“WE laid the poor proud creature on the sofa, and bathed his face with
eau de Cologne. He spoke directly, and said that was nice, and 'His
head! his head!' And I don't think he was ever quite insensible, but he
did not know what was going on, for presently he opened his eyes wide,
and stared at us so, and then closed them with, oh such a sigh; it
swelled my heart almost to bursting. And to think I could say nothing:
but mamma soothed him and insisted on his keeping quiet; for he wanted
to run away from us. She was never so good to him before: she said, 'My
dear child, you have my pity and my esteem; alas! that at your age you
should be tried like this. How few in this sorry world would have acted
like you: I should have sided with my own flesh and blood, for one.'
“'What, right or wrong?' he asked.
“'Yes,' said she, 'right or wrong.' Then she turned to me: 'Julia, shall
all the generosity be on his side?'
“I kissed her and clung to her, but dared not speak; but I was mad
enough to hope, I scarcely know what, till she said in the same kind,
sorrowful voice, 'I agree with you; you can never be my son; nor Julia's
husband. But as for that money, it revolts me to proceed to extremes
against one, who after all is your father, my poor, poor, chivalrous
boy.' But she would decide nothing without Edward; he had taken his
father's place in this house. So then I gave all up, for Edward is made
of iron. Alfred was clearer sighted than I, and never had a hope: he put
his arm round mamma and kissed her, and she kissed him: and he kissed my
hand, and crept away, and I heard his step on the stair, and on the road
ever so far, and life seemed ended for me when I heard it no more.
“Edward has come home. Mamma told him all: he listened gravely: I hung
upon his hips; and at last the oracle spoke; and said 'This is a nice
muddle.'
“More we could not get from him; he must sleep on it. O suspense! you
torture! He had seen a place he thinks will suit us: it is a bad
omen his saying that so soon after. As I went to bed I could not help
whispering, 'If he and I are parted, so will you and Jane.' The
cruel boy answered me _out loud,_ 'Thank you, little girl: that is a
temptation; and you have put me on my guard.'
“Oh, how hard it is to understand a _man!_ they _are_ so impracticable
with their justice and things. I came away with my cheeks burning, and
my heart like a stone; to bed, but not to sleep. My poor, poor unhappy,
noble Alfred!”
_“Dec. 27th._--Mamma and Edward have discussed it: they say nothing to
me. Can they have written to him? I go about my duties like a ghost; and
pray for submission to the Divine will.”
_“Dec. 28th_--To-day as I was reading by main force to Mrs. Eagleton's
sick girl, came Sarah all in a hurry with, I was wanted, Miss. But I
_would_ finish my chapter, and O how hard the devil tried to make
me gabble it; so I clenched my teeth at him, and read it as if I was
spelling it; and then _didn't_ I fly?
_“He_ was there; and they all sat waiting for me. I was hot and cold all
at the same time, and he rose and bowed to me, and I curtseyed to him,
and sat down and took my work, and didn't know one bit what I was doing.
“And our new oracle, Edward, laid down the law like anything. 'Look
here, Hardie,' said he, 'if anybody but you had told us about this
fourteen thousand pounds, I should have set the police on your governor
before now. But it seems to me a shabby thing to attack a father on the
son's information, especially when it's out of love for one of us he has
denounced his own flesh and blood.'”
“'No, no,' said Alfred eagerly, 'out of love of justice.'”
“'Ah, you think so, my fine fellow, but you would not have done it for a
stranger,' said Edward. Then he went on: 'Of all blunders, the worst is
to fall between two stools. Look here, mamma: we decide, for the son's
sake, not to attack the father: after that it would be very inconsistent
to turn the cold shoulder to the son. Another thing, who suffers most
by this fraud? Why the man that marries Julia.' Alfred burst out
impetuously, 'Oh, prove that to me, and let me be that sufferer.' Edward
turned calmly to mamma: 'If the fourteen thousand pounds was in our
hands, what should you do with it?'
“The dear thing said she should settle at least ten thousand of it on
Me, and marry Me to this poor motherless boy, 'whom I have learned to
love myself,' said she.
“'There,' said Edward, 'you see it is you who lose by your governor's--I
won't say what--if you marry my sister.'
