When Edgar Berrington discovered the cottage by the sea, and ascertained
that Miss Pritty was within, he gave his name, and was ushered into the
snug little room under the name of Mr Briggington. Aileen gave a
particularly minute, but irrepressible and quite inaudible scream; Mr
Hazlit sat bolt up in his chair, as if he had seen a ghost; and Miss
Pritty--feeling, somehow, that her diplomacy had not become a brilliant
success--shrank within herself, and wished it were to-morrow.
Their various expressions, however, were as nothing compared with
Edgar's blazing surprise.
"Mr Hazlit," he stammered, "pray pardon my sudden intrusion at so
unseasonable an hour; but, really, I was not aware that--did you not get
my telegram, aunt?"
He turned abruptly to Miss Pritty.
"Why ye-es, but I thought that you--in fact--I could not imagine that--"
"Never mind explanations just now," said Mr Hazlit, recovering himself,
and rising with a bland smile, "you are welcome, Mr Berrington; no hour
is unseasonable for one to whom we owe so much."
They shook hands and laughed; then Edgar shook hands with Aileen and
blushed, no doubt because _she_ blushed, then he saluted his aunt, and
took refuge in being very particular about her receipt of the telegram.
This threw Miss Pritty into a state of unutterable confusion, because of
her efforts to tell the truth and conceal the truth at one and the same
time. After this they spent a very happy evening together, during the
course of which Mr Hazlit took occasion to ask Edgar to accompany him
into a little pigeon-hole of a room which, in deference to a few books
that dwelt there, was styled the library.
"Mr Berrington," he said, sitting down and pointing to a chair, "be
seated. I wish to have a little private conversation with you. We are
both practical men, and know the importance of thoroughly understanding
each other. When I saw you last--now about two years ago--you indicated
some disposition to--to regard--in fact to pay your addresses to my
daughter. At that time I objected to you on the ground that you were
penniless. Whether right or wrong in that objection is now a matter of
no importance, because it turns out that I was right on other grounds,
as I now find that you did not know your own feelings, and did not care
for her--"
"Did not _care_ for her?" interrupted Edgar, in sudden amazement, not
unmingled with indignation.
"Of course," continued Mr Hazlit, with undisturbed calmness, "I mean
that you did not care for her sufficiently; that you did not regard her
with that unconquerable affection which is usually styled `love', and
without which no union can be a happy one. The proof to me that your
feeling towards her was evanescent, lies in the fact that you have taken
no notice either of her or of me for two years. Had you gained my
daughter's affections, this might have caused me deep regret, but as she
has seldom mentioned your name since we last saw you, save when I
happened to refer to you, I perceive that her heart has been untouched--
for which I feel exceedingly thankful, knowing as I do, only too well,
that we cannot command our affections."
Mr Hazlit paused a moment, and Edgar was so thunderstruck by the
unexpected nature of his host's discourse, that he could only stare at
him in mute surprise and unbelief in the evidence of his own ears.
"Now," resumed Mr Hazlit, "as things stand, I shall be very happy
indeed that we should return to our old intimacy. I can never forget
the debt of obligation we owe to you as our rescuer from worse than
death--from slavery among brutalised men, and I shall be very happy
indeed that you should make my little cottage by the sea--as Aileen
loves to style it--your abode whenever business or pleasure call you to
this part of the country."
The merchant extended his hand with a smile of genuine urbanity. The
youth took it, mechanically shook it, let it fall, and continued to
stare in a manner that made Mr Hazlit feel quite uneasy. Suddenly he
recovered, and, looking the latter earnestly in the face, said:--
"Mr Hazlit, did you not, two years ago, forbid me to enter your
dwelling?"
"True, true," replied the other somewhat disconcerted; "but the events
which have occurred since that time warranted your considering that
order as cancelled."
"But you did not _say_ it was cancelled. Moreover your first objection
still remained, for I was nearly penniless then, although, in the good
providence of God, I am comparatively rich now. I therefore resolved to
obey your injunctions, sir, and keep away from your house and from your
daughter's distracting influence, until I could return with a few of
those pence, which you appear to consider so vitally important."
"Mr Berrington," exclaimed the old gentleman, who was roused by this
hit, "you mistake me. My opinions in regard to wealth have been
considerably changed of late. But my daughter does not love you, and if
you were as rich as Croesus, sir, you should not have her hand without
her heart."