"You are cruel to me, Min,"--I said.--"You _know_ that I wish to speak
to you seriously, and you won't let me have a chance. You can joke and
laugh, while I'm breaking, my heart! I will leave you"--and, I walked
away from her out of the room and down the staircase--very proudly, very
defiantly, very miserably.
On my way I met, or rather encountered, our sandy friend who had spoilt
my interview. There was a heavy crush on the stairs; and so, somebody
else having shoved against me, I revenged myself on this gentleman,
giving him such a malicious dig in the ribs from my elbow as elicited a
deep sighing groan. This was some slight satisfaction to me. It
sounded exactly like the affected "Hough!" which paviours give vent to,
when wielding their mallets and ramming down the stones of the roadway!
In the hall, as I was hunting for my overcoat and hat, which had been
buried beneath an avalanche of other upper garments, Min, who had
followed me down, laid her hand timidly on my arm. She looked up in my
face entreatingly.
"You are not going yet, Frank, are you?" she asked.
"Yes," said I, curtly. "What should I stay for? Do you think I find it
so amusing to be laughed at? It is very poor fun, _I_ think!"
"But you, surely, won't go before saying good-bye to the lady of the
house, Frank?" she then said.
She evidently thought, you see, that I was going to commit an
unpardonable breach of good manners; and, that made her call me back--
nothing else!
I returned with her to the drawing-room. Min's face was quite pale now;
and, the little rosebud lips were pressed closely together, as if in set
determination. She perceived that she could not any longer put off what
she knew was coming--no matter what might have been her kindly intent in
so wishing to do.
On our entrance the band was playing the _Mabel_ waltz. How well I
remember it!
We joined in for a few turns; and, as I clasped my arm round her darling
waist, feeling her warm heart beating against mine, I longed to clasp
her so always, and waltz on for ever!
In a little while we rested; and, getting her to walk out on to the
canopied balcony through the French windows of the drawing-room, I there
said my say to her, amidst the waving ferns and showy azaleas that
surrounded us.
We had the place all to ourselves; for, as it was now early in the
morning, most of the guests had already gone:--the indefatigables who
remained were too busily engaged to mind us. They were making the most
of the last waltz, which was protracted to an indefinite length.
"Min, my darling,"--said I, after a brief pause, looking straight down
into her honest, upturned face,--"will you promise to be my wife, or
no?"
"O-oh, Frank!" she murmured, bending her head down without another word.
"Darling!"--I continued.--"You know full well that I love you; and I've
thought, dearest, that you loved me a little?"
"Hush! Do not speak so, dear Frank; you grieve me so," she said.
"Have you forgotten all the past then, Min? Don't you remember last
year, and all that happened then?"--I asked.
"I remember, Frank," she whispered, rather than spoke.
"And do you not love me still, darling?" I pleaded:--"Look up into my
face, and let me see your eyes:--_they_ won't deceive me, I know!"
But, the dear, grey eyes would not meet mine.
"Oh, Min, my darling!" I asked again, pressing her closely to my heart,
"will you not promise to be my wife? Sweet, I love you so!"
"They are looking at us, Frank,"--was her rejoinder--"let us waltz on."
We had some more turns, "Mabel" still dominant in the orchestra. O that
air! I can hear it now, as I heard it then, ringing yet in my ears--as
it will continue always to haunt me!
When we stopped again, I repeated my question once more. I was
determined to have an answer, good or bad.
"Frank," she said, hurriedly, "I cannot say anything; I have promised:--
I have promised. Pray, do not ask me!"
She spoke with great agitation. There was a tremor in her voice; and, I
could see _now_ that the soft grey eyes, which were piteously turned to
mine, were tearful and sad. I was mad, however, with love and grief, or
I could not have resisted the mute entreaty I there read--to be silent.
"Min," I went on to say, passionately, "you must now decide whether we
are to meet again, or part for ever! You know how I love you now, have
loved you ever since I first saw your darling face,--will love you until
my heart ceases to beat! But, I cannot, oh! I cannot go on like this.
The suspense is killing me:--anxiety and uncertainty are driving me mad!
Tell me, Min--dear as you are to me, I ask it for the last time--
whether you will promise to be my wife? Only give me a grain of hope,
that I may have something to look forward to; something to work for;
some object in life? At present, I have nothing; and, my existence is a
burden to me!"
"Can we not be friends still, Frank?" she asked, sadly.
"No, Min," I answered; "_I_ cannot promise any longer what I feel unable
to perform. You must be everything to me or nothing! I would lay down
my life for you, darling! Won't you give me some hope?"
"Oh, Frank! do not torture me,"--she exclaimed, in a choking voice--"I
have pledged my word, and I cannot break it."
"Better to break my heart than your mother's selfish command!" I said,
bitterly, knowing, now, how she had probably been bound down to refuse
me, should I again offer my love.
O wise, far-reaching, far-seeing Mrs Clyde!
"Do not be so unkind to me, Frank," said Min, half sobbingly, after a
little time, during which I tried to keep down my own emotion; and, I
felt a warm little tear drop on the hand in which I still clasped hers
in a lingering clasp--"I have been a friend, though, to you; have I not,
Frank?" she asked me.
"Tell me, Min," I said, making a last appeal; "do you love me--have you
ever loved me? Let me have some consolation, to comfort me!"
"I must not say anything, must not promise anything. I have given my
word to mamma. But, oh, Frank! do not be angry with me. Let us be
friends still, won't you?"
"No," said I, sternly--I wondered afterwards at my cruelty; but, I was
goaded on to desperation, and hardly knew what I was saying.--"We part
for ever now, Min! Your mother may certainly procure you a wealthier
suitor, but none who can love you as truly as I do, as I have done!
Good-bye. I dare say you will soon be happy with some one else; but,
perhaps, you will think sometimes of him whom you have discarded, whose
heart you have broken, whose life you have wrecked?--No, I do not want
you to think of me at all!" I added, passionately, at the last--and
then, I left her.
What a walk home I had, in the early dawn!
I would not take a cab, although several passed me. I wanted to be
alone in my misery; and so, I walked the whole way to Saint Canon's--
three miles if it were an inch, over a rough, newly-stoned road, too,
and in patent-leather boots with paper soles! I never thought of that,
however, nor felt the stones, notwithstanding that my boots were
entirely worn out when I reached home. I might have been walking along
on a Brussels carpet, for all that I knew to the contrary!
My thoughts were agony:--my mind, a perfect hell; and, that dreadful
_Mabel_ waltz seemed to be continually running through my brain,
tinkling the death knell of all my hopes!
The tune always recurs to me, whenever my memory goes back to the night
of that miserable evening party, with all its attendant scenes and
circumstances; and, I hate it!
Two bars of it whistled now, no matter where I heard them, or in what
company I might chance to be, would bring me mentally face to face with
my misery again!
O Min, Min!
She never knew how I loved her, or she would never have rejected me like
this!
This was my consolation--ample, wasn't it?