“Alfred took his hand, and said, 'God bless you for telling me this.'
“Then Edward turned to mamma and me; and said, 'This poor fellow has
left his father's house because he wronged us: then this house ought to
open its arms to him: that is only justice. But now to be just to our
side; I have been to Mr. Crawford, the lawyer, and I find this Hardie
junior has ten thousand pounds of his own. That ought to be settled on
Julia, to make up for what she loses by Hardie senior's--I won't say
what.'
“'If anybody settles any of their trash on _me,_ I'll beat them, and
throw it in the fire,' said I; 'and I hated money.'
“The oracle asked me directly did I hate clothes and food, and charity
to the poor, and cleanliness, and decency? Then I didn't hate money,
'for none of these things can exist without money, you little romantic
humbug; you shut up!'
“Mamma rebuked him for his expressions, but approved his sentiments. But
I did not care for his sentiments: for _he_ smiled on me, and said, 'We
two are of one mind; we shall transfer our fortune to Captain Dodd, whom
my father has robbed. Julia will consent to share my honest poverty.'
“'Well, we will talk about that,' said Edward pompously.
“'Talk about it without me, then,' I cried, and got up, and marched
out indignant: only it was partly my low cunning to hide my face that
I could not keep the rapture out of. And, as soon as I had retired with
cold dignity, off I skipped into the garden to let my face loose, and I
think they sent him after me; for I heard his quick step behind me; so I
ran away from him as hard as I could; so of course he soon caught me; in
the shrubbery where he first asked me to be his; and he kissed both my
hands again and again like wildfire, as he is, and he said, 'You are
right, dearest; let them talk of their trash while I tell you how I
adore you; poverty with you will be the soul's wealth; even misfortune,
by your side, would hardly be misfortune: let all the world go, and let
you and I be one, and live together; and die together; for now I see
I could not have lived without you, nor without your love.' And I
whispered something on his shoulder--no matter what; what signifies the
cackle of a goose? And we mingled our happy tears, and our hearts, and
our souls. Ah, Love is a sweet a dreadful passion: what we two have gone
through for one another in a few months! He dined with us, and Edward
and he sat a long, long time talking; I dare say it was only about their
odious money; still I envied Edward having him so long. But at last
he came up, and devoured me with his lovely grey eyes, and I sang him
Aileen Aroon, and he whispered things in my ear, oh, such sweet sweet,
idiotic, darling things; I will not part with even the shadow of one of
them by putting it on paper, only I am the blessedest creature in all
the world; and I only hope to goodness it is not very wicked to be so
happy as I am.”
_“Dec. 31st._--It is all settled. Alfred returns to Oxford to make up
for lost time; the time spent in construing me instead of Greek: and at
the end of term he is to come of age and marry--somebody. Marriage! what
a word to put down! it makes me tingle; it thrills me; it frightens me
deliciously: no, not deliciously; anything but: for suppose, being both
of us fiery, and they all say one of them ought to be cold blooded for
a pair to be happy, I should make him a downright bad wife. Why then I
hope I shall die in a year or two out of my darling's way, and let him
have a good one instead. I'd come back from the grave and tear her to
pieces.
_“Jan. 4th._--Found a saint in a garret over a stable. Took her my
luncheon clandestinely; that is lady-like for 'under my apron:' and
was detected and expostulated by Ned. He took me into his studio--it is
carpeted with shavings--and showed me the _'Tiser_ digest, an enormous
book he has made of newspaper cuttings all in apple-pie order; and out
of this authority he proved vice and poverty abound most wherever there
are most charities. Oh, 'and the poor' a set of intoxicated sneaks,
and me a Demoralising Influence. It is all very fine: but why are there
saints in garrets, and half-starved? That rouses all my evil passions,
and I cannot bear it; it _is_ no use.
_“Jan. 6th._--Once a gay day; but now a sad one. Mamma gone to see poor
papa, where he is. Alfred found me sorrowful, and rested my forehead on
his shoulder; that soothed me, while it lasted. I think I should like
to grow there. Mem! to burn this diary; and never let a creature see a
syllable.
“As soon as he was gone, prayed earnestly on my knees not to make
an idol of him. For it is our poor idols that are destroyed for our
weakness. Which really I cannot quite see the justice of.”
