Mr Hope's case turned out more favourably than any of his attendants
and friends had ventured to anticipate. For some days the symptoms
continued as alarming as at first; but from the hour that he began to
amend, his progress towards recovery was without drawback, and unusually
rapid. Within a month, the news circulated through the village, that he
had been safely brought home to his own lodgings; and the day after, the
ladies at Mr Grey's were startled by seeing him alight from a gig at
the door, and walk up the steps feebly, but without assistance. He
could not stay away any longer, he declared. He had been above a month
shut up in a dim room, without seeing any faces but of doctor, nurse,
and Mrs Grey, and debarred from books; now he was well enough to
prescribe for himself; and he was sure that a little society, and a
gradual return to his usual habits of life, would do him more good than
anything.
Mrs Grey kept all her own children out of sight during this first
visit, that Mr Hope might not see too many faces at once. She admitted
only Hester and Margaret, and Alice, who brought him some refreshment.
The girl made him a low curtsey, and looked at him with an expression of
awe and pleasure, which brought tears into the eyes of even her
mistress. Mr Hope had been a benefactor to this girl. He had brought
her through a fever. She had of late little expected ever to see him
again. Mr Hope replied to her mute looks:
"Thank you, Alice, I am much better. I hope to be quite well soon. Did
not you make some of the good things Mrs Grey has been kind enough to
bring me?--I thought so. Well, I'm much obliged to you; and to
everybody who has been taking pains to make me well. I do not know how
it is," he continued, when Alice had left the room, "but things do not
appear as they used to do. Perhaps my eyes are dim still; but the room
does not seem bright, and none of you look well and merry."
Mrs Grey observed that she had drawn the blinds down, thinking he would
find it a relief after the sunshine. Margaret said ingenuously--
"We are all well, I assure you; but you should not wonder if you find us
rather grave. Much has happened since we met. We have been thinking of
you with great anxiety for so long, that we cannot on a sudden talk as
lightly as when you used to come in every day."
"Ah!" said he, "I little thought, at one time, that I should ever see
any of you again in this world."
"We have thought of you as near death," said Margaret; "and since that,
as having a sick-room experience, which we respect and stand in awe of;
and that is reason enough for our looking grave."
"You feel as if you had to become acquainted with me over again. Well,
we must lose no time; here is a month gone that I can give no account
of."
Hester felt how differently the case stood with her. The last month had
been the longest she had ever known,--tedious as to the state captive,
serving his noviciate to prison life. She would have been thankful to
say that she could give no account of the past month. She inquired how
the accident happened; for this was still a mystery to everybody. Mr
Hope could not clear up the matter: he remembered parting with Sydney,
and trotting, with the bridle of the pony in his hand, to the top of the
ascent,--the point where Sydney lost sight of him: he had no distinct
remembrance of anything more,--only a sort of impression of his horse
rearing bolt upright. He had never been thrown before; and his
supposition was, that a stone cast from behind the hedge might have
struck his horse: but he really knew no more of the affair than any one
else. The ladies all trusted he would not ride the same horse again;
but this he would not promise: his horse was an old friend; and he was
not in a hurry to part with old friends. He was glad to find that Miss
Young had not laid the blame on the pony, but had ridden it through the
woods as if nothing had happened.
"Not exactly so," said Margaret, smiling.
"The young folks did not enjoy their excursion very much, I fancy," said
Mrs Grey, smiling also. "Mrs Rowland was quite put out, poor soul!
You know she thinks everything goes wrong, on purpose to plague her."
"I think she had some higher feelings on that occasion," said Mr Hope,
gently, but gravely. "I am indebted to her for a very anxious concern
on my account, and for kind offices in which perhaps none of my many
generous friends have surpassed her."
Mrs Grey, somewhat abashed, said that Mrs Rowland had some good
qualities: it was only a pity that her unhappy temper did not allow them
fair play.
"It is a pity," observed Mr Hope; "and it is at the same time, an
appeal to us to allow her the fair play she does not afford herself.
