Mighty power, all powers above!
Great unconquerable Love!
Thou who liest in dimple sleek,
On the tender virgin's cheek:
Thee the rich and great obey;
Every creature owns thy sway.
O'er the wide earth, and o'er the main
Extends thy universal reign.
SOPHOCLES.
Perhaps few things are more curious to those who, as bystanders,
contemplate the game of life, than to see how in the stream of time,
persons the most divided, and the least likely to be brought into
contact, are whirled by those resistless waves nearer and nearer, until
at last they meet; or if no collision takes place, still the course of
the one, draws into its channel, or modifies in some strange way the
course of the other.
Margaret little thought as she sat dreaming over her lot at Ashdale,
that a sick girl in another county, whom she had never seen, and whose
name she had never heard, was to exercise a strange influence over her
future fate.
Mr. Haveloc was constantly at Ashdale. He went, it is true, backwards
and forwards from his own place to that of Mr. Grey, but his visits to
his home were wonderfully short, and those at Ashdale longer and longer.
His attention, his devotion to Margaret increased daily; she never had
occasion to form a wish. He seemed to divine all her thoughts, to
anticipate everything that she could by possibility enjoy. And his was
especially the kind of character to interest her; his failings were not
of a nature to come in her way, and the earnestness of his disposition
suited her ideas of the romance of love. She was not likely to mistake
a devotion that knew no pause, that entertained no other idea than
herself day after day.
Then his knowledge, which though rather desultory, was unusual in a man
who had not to earn his living--his command of languages, his
accomplishments--all things that he never cared to bring forward, but
that accident discovered to her by degrees, increased his power over her
mind.
Men cannot forgive acquirement in a woman, though they will sometimes
pardon a sort of natural cleverness; but it is a common story that women
are swayed by genius or learning in a man.
Margaret was hardly aware of the impatience of his temper, which he
never showed except to Mr. Casement, when she fully sympathised with
him; but she daily noticed his attention to her uncle, his anxiety about
his health, and the readiness with which he would give up his evenings
to amuse his old friend. All that she had heard of him before their
acquaintance was merged into the facts which were to his advantage. She
remembered the defence of the lady and her daughter in Calabria. She
forgot all about Mrs. Maxwell Dorset.
At first, after her rejection of Hubert Gage, she was a good deal
annoyed and distressed by his perseverance. He called on Mr. Grey, he
wrote to her, he described himself as distracted, herself as mistaken.
He was determined to believe that they were made for each other; and
that Margaret was under some strong delusion when she did not think as
he did on that subject. Margaret began to dread and dislike the very
name of Hubert Gage; she feared to meet him in her walks; every ring at
the bell gave her the apprehension that he was coming to see her. And
whether it was his youth or his disposition, that must be blamed for the
fact, he acted very unreasonably in the affair. He did not take his
disappointment at all like a philosopher; and to crown everything, when
Captain Gage had with infinite difficulty procured him a ship, he
declined the appointment, upon some trivial excuse, and persisted in
remaining in the neighbourhood; to the great vexation of his family, and
the annoyance of Margaret.
At last he was persuaded to accompany his brother who was returning to
Ireland; and then Margaret had an interval of peace. She was able to see
Elizabeth whenever she pleased; and Mr. Grey left off pitying poor
Hubert, when he no longer saw him passing the house, or looking
disconsolate at church.
As Margaret had no female companion, her natural delicacy of feeling
told her that she ought never to be alone with Mr. Haveloc: but those
quiet evenings were almost tête-à-tête when her uncle slept in his easy
chair, and she sat working by the fire, with Mr. Haveloc always by her
side, talking or reading to her in a low voice, or making her speak
Italian, and playfully correcting her mistakes.
And when the spring mellowed into summer, and Mr. Grey had his chair
moved to the large window that opened upon the broad terrace, Mr.
