FOUR MONTHS HENCE.
Hinton had gone away the day before rather disturbed by Charlotte's
manner. He had found her, for the first time since their betrothal, in
trouble. Wishing to comfort, she had repelled him. He was a strong man,
as strong in his own way as Charlotte was in hers, and this power of
standing alone scarcely pleased him in her. His was the kind of nature
which would be supposed to take for its other half one soft and
clinging. Contrary to the established rule, however, he had won this
proud and stately Charlotte. She thought him perfection: he was anything
but that. But he had good points, there was nothing mean or base about
him. There were no secrets hidden away in his life. His was an honorable
and manly nature. But he had one little fault, running like a canker
through the otherwise healthy fruit of his heart. While Charlotte was
frank and open as the day, he was reserved; not only reserved, but
suspicious. All the men who knew Hinton said what a capital lawyer he
would make; he had all the qualities necessary to insure success in his
profession. Above all things in the world secrets oppressed, irritated,
and yet interested him. Once having heard of any little possible
mystery, he could not rest until it was solved.
This had been his character from a boy. His own brothers and sisters had
confided in him, not because they found him particularly sympathetic, or
particularly clever, not because they loved him so much, but simply
because they could not help themselves. John would have found out all
the small childish matter without their aid; it was better, safer to
take him into confidence. Then, to do him justice, he was true as steel;
for though he must discover, he would scorn to betray.
On the white, untroubled sheet of Charlotte Harmon's heart no secrets
yet had been written. Consequently, though she had been engaged for many
months to John Hinton, she had never found out this peculiarity about
him. Those qualities of openness and frankness, so impossible to his own
nature, had attracted him most of all to this beautiful young woman.
Never until yesterday had there been breath or thought of concealment
about her. But then--then he had found her in trouble. Full of sympathy
he had drawn near to comfort, and she had repelled him. She had heard of
something which troubled her, which troubled her to such an extent that
the very expression of her bright face had changed, and yet this
something was to be a secret from him--true, only until the following
day, but a whole twenty-four hours seemed like for ever to Hinton in his
impatience. Before he could even expostulate with her she had run off,
doubtless to confide her care to another. Perhaps the best way to
express John Hinton's feelings would be to say that he was very cross as
he returned to his chambers in Lincoln's Inn.
All that evening, through his dreams all that night, all the following
morning as he tried to engage himself over his law books, he pondered on
Charlotte's secret. Such pondering must in a nature like his excite
apprehension. He arrived on the next day at the house in Prince's Gate
with his mind full of gloomy forebodings. His face was so grave that it
scarcely cleared up at the sight of the bright one raised to meet it. He
was full of the secret of yesterday; Charlotte, in all the joy of the
secret of to-day, had already forgotten it.
"Oh, I have had such a walk!" she exclaimed; "and a little bit of an
adventure--a pretty adventure; and now I am starving. Come into the
dining-room and have some lunch."
"You look very well," answered her lover, "and I left you so miserable
yesterday!"
"Yesterday!" repeated Charlotte; she had forgotten yesterday. "Oh, yes,
I had heard something very disagreeable: but when I looked into the
matter, it turned out to be nothing."
"You will tell me all about it, dear?"
"Well, I don't know, John. I would of course if there was anything to
tell; but do come and have some lunch, I cannot even mention something
else much more important until I have had some lunch."
John Hinton frowned. Even that allusion to something much more important
did not satisfy him. He must know this other thing. What! spend
twenty-four hours of misery, and not learn what it was all about in the
end! Charlotte's happiness, however, could not but prove infectious, and
the two made merry over their meal, and not until they found themselves
in Charlotte's own special sanctum did Hinton resume his grave manner.
Then he began at once.
"Now, Charlotte, you will tell me why you looked so grave and scared
yesterday. I have been miserable enough thinking of it ever since. I
don't understand why you did not confide in me at once."
"Dear John," she said--she saw now that he had been really hurt--"I
would not give you pain for worlds, my dearest. Yes, I was much
perplexed, I was even very unhappy for the time. A horrid doubt had been
put into my head, but it turned out nothing, nothing whatever. Let us
forget it, dear John; I have something much more important to tell you."
"Yes, afterwards, but you will tell me this, even though it did turn out
of no consequence."
"Please, John dear, I would rather not. I was assailed by a most
unworthy suspicion. It turned out nothing, nothing at all. I would
rather, seeing it was all a myth, you never knew of it."
"And I would rather know, Charlotte; the myth shall be dismissed from
mind, too, but I would rather be in your full confidence."
"My full confidence?" she repeated; the expression pained her. She
looked hard at Hinton; his words were very quietly spoken, but there was
a cloud on his brow. "You shall certainly have my full confidence," she
said after that brief pause; "which will you hear first, what gave me
pain yesterday, or what brings me joy to-day?"
"What gave you pain yesterday."
There is no doubt she had hoped he would have made the latter choice,
but seeing he did not she submitted at once, sitting, not as was her
wont close to his side, but on a chair opposite. Hinton sat with his
back to the light, but it fell full on Charlotte, and he could see every
line of her innocent and noble face as she told her tale. Having got to
tell it, she did so in few but simple words; Mrs. Home's story coming of
a necessity first, her Uncle Jasper's explanation last. When the whole
tale was told, she paused, then said,--
"You see there was nothing in it."
"I see," answered Hinton. This was his first remark. He had not
interrupted the progress of the narrative by a single observation; then
he added, "But I think, if even your father does not feel disposed to
help her, that we, you and I, Charlotte, ought to do something for Mrs.
Home."
"Oh, John dear, how you delight me! How good and noble you are! Yes, my
heart aches for that poor mother; yes, we will help her. You and I, how
very delightful it will be!"
Now she came close to her lover and kissed him, and he returned her
embrace.
"You will never have a secret again from me, my darling?" he said.
"I never, never had one," she answered, for it was impossible for her to
understand that this brief delay in her confidence could be considered a
secret. "Now for my other news," she said.
"Now for your other news," he repeated.
"John, what is the thing you desire most in the world?"
Of course this young man being sincerely attached to this young woman,
answered,--
"You, Charlotte."
"John, you always said you did not like Uncle Jasper, but see what a
good turn he has done us--he has persuaded my father to allow us to
marry at once."
"What, without my brief?"
"Yes, without your brief; my dear father told me this morning that we
may fix the day whenever we like. He says he will stand in the way no
longer. He is quite sure of that brief, we need not wait to be happy for
it, we may fix our wedding-day, John, and you are to dine here this
evening and have a talk with my father afterwards."
Hinton's face had grown red. He was a lover, and an attached one; but so
diverse were the feelings stirred within him, that for the moment he
felt more excited than elated.
"Your father is very good," he said, "he gives us leave to fix the day.
Very well, that is your province, my Lottie; when shall it be?"
"This is the twentieth of February, our wedding-day shall be on the
twentieth of June," she replied.
"That is four months hence," he said. In spite of himself there was a
sound of relief in his tone. "Very well, Charlotte; yes, I will come and
dine this evening. But now I am late for an appointment; we will have a
long talk after dinner."