That sofa looks delightfully comfortable, Mrs Grey."
"Oh, you are tired; you are faint, perhaps?"
"Shall I ring?" said Hester, moving to the bell.
"No, no," said he, laughing; "I am very well at present. I only mean
that I should like to stay all day, if you will let me. I am sure that
sofa is full as comfortable as my own. I may stay, may I not?"
"No, indeed you shall not, this first day. If you will go away now
before you are tired, and if I find when I look in upon you this
evening, that you are not the worse for this feat, you shall stay longer
to-morrow. But I assure you it is time you were at home now. My dears,
just see whether the gig is at the door."
"So I only get sent away by begging to stay," said Mr Hope. "Well, I
have been giving orders to sick people for so many years, that I suppose
it is fairly my turn to obey now. May I ask you to send to Widow Rye's
to-day? I looked in as I came; and her child is in want of better food,
better cooked, than she is able to give him."
"I will send him a dinner from our table. You are not going to see any
more patients to-day, I hope?"
"Only two that lie quite in my road. If you send me away, you must take
the consequences. Farewell, till tomorrow."
"Mr Grey and I shall look in upon you this evening. Now do not look
about you out of doors, to catch anybody's eye, or you will be visiting
a dozen patients between this house and your own."
There were, indeed, many people standing about, within sight of Mr
Grey's door, to see Mr Hope come out. All Mr Grey's children and
servants were peeping through the shrubbery. Mrs Enderby waved her
hand from a lower, and her two maids looked out from an upper window.
The old man of a hundred years, who was sunning himself on the bank, as
usual, rose and took off his hat: and the little Reeves and their
schoolfellows stood whispering to one another that Mr Hope looked
rarely bad still. Mrs Plumstead dropped a low curtsey, as she stood
taking in the letter-bag, at her distant door. Mrs Grey observed to
Hester on the respect which was paid to Mr Hope all through the place,
as if Hester was not feeling it in her heart of hearts at the moment.
Mrs Grey flattered herself that Mr Hope was thinking of Hester when he
said his friends did not look well. She had been growing thinner and
paler for the last month, and no doubt remained in Mrs Grey's mind
about the cause. Hester had commanded herself, to her sister's
admiration; but she could not command her health, and that was giving
way under perpetual feelings of anxiety and humiliation. Mrs Grey
thought all this had gone quite far enough. She was more fond and proud
of Hester every day, and more impatient that she should be happy, the
more she watched her. She spoke to Margaret about her. Margaret was
prepared for this, having foreseen its probability; and her answers,
while perfectly true and sincere, were so guarded, that Mrs Grey drew
from them the comfortable inference that she alone penetrated the
matter, and understood Hester's state of mind. She came to the
resolution at last of making the young people happy a little sooner than
they could have managed the affair for themselves. She would help them
to an understanding, but it should be with all possible delicacy and
regard to their feelings. Not even Mr Grey should know what she was
about.
Opportunities were not wanting. When are opportunities wanting to
match-makers? If such do not find means of carrying their points, they
can construct them. Few match-makers go to work so innocently and
securely as Mrs Grey; for few can be so certain of the inclinations of
the parties as she believed herself. Her own admiration of Hester was
so exclusive, and the superiority of Hester's beauty so unquestionable,
that it never occurred to her that the attraction which drew Mr Hope to
the house could be any other than this. About the state of Hester's
affections she felt justly confident; and so, in her view, nothing
remained to be done but to save her from further pining by bringing
about an explanation. She was frequently with Mr Hope at his lodgings,
during his recovery, seeing that he took his afternoon rest, and
beguiling a part of his evenings; in short, watching over him as over a
son, and declaring to Hester that he was no less dear to her.
One evening, when she was spending an hour in Mr Hope's parlour, where
Mr Grey had deposited her till nine o'clock, when he was to call for
her, she made the same affectionate declaration to Mr Hope himself,--
that he was as dear to her as if he had been her own son; "and," she
continued, "I shall speak to you with the same freedom as I should use
with Sydney, and may, perhaps, ten years hence."
