II

The November days glided by. The end of the month was approaching, and

still Philip Hamlyn stayed on, and was a very frequent visitor at Leet

Hall. Little doubt that Miss Monk was his attraction, and the parish

began to say so without reticence.

The parish was right. One fine, frosty morning Mr. Hamlyn sought an

interview with Captain Monk and laid before him his proposals for Eliza.

One might have thought by the tempestuous words showered down upon him

in answer that he had proposed to smother her. Reproaches, hot and fast,

were poured forth upon the suitor's unlucky head.

"Why, you are a stranger!" stormed the Captain; "you have not known her

a month! How dare you? It's not commonly decent."

Mr. Hamlyn quietly answered that he had known her long enough to love

her, and went on to say that he came of a good family, had plenty of

money, and could make a liberal settlement upon her.

"That you never will," said Captain Monk. "I should not like you for

my son-in-law," he continued candidly, calming down from his burst of

passion to the bounds of reason. "But there can be no question of it in

any way. Eliza is to become Lady Rivers."

Mr. Hamlyn opened his eyes in astonishment. "Lady Rivers!" he echoed.

"Do you speak of Sir Thomas Rivers?--that old man!"

"No, I do not, sir. Sir Thomas Rivers has one foot in the grave. I speak

of his eldest son. He wants her, and he shall have her."

"Pardon me, Captain, I--I do not think Miss Monk can know anything of

this. I am sure she did not last night. I come to you with her full

consent and approbation."

"I care nothing about that. My daughter is aware that any attempt to

oppose her will to mine would be utterly futile. Young Tom Rivers has

written to me to ask for her; I have accepted him, and I choose that she

shall accept him. She'll like it herself, too; it will be a good match."

"Young Tom Rivers is next door to a simpleton: he is not half-baked,"

retorted Mr. Hamlyn, his own temper getting up: "if I may judge by what

I've seen of him in the field."

"Tom Rivers is a favourite everywhere, let me tell you, sir. Eliza would

not refuse him for you."

"Perhaps, Captain Monk, you will converse with her upon this point?"

"I intend to give her my orders--if that's what you mean," returned the

Captain. "And now, sir, I think our discussion may terminate."

Mr. Hamlyn saw no use in prolonging it for the present. Captain Monk

bowed him out of the house and called his daughter into the room.

"Eliza," he began, scorning to beat about the bush, "I have received an

offer of marriage for you."

Miss Eliza blushed a little, not much: few things could make her do that

now. Once our blushes have been wasted, as hers were on Robert Grame,

their vivid freshness has faded for ever and aye. "The song has left the

bird."

"And I have accepted it," continued Captain Monk. "He would like the

wedding to be early in the year, so you may get your rattle-traps in

order for it. Tell your aunt I will give her a blank cheque for the

cost, and she may fill it in."

"Thank you, papa."

"There's the letter; you can read it"--pushing one across the table to

her. "It came by special messenger last night, and I have sent my answer

this morning."

Eliza Monk glanced at the contents, which were written on rose-coloured

paper. For a moment she looked puzzled.

"Why, papa, this is from Tom Rivers! You cannot suppose I would marry

_him_! A silly boy, younger than I am! Tom Rivers is the greatest goose

I know."

"How dare you say so, Eliza?"

"Well, he is. Look at his note! Pink paper and a fancy edge!"

"Stuff! Rivers is young and inexperienced, but he'll grow older--he is a

very nice young fellow, and a capital fox-hunter. You'd be master and

mistress too--and that would suit your book, I take it. I want to have

you settled near me, Eliza--you are all I have left, or soon will be."

"But, papa----"

Captain Monk raised his hand for silence.

"You sent that man Hamlyn to me with a proposal for you. Eliza; you

_know_ that would not do. Hamlyn's property lies in the West Indies, his

home too, for all I know. He attempted to tell me that he would not take

you out there against my consent; but I know better, and what such

ante-nuptial promises are worth. It might end in your living there."

"No, no."

"What do you say 'no, no' for, like a parrot? Circumstances might compel

you. I do not like the man, besides."

"But why, papa?"

"I don't know; I have never liked him from the first. There! that's

enough. You must be my Lady Rivers. Poor old Tom is on his last legs."

"Papa, I never will be."

"Listen, Eliza. I had one trouble with Katherine; I will not have

another with you. She defied me; she left my home rebelliously to enter

upon one of her own setting-up: what came of it? Did luck attend her? Do

you be more wise."

"Father," she said, moving a step forward with head uplifted; and the

resolute, haughty look which rendered their faces so much alike was very

conspicuous on hers, "do not let us oppose each other. Perhaps we can

each give way a little? I have promised to be the wife of Philip Hamlyn,

and that promise I will fulfil. You wish me to live near you: well, he

can take a place in this neighbourhood and settle down in it; and on my

part, I will promise you not to leave this country. He may have to go

from time to time to the West Indies; I will remain at home."

Captain Monk looked steadily at her before he answered. He marked the

stern, uncompromising expression, the strong will in the dark eyes

and in every feature, which no power, not even his, might unbend. He

thought of his elder daughter, now lying in her grave; he thought of his

son, so soon to be lying beside her; he did not care to be bereft of

_all_ his children, and for once in his hard life he attempted to

conciliate.