_“Jan. 8th._--Jane does not approve my proposal that we should praise
now and then at the same hour instead of always praying. The dear girl
sends me her unconverted diary 'to show me she is “a brand.”' I have
read most of it. But really it seems to me she was always goodish: only
she went to parties, and read novels, and enjoyed society.
“There, I have finished it. Oh dear, how like her _un_converted diary is
to my _con_verted one!”
_“Jan. 14th._--A sorrowful day: he and I parted, after a fortnight of
the tenderest affection, and that mutual respect without which neither
of us, I think, could love long. I had resolved to be very brave; but we
were alone, and his bright face looked so sad; the change in it took
me by surprise, and my resolution failed; I clung to him. If gentlemen
could interpret, as we can, he would never have left me. It is better
as it is. He kissed my tears away as fast as they came: it was the first
time he had ever kissed more than my hand; so I shall have that to think
of, and his dear promised letters: but it made me cry more at the time,
of course. Some day, when we have been married years and years, I shall
tell him not to go and pay a lady for every tear; if he wants her to
leave off.
“The whole place so gloomy and vacant now.”
_“Jan. 20th._--Poverty stares us in the face. Edward says we could make
a modest living in London; and nobody be the wiser: but here we are
known, and _'must_ be ladies and gentlemen, and fools,' he says. He has
now made me seriously promise not to give money and things out of the
house to the poor: it is robbing my mother and him. Ah, now I see
it _is_ nonsense to despise money: here I come home sad from my poor
people; and I used to return warm all over. And the poor old souls do
not enjoy my sermons half so much as when I gave them nice things to eat
along with them.
“The dear boy, that I always loved dearly, but _admire_ and love now
that he has turned an intolerable tyrant and he used to be Wax, has put
down two maids out of our three, and brings our dinner up himself in a
jacket, then puts on his coat and sits down with us, and we sigh at him
and he grins and derides us; he does not care one straw for Pomp. And
mamma and I have to dress one another now. And I like it.”
_“Jan. 30th._--He says we may now, by great economy, subsist honestly
till my wedding-day; but then mamma and he must _'absquatulate.'_ Oh,
what stout hearts men have. They can jest at sorrow even when, in spite
of their great thick skins, they feel it. Ah, the real poor are happy:
they marry, and need not leave the parish where their mother lives.”
_“Feb. 4th._--A kind and most delicate letter from Jane. She says,
'Papa and I are much grieved at Captain Dodd's affliction, and deeply
concerned at your loss by the Bank. Papa has asked Uncle Thomas for two
hundred pounds, and I entreat you to oblige me by receiving it at my
hands and applying it according to the dictates of your own affectionate
heart.”
“Actually our Viceroy will not let me take it: he says he will not
accept a crumb from the man who owes us a loaf.”
_“Feb. 8th._--Jane mortified, and no wonder. If she knew how very poor
we are, she would be surprised as well. I have implored her not to take
it to heart, for that all will be explained one day, and she will see we
_could_ not.
“His dear letters! I feed on them. We have no secrets, no two minds. He
is to be a first class and then a private tutor. Our money is to go to
mamma: it is he and I that are to work our fingers to the bone (I am so
happy!), and never let them be driven by injustice from their home. But
all this is a great secret. The Viceroy will be defeated, only I let him
talk till Alfred is here to back me. No; it is _not_ just the rightful
owner of fourteen thousand pounds should be poor.
“How shallow female education is: I was always led to suppose modesty is
the highest virtue. No such thing! Justice is the queen of the virtues:
_He_ is justice incarnate.”
_“March 10th._--On reperusing this diary, it is demoralising; very: it
feeds self. Of all the detestable compositions: Me, Me, Me, from one
end to another: for when it is not about myself, it is about Alfred,
and that it is my he-Me though not my she-one. So now to turn over a new
leaf: from this day I shall record only the things that happen in this
house and what my betters say to _me,_ not what I say; and the texts;
and outline of the sermons; and Jane's Christian admonitions.”
Before a resolve so virtuous all impure spirits retire, taking off their
hats, and bowing down to the very ground, but apprehending Small Beer.