"Pray do," said Mr Hope. "I shall be glad to hear anything you have to
say. Are you going to find fault with me?"
"Oh dear, no! What fault should I have to find with you? unless,
indeed, it be a fault or a folly to leave your own happiness and that of
another person in needless uncertainty."
Mr Hope changed colour, quite to the extent of her wishes.
"I know," continued she, "that your illness has put a stop to
everything; and that it has left you little nerve for any explanation of
the kind: but you are growing stronger every day now, and the case is
becoming so serious on the other side that I own I dread the
consequences of much further delay. You see I speak openly."
She had every encouragement to do so, for Mr Hope's countenance was
flushed with what appeared to her to be delight. "You observed,
yourself, you know, that Hester did not look well; and indeed the few
weeks after your accident were so trying to her,--the exertions she made
to conceal her feelings were so--. But I must spare her delicacy. I
trust you are quite assured that she has not the most remote idea of my
speaking to you thus. Indeed, no human being is in the least aware of
it."
"Hester! Miss Ibbotson! Pray, Mrs Grey, do not say another word. Let
us talk of something else."
"Presently; when I have finished. You must have seen that I love this
dear girl as a daughter; and there is not a thought of her heart that
she can conceal from me, though her delicacy is so great that I am
confident she thinks me unaware of her state of mind at this moment.
But I saw how the affair was going from the very beginning; and the
failure of her health and looks since your accident have left me no
doubt whatever, and have made me feel it my duty to give you the
encouragement your modesty requires, and to confide to you how wholly
her happiness lies in your hands."
"Hester! Miss Ibbotson! I assure you, Mrs Grey, you must be
completely mistaken."
"I beg your pardon: I am not so easily mistaken as some people. There
is Mrs Rowland, now! I am sure she fancies that her brother is in love
with Hester, when it is plain to everybody but herself that he and my
other young cousin are coming to a conclusion as fast as need be.
However, I know you do not like to hear me find fault with Mrs Rowland;
and, besides, I have no right to tell Margaret's secrets; so we will say
no more about that."
Mr Hope sighed heavily. These remarks upon Enderby and Margaret
accorded but too well with his own observations. He could not let Mrs
Grey proceed without opposition; but all he was capable of was to repeat
that she was entirely mistaken.
"Yes, that is what men like you always say,--in all sincerity, of
course. Your modesty always stands in the way of your happiness for a
while: but you are no losers by it. The happiness is all the sweeter
when it comes at last."
"But that is not what I mean. You have made it difficult for me to
explain myself. I hardly know how to say it; but it must be said. You
have mistaken my intentions,--mistaken them altogether."
It was now Mrs Grey's turn to change colour. She asked in a trembling
voice:
"Do you mean to say, Mr Hope, that you have not been paying attentions
to Hester Ibbotson?"
"I do say so; that I have paid no attentions of the nature you suppose.
You compel me to speak plainly."
"Then I must speak plainly too, Mr Hope. If any one had told me you
would play the part you have played, I should have resented the
imputation as I resent your conduct now. If you have not intended to
win Hester's affections, you have behaved infamously. You have won her
attachment by attentions which have never varied, from the very first
evening that she entered our house, till this afternoon. You have
amused yourself with her, it seems; and now you are going to break her
heart."
"Stop, stop, Mrs Grey! I cannot hear this."
"There is not a soul in the place that does not think as I do. There is
not a soul that will not say--."
"Let us put aside what people may say. If, by any imprudence of my own,
I have brought blame upon myself, I must bear it. The important point
is--. Surely, Mrs Grey, it is possible that you may be in error about
Miss Ibbotson's--Miss Ibbotson's state of mind."
"No, Mr Hope, it is not possible." And being in for it, as she said,
Mrs Grey gave such a detail of her observations, and of unquestionable
facts, as left the truth indeed in little doubt.
"And Margaret," said Mr Hope, in a troubled voice: "do you know
anything of her views of my conduct?"
