man altogether upset, and verging on to a species of
insanity. He was so uneasy in his mind that he could read nothing.
He was half-ashamed of being looked at by those who knew him; and
had felt some relief in the society of Mr. Cockey till Mr. Cockey
had become jovial with wine, simply because Mr. Cockey was so poor a
creature that he felt no fear of him. But as he had come to Loring,
it was necessary that he should do something. He could not come to
Loring and go back again without saying a word to anybody. Fenwick
would ask him questions, and the truth would come out. There came
upon him this morning an idea that he would not go back home;--that
he would leave Loring and go away without giving any reason to any
one. He was his own master. No one would be injured by anything
that he might do. He had a right to spend his income as he pleased.
Everything was distasteful that reminded him of Bullhampton. But
still he knew that this was no more than a madman's idea;--that it
would ill become him so to act. He had duties to perform, and he must
perform them, let them be ever so distasteful. It was only an idea,
made to be rejected; but, nevertheless, he thought of it.
To do something, however, was incumbent on him. After breakfast he
sauntered up the hill and saw Captain Marrable enter the house in
which Mary Lowther lived. He felt thoroughly ashamed of himself
in thus creeping about, and spying things out,--and, in truth, he
had not intended thus to watch his rival. He wandered into the
churchyard, sat there sometime on the tombstones, and then again went
down to the inn. Mr. Cockey was going to Gloucester by an afternoon
train, and invited him to join an early dinner at two. He assented,
though by this time he had come to hate Mr. Cockey. Mr. Cockey
assumed an air of superiority, and gave his opinions about matters
political and social as though his companion were considerably below
him in intelligence and general information. He dictated to poor
Gilmore, and laid down the law as to eating onions with beefsteaks
in a manner that was quite offensive. Nevertheless, the unfortunate
man bore with his tormentor, and felt desolate when he was left
alone in the commercial room, Cockey having gone out to complete
his last round of visits to his customers. "Orders first and money
afterwards," Cockey had said, and Cockey had now gone out to look
after his money.
Gilmore sat for some half-hour helpless over the fire; and then
starting up, snatched his hat, and hurried out of the house. He
walked as quickly as he could up the hill, and rang the bell at Miss
Marrable's house. Had he been there ten minutes sooner, he would have
seen Mary Lowther tripping down the side path to meet her lover. He
rang the bell, and in a few minutes found himself in Miss Marrable's
drawing-room. He had asked for Miss Marrable, had given his name, and
had been shown upstairs. There he remained alone for a few minutes
which seemed to him to be interminable. During these minutes Miss
Marrable was standing in her little parlour downstairs, trying to
think what she would say to Mr. Gilmore,--trying also to think why
Mr. Gilmore should have come to Loring.
After a few words of greeting Miss Marrable said that Miss Lowther
was out walking. "She will be very glad, I'm sure, to hear good news
from her friends at Bullhampton."
"They're all very well," said Mr. Gilmore.
"I've heard a great deal of Mr. Fenwick," said Miss Marrable; "so
much that I seem almost to be acquainted with him."
"No doubt," said Mr. Gilmore.
"Your parish has become painfully known to the public by that
horrible murder," said Miss Marrable.
"Yes, indeed," said Mr. Gilmore.
"I fear that they will hardly catch the perpetrator of it," said Miss
Marrable.
"I fear not," said Mr. Gilmore.
At this period of the conversation Miss Marrable found herself in
great difficulty. If anything was to be said about Mary Lowther, she
could not begin to say it. She had heard a great deal in favour of
Mr. Gilmore. Mrs. Fenwick had written to her about the man; and Mary,
though she would not love him, had always spoken very highly of his
qualities. She knew well that he had gone through Oxford with credit,
that he was a reading man,--so reputed, that he was a magistrate, and
in all respects a gentleman. Indeed, she had formed an idea of him as
quite a pearl among men. Now that she saw him, she could not repress
a feeling of disappointment. He was badly dressed, and bore a sad,
depressed, downtrodden aspect. His whole appearance was what the
world now calls seedy. And he seemed to be almost unable to speak.
Miss Marrable knew that Mr. Gilmore was a man disappointed in his
love, but she did not conceive that love had done him all these
injuries. Love, however, had done them all. "Are you going to stay
long in this neighbourhood?" asked Miss Marrable, almost in despair
for a subject.
Then the man's mouth was opened. "No; I suppose not," he said. "I
don't know what should keep me here, and I hardly know why I'm come.
Of course you have heard of my suit to your niece." Miss Marrable
bowed her courtly little head in token of assent. "When Miss Lowther
left us, she gave me some hope that I might be successful. At least,
she consented that I should ask her once more. She has now written to
tell me that she is engaged to her cousin."
"There is something of the kind," said Miss Marrable.
"Something of the kind! I suppose it is settled; isn't it?"