"Hark to me, Eliza. Give up Hamlyn--I have said I don't like the man;

give up Tom Rivers also, as you will. Remain at home with me until a

better suitor shall present himself, and Leet Hall and its broad lands

shall be yours."

She looked up in surprise. Leet Hall had always hitherto gone in the

male line; and, failing Hubert, it would be, or ought to be, Harry

Carradyne's. Though she knew not that any steps had already been taken

in that direction.

"Leet Hall?" she exclaimed.

"Leet Hall and its broad lands," repeated the Captain impatiently. "Give

up Mr. Hamlyn and it shall all be yours."

She remained for some moments in deep thought, her head bent, revolving

the offer. She was fond of pomp and power, as her father had ever been,

and the temptation to rule as sole domineering mistress in her

girlhood's home was great. But at that very instant the tall fine form

of Philip Hamlyn passed across a pathway in the distance, and she turned

from the temptation for ever. What little capability of loving had been

left to her after the advent of Robert Grame was given to Mr. Hamlyn.

"I cannot give him up," she said in low tones.

"What moonshine, Eliza! You are not a love-sick girl now."

The colour dyed her face painfully. Did her father suspect aught of the

past; of where her love _had_ been given--and rejected? The suspicion

only added fuel to the fire.

"I cannot give up Mr. Hamlyn," she reiterated.

"Then you will never inherit Leet Hall. No, nor aught else of mine."

"As you please, sir, about that."

"You set me at defiance, then!"

"I don't wish to do so, father; but I shall marry Mr. Hamlyn."

"At defiance," repeated the Captain, as she moved to escape from his

presence; "Katherine secretly, you openly. Better that I had never had

children. Look here, Eliza: let this matter remain in abeyance for six

or twelve months, things resting as they are. By that time you may have

come to your senses; or I (yes, I see you are ready to retort it) to

mine. If not--well, we shall only then be where we are."

"And that we should be," returned Eliza, doggedly. "Time will never

change either of us."

"But events may. Let it be so, child. Stay where you are for the

present, in your maiden home."

She shook her head in denial; not a line of her proud face giving way,

nor a curve of her decisive lips: and Captain Monk knew that he had

pleaded in vain. She would neither give up her marriage nor prolong the

period for its celebration.

What could be the secret of her obstinacy? Chiefly the impossibility of

tolerating opposition to her own indomitable will. It was her father's

will over again; his might be a very little softening with years and

trouble; not much. Had she been in desperate love with Hamlyn one could

have understood it, but she was not; at most it was but a passing fancy.

What says the poet? I daresay you all know the lines, and I know I have

quoted them times and again, they are so true:

"Few hearts have never loved, but fewer still

Have felt a second passion. _None_ a third.

The first was living fire; the next a thrill;

The weary heart can never more be stirred:

Rely on it the song has left the bird."

Very, very true. Her passion for Robert Grame had been as living fire in

its wild intensity; it was but the shadow of a thrill that warmed her

heart for Philip Hamlyn. Possibly she mistook it in a degree; thought

more of it than it was. The feeling of gratification which arises from

flattered vanity deceives a woman's heart sometimes: and Mr. Hamlyn did

not conceal his rapturous admiration of her.

She held to her defiant course, and her father held to his. He did not

continue to say she should not marry; he had no power for that--and

perhaps he did not want her to make a moonlight escapade of it, as

Katherine had made. So the preparation for the wedding went on, Eliza

herself paying for the rattletraps, as they had been called; Captain

Monk avowed that he "washed his hands of it," and then held his peace.

Whether Mr. Hamlyn and his intended bride considered it best to get the

wedding over and done with, lest adverse fate, set afoot by the Captain,

should after all circumvent them, it is impossible to say, but the day

fixed was a speedy one. And if Captain Monk had deemed it "not decent"

in Mr. Hamlyn to propose for a young lady after only a month's

knowledge, what did he think of this? They were to be married on the

last day of the year.

Was it fixed upon in defiant mockery?--for, as the reader knows, it

had proved an ominous day more than once in the Monk family. But no,

defiance had no hand in that, simply adverse fate. The day originally

fixed by the happy couple was Christmas Eve: but Mr. Hamlyn, who had to

go to London about that time on business connected with his property,

found it impossible to get back for the day, or for some days after it.

He wrote to Eliza, asking that the day should be put off for a week, if

it made no essential difference, and fixed the last day in the year.

Eliza wrote word back that she would prefer that day; it gave more time

for preparation.

They were to be married in her own church, and by its Vicar. Great

marvel existed at the Captain's permitting this, but he said nothing.

Having washed his hands of the affair, he washed them for good: had the

bride been one of the laundry-maids in his household he could not have

taken less notice. A Miss Wilson was coming from a little distance to be

bridesmaid; and the bride and bridegroom would go off from the church

door. The question of a breakfast was never mooted: Captain Monk's

equable indifference might not have stood that.

"I shall wish them good luck with all my heart--but I don't feel

altogether sure they'll have it!" bewailed poor Mrs. Carradyne in

private. "Eliza should have agreed to the delay proposed by her father."