Haveloc would persuade Margaret to pace up and down the walk, always in
sight, though not in hearing, of her kind uncle, whose great delight was
to watch them as they passed and repassed.
The moon had risen, and gleamed brightly behind one of the dark cedars
upon the lawn. Part of the smooth turf was almost whitened by its
peculiar light, while the trees cast their inky shadows forward upon the
grass. Every flower, half closed and hung with dew, gave forth its
sweetest fragrance.
"And you like sunlight really better than this, Mr. Haveloc?" said
Margaret, as they paused to look upon the landscape.
"Good honest sunlight--strong enough to steep everything in mist, I
really do," replied Mr. Haveloc.
"You are thinking of Italy?"
"No; of English sunshine. I never think of Italy."
These last words were spoken as if he meant to infer that there was
something a great deal more attractive than Italy in her near
neighbourhood.
Her hand was resting on his arm; he pressed it, and she did not attempt
to withdraw it. She felt no doubt respecting his love; he expressed it
in his manner, and she was sure he would not act a falsehood. It was all
under her uncle's eye, and if he had disapproved of it, he would have
put a stop to it before now. It made her perfectly happy, and a little
frightened only when she thought he was on the point of saying something
decisive. She would so gladly have gone on exactly as they were then.
"This is very pretty," said Mr. Haveloc, as they again paused opposite
to the dark mournful cedars.
"Oh, beautiful!" returned Margaret. "If there were but some old oaks
about the place: but those ash-trees in the meadow near the copse--those
are really splendid, are they not?"
"Very fine! When I was staying here as Mr. Grey's ward, I believe I used
to sketch those trees once a week."
"I wish I could sketch!"
"Do you? I have no respect for the arts; I had rather a person should
appreciate pictures than paint them."
"But do you not think painting them helps one to appreciate them?"
"I think it teaches one to know the difficulties, but not to feel the
sentiment."
"Uncle Grey, do you smell the Chinese honeysuckle?" asked Margaret,
pausing before the window.
"Yes my love; it is very strong to-night."
"Are you ready for your tea, uncle?"
"I shall be in about ten minutes, my dear."
"Can you guess ten minutes, Mr. Haveloc?"
Mr. Haveloc looked at his watch, and could not distinguish the figures.
Margaret thought she could see better. He held the watch to her--she
pored over it in vain.
"You must guess it now, Mr. Haveloc."
"Mr. Grey is not very particular," said Mr. Haveloc, "I think I may
venture."
They walked on to the end of the terrace.
"Do you recollect one day when I kept the dinner waiting," said Mr.
Haveloc.
"Oh, yes! I remember," said Margaret with a sigh--it was the day that
had begun her troubles with Hubert Gage. "Mr. Casement was so cross
because he could not fathom your business with Mr. Grey."
"What a long deliverance we have had from the old monster," said Mr.
Haveloc.
"Oh, yes! I was so glad when--" Margaret stopped short.
"When he was laid up with the rheumatism," added Mr. Haveloc, laughing.
"Oh, no! not exactly. One ought not to be glad of that; but really, I
think I rejoiced that anything kept him out of the way."
"Gessina is growing quite fat," said Mr. Haveloc, as the beautiful
creature bounded towards them.
"Stop! I am going to carry her," said Margaret stooping down.
"Cannot you trust me to do that?" asked Mr. Haveloc.
"No; because I am going to wrap her in a corner of my shawl."
"Stay, do not give her too much," said Mr. Haveloc, assisting in the
distribution of the shawl, "you must take care of yourself, in the
evening air."
"She has had so much running about to-day," said Margaret.
"Yes, I saw you taking her out to exercise this morning, before
breakfast."
"Did you? When we were on the lawn?"
"Yes, with that Indian-rubber ball you made her a present of."
"You laugh, but it is a capital ball for Gessina to play with."
"I thought Gessina and her mistress both seemed to enjoy it very much."
"I did not know you were up then, Mr. Haveloc."