Miss Marrable was a sensible woman, one not easily led away by
appearances. Nevertheless, it is probable that had Mr. Gilmore been
less lugubrious, more sleek, less "seedy," she would have been more
prone than she now was to have made instant use of Captain Marrable's
loss of fortune on behalf of this other suitor. She would immediately
have felt that perhaps something might be done, and she would have
been tempted to tell him the whole story openly. As it was she could
not so sympathise with the man before her, as to take him into her
confidence. No doubt he was Mr. Gilmore, the favoured friend of the
Fenwicks, the owner of the Privets, and the man of whom Mary had
often said that there was no fault to be found with him. But there
was nothing bright about him, and she did not know how to encourage
him as a lover. "As Mary has told you," she said, "I suppose there
can be no harm in my repeating that they are engaged," said Miss
Marrable.
"Of course they are. I am aware of that. I believe the gentleman is
related to you."
"He is a cousin,--not very near."
"And I suppose he has your good will?"
"As to that, Mr. Gilmore, I don't know that I can do any good by
speaking. Young ladies in these days don't marry in accordance with
the wishes of their old aunts."
"But Miss Lowther thinks so much of you! I don't want to ask any
questions that ought not to be asked. If this match is so settled
that it must go on, why there's an end of it. I'll just tell you the
truth openly, Miss Marrable. I have loved,--I do love your niece with
all my heart. When I received her letter it upset me altogether, and
every hour since has made the feeling worse. I have come here just
to learn whether there may still possibly be a chance. You will not
quarrel with me because I have loved her so well?"
"Indeed no," said Miss Marrable, whose heart was gradually becoming
soft, and who was learning to forget the mud on Mr. Gilmore's boots
and trousers.
"I heard that Captain Marrable was,--at any rate, not a very rich
man; that he could hardly afford to marry his cousin. I did hear,
also, that the match might in other respects not be suitable."
"There is no other objection, Mr. Gilmore."
"It is the case, Miss Marrable, that these things sometimes come
on suddenly and go off suddenly. I won't deny that if I could
have gained Miss Lowther's heart without the interference of any
interloper, it would have been to me a brighter joy than anything
that can now be possible. A man cannot be proud of his position who
seeks to win a woman who owns a preference for another man." Miss
Marrable's heart had now become very soft, and she began to perceive,
of her own knowledge, that Mr. Gilmore was at any rate a gentleman.
"But I would take her in any way that I could get her. Perhaps--that
is to say, it might be--" And then he stopped.
Should she tell him everything? She had a strong idea that it was her
first duty to be true to her own sex and to her own niece. But were
she to tell the man the whole story it would do her niece no harm.
She still believed that the match with Captain Marrable must be
broken off. Even were this done it would be very long, she thought,
before Mary would bring herself to listen with patience to another
suitor. But of course it would be best for them all that this episode
in Mary's life should be forgotten and put out of sight as soon as
possible. Had not this dangerous captain come up, Mary, no doubt,--so
thought Miss Marrable,--would at last have complied with her friends'
advice, and have accepted a marriage which was in all respects
advantageous. If the episode could only get itself forgotten and put
out of sight, she might do so still. But there must be delay. Miss
Marrable, after waiting for half a minute to consider, determined
that she would tell him something. "No doubt," she said, "Captain
Marrable's income is so small that the match is one that Mary's
friends cannot approve."
"I don't think much of money," he said.
"Still it is essential to comfort, Mr. Gilmore."
"What I mean to say is, that I am the last man in the world to insist
upon that kind of thing, or to appear to triumph because my income is
larger than another man's." Miss Marrable was now quite sure that Mr.
Gilmore was a gentleman. "But if the match is to be broken off--"
"I cannot say that it will be broken off."
"But it may be?"
"Certainly it is possible. There are difficulties which may
necessarily separate them."
"If it be so, my feelings will be the same as they have always been
since I first knew her. That is all that I have got to say."
Then she told him pretty nearly everything. She said nothing of the
money which Walter Marrable would have inherited had it not been for
Colonel Marrable's iniquity; but she did tell him that the young
people would have no income except the Captain's pay, and poor Mary's
little fifty pounds a-year; and she went on to explain that, as
far as she was concerned, and as far as her cousin the clergyman
was concerned, everything would be done to prevent a marriage so
disastrous as that in question, and the prospect of a life with so
little of allurement as that of the wife of a poor soldier in India.
At the same time she bade him remember that Mary Lowther was a girl
very apt to follow her own judgment, and that she was for the present
absolutely devoted to her cousin. "I think it will be broken off,"
she said. "That is my opinion. I don't think it can go on. But it is
he that will do it; and for a time she will suffer greatly."
"Then I will wait," said Mr. Gilmore. "I will go home, and wait
again. If there be a chance, I can live and hope."
"God grant that you may not hope in vain!"
"I would do my best to make her happy. I will leave you now, and am
very thankful for your kindness. There would be no good in my seeing
Mary?"
"I think not, Mr. Gilmore."
"I suppose not. She would only feel that I was teasing her. You will
not tell her of my being here, I suppose?"
"It would do no good, I think."
"None in the least. I'll just go home and wait. If there should be
anything to tell me--"
"If the match be broken off, I will take care that you shall hear it.
I will write to Janet Fenwick. I know that she is your friend."
Then Mr. Gilmore left the house, descended the hill without seeing
Mary, packed up his things, and returned by the night train to
Westbury. At seven o'clock in the morning he reached home in a
Westbury gig, very cold, but upon the whole, a much more comfortable
man than when he had left it. He had almost brought himself to think
that even yet he would succeed at last.