"For what reason did he so?"
"I could never tell. The man had some power over him; but how or in
what way, I knew not then, nor do I now. My father told me it was a
debt--a large sum which he owed him, and could not pay. I know not
whether it was that. _I hope it was_."
"You think, then, that Stebbins used some such means to force your
father's consent?"
"I am sure of it. My father told me as much. He said that by marrying
Stebbins I could save him from disgrace, and entreated, rather than
forced me to it. You know, sir, I could not ask why: he was my father.
I do think that it was _not_ his wish that I should have that man; but
something threatened him."
"Did your father know it was a false marriage?"
"No, no; I can never think so. I am sure the villain deceived him in
that, as he did me. Oh! father could never have done so! People, I
believe, thought him wicked, because he was short with them, and used
rough language. But he was not wicked. Something had crossed him; and
he drank. He was at times unhappy, and perhaps ill-tempered with the
world; but never with us. He was always kind to sister and myself--
never scolded us. Ah! no, sir; I can never think he knew that."
"He was aware that Stebbins was a Mormon--was he not?"
"I have tried to believe that he was not--though Stebbins afterwards
told me so." I well knew that he was aware of it, but said nothing.
"His saying so," continued she, "proves nothing. If father did know of
his being a Mormon, I am sure he was ignorant of the wickedness of these
people. There were stories about them; but there were others who
contradicted these stories, and said they were all scandal--so little
does the world know what is true from what is false. I learnt
afterwards that the very worst that was said of them was even less than
the truth."
"Of course, _you_ knew nothing of Stebbins being a Mormon?"
"Oh! sir, how could I? There was nothing said of that. He pretended he
was emigrating to Oregon, where a good many had gone. Had I known the
truth, I should have drowned myself rather than have gone with him!"
"After all, you would not have obeyed your father's will in the matter,
had not something else arisen. At his solicitation, you gave your
consent; but were you not influenced by the incident that had occurred
in the forest-glade?"
"Stranger! I have promised you I would conceal nothing; nor shall I.
On discovering the falsehood of him who had told me he loved me, I was
more than mad--I was revengeful. I will not deny that I felt spite. I
scarcely cared what became of me--else how could I have consented to
marry a man for whom I had neither love nor liking? On the contrary, I
might almost say that I loathed him."
"And you _loved_ the other? Speak the truth, Marian! you have promised
to do so--you loved Frank Wingrove?"
"I did."
A deep-drawn sigh followed the confession.
"Once more speak the truth--you _love him still_?"
"Oh! if he had been true--if he had been true!"
"If true, you could love him still?"
"Yes, yes!" replied she, with an earnestness not to be mistaken.
"Love him, then, Marian! love him still! Frank Wingrove is true!" I
detailed the proofs of his loyalty from beginning to end. I had learnt
every circumstance from Wingrove himself, and was able to set them forth
with all the circumstantiality of truth itself. I spoke with as much
earnestness as if I had been suing in my own cause; but I was listened
to with willing ears, and my suit was successful. I even succeeded in
explaining that _sinister kiss_, that had been the cause of so much
misfortune.