"I had not left my room, I confess."
"How very idle!"
"Oh, it was! but then I had been sitting up half the night."
"What a strange fancy of yours."
"I was writing letters."
"What! with all the day before you?"
"I like to spend the day in your company."
Here a low growl that seemed hardly human, made both start violently.
Margaret dropped Gessina. Mr. Haveloc turned sharply round.
"Ugh! little woman; are you going to give us tea to-night?" growled Mr.
Casement.
"Oh, dear yes, Sir. I declare I did not know what time it was," said
Margaret hastily.
"There is not the slightest hurry," said Mr. Haveloc detaining Margaret
by the hand, "there can be no possible occasion for you to make tea
before the usual time."
Margaret looked up in deprecation of his contemptuous tone. Mr. Casement
turned to hobble back to the house.
"Ugh, sweethearts!" he grumbled, as he left them.
Margaret blushed crimson. Mr. Haveloc still holding her hand, walking
slowly and silently in the same direction. At last, in that calm voice
which in people of impatient temper always marks strong emotion, he
said:--
"He is right Margaret--I love you!"
Margaret was excessively agitated--she trembled violently; but the
transparent candour of her nature did not now desert her. In a faltering
tone she replied: "I thought so."
"Come along, little woman," said Mr. Casement as Margaret stepped in at
the window. "It is well I am come among you again. Poor uncle is laid on
the shelf now; that's very plain."
"Did I keep you waiting, uncle?" said Margaret softly as she took her
place before the urn.
"No, my love, never mind what he says. You know his ways by this time."
"Come, sit down, youngster, and don't make a fuss. Take it easy," said
Mr. Casement addressing Mr. Haveloc, who was behind Margaret's chair.
Margaret ventured to cast an imploring glance at Mr. Haveloc, who
regarded Mr. Casement as if he should like to reduce him to ashes; but
being unprovided with any apparatus for this ceremony, he sat down
beside Margaret, without making any reply.
It seemed as if Mr. Casement would never go that evening. He wrangled
through one game of piquet after another; at last he got up. "Well, good
night Master Grey," he said, "if you are blind-folded, I am not. Those
young ones have been muttering at the window there, ever since we sat
down to cards."
"What is it Claude?" asked Mr. Grey, as soon as Mr. Casement had gone.
Mr. Haveloc told him what it was. Margaret laid her head on her uncle's
shoulder--he put his arm round her waist. "Well then, Claude," he said,
"your best plan is to set off to-morrow morning; the sooner you go, the
sooner you will come back."
Margaret looked up with a face suddenly blanched even to her lips.
"What--go away--leave me, uncle?" she said. Her voice failed her; almost
her breath; she had not believed it possible that they should ever be
parted.
Mr. Grey explained to Margaret as he had before explained to Mr. Haveloc
his reasons for insisting on this measure.
When he had finished, she burst into one of those paroxysms of tears
that she only gave way to under very strong emotion. Mr. Haveloc hung
over her chair in speechless distress. Mr. Grey endeavoured in the
tenderest manner to moderate her agitation.
"You see, my child," he said, "you are but seventeen, and very young for
your age; and this fellow here, somewhere about two-and-twenty. It is
very important you should both know your own minds a little more clearly
than you can do now. In such serious affairs, it is right to be very
cautious. You see, my dear little girl, what day of the month is it? You
see, a year soon passes; and next 14th of June, he will be here again."
Margaret checked her tears, and tried to reward his efforts with a
smile.
"Well, then, Claude, you and I must have a little conversation together.
Wish him good night, my child; you had better part now and not see each
other to-morrow morning. It is wisest, is it not Claude? There give her
a kiss and have done with it. That's good children!"
Margaret was speechless with grief: the last words Mr. Haveloc addressed
to her as he led her to the door, were, "If I ever bestow a thought upon
another, forget me; I can invoke no heavier curse upon my head."