"Margaret is not so easily seen through as Hester," said Mrs Grey: an
assertion from which Mr Hope silently dissented; Margaret appearing to
him the most simple-minded person he had ever known; lucid in her
sincerity, transparent in her unconsciousness. He was aware that Mrs
Grey had been so occupied with Hester as not to have been open to
impression from Margaret.
"Margaret is not so easily seen through as Hester, you know; and she and
I have never talked over your conduct confidentially: but if Margaret
does not perceive the alteration in her sister, and the cause of it, it
can only be because she is occupied with her own concerns."
"That is not like Margaret," thought Mr Hope.
"However, she does see it, I am sure; for she has proposed their return
to Birmingham,--their immediate return, though their affairs are far
from being settled yet, and they do not know what they will have to live
upon. They promised to stay till October, too; and we are only half
through August yet. Margaret can hardly have any wish to leave us on
her own account, considering whom she must leave behind. It is for
Hester's sake, I am confident. There is no doubt of the fact, Mr Hope.
Your honour is involved. I repeat, you have won this dear girl's
affections; and now you must act as a man of conscience, which I have
always supposed you to be."
Mr Hope was tempted to ask for further confirmation, from the opinions
of the people who were about Hester; but he would not investigate the
degree of exposure which might have taken place. Even if no one agreed
with Mrs Grey, this would be no proof that her conviction was a wrong
one; it might happen through Hester's successful concealment of what she
must be striving to suppress.
Mrs Grey urged him about his honour and conscience more closely than he
could bear. He faintly begged her to leave him. He obtained from her a
promise that she would inform no person of what had been said; and she
again assured him that neither Hester, nor any one else, had the
remotest idea of her speaking as she had done this evening. On his
part, Mr Hope declared that he should reflect on what had passed, and
act with the strictest regard to duty. As, in Mrs Grey's eyes, his
duty was perfectly clear, this declaration was completely satisfactory.
She saw the young people, with her mind's eye, settled in the corner
house which belonged to Mr Rowland, and was delighted that she had
spoken. As soon as she was gone, Mr Hope would discover, she had
little doubt, that he had loved Hester all this time without having been
conscious what the attraction had really been; and in a little while he
would be thankful to her for having smoothed his way for him. With
these thoughts in her mind, she bade him good-night, just as Mr Grey
drove up to the door. She whispered once more, that he was as dear to
her as a son, and that this was the reason of her having spoken so
plainly.
"How are you this evening, Hope?" said Mr Grey, from the doorway. "On
the sofa, eh? don't rise for me, then. Rather done up, eh? Ah! I was
afraid you were for getting on too fast. Bad economy in the end. You
will be glad to be rid of us: so I shall not come in. Take care of
yourself, I beg of you. Good-night."
In what a state of mind was Hope left! His plain-speaking motherly
friend little guessed what a storm she had raised in a spirit usually as
calm as a summer's morning. There was nothing to him so abhorrent as
giving pain; nothing so intolerable in idea as injuring any human being:
and he was now compelled to believe that through some conduct of his
own, some imprudence, in a case where imprudence is guilt, he had broken
up the peace of a woman whom, though he did not love, he respected and
warmly regarded! His mind was in too tumultuous a state for him to
attempt to settle with himself the degree of his culpability. He only
knew that he was abased in his own sense of deep injury towards a
fellow-creature. In the same breath came the destruction of his
hopes,--hopes, of which, till the moment, he had been scarcely
conscious,--with regard to the one on whom his thoughts had been really
fixed. He had pledged himself to act strictly according to his sense of
duty. His consolation, his refuge in every former trial of life, since
the days of childhood, had been in resolving to abide faithfully by the
decisions of duty. In this he had found freedom; in this he had met
strength and repose, so that no evil had been intolerable to him. But
what was his duty now? Amidst the contradictions of honour and
conscience in the present case, where should he find his accustomed
refuge? At one moment he saw clearly the obligation to devote himself
to her whose affections he had gained,--thoughtlessly and carelessly, it
is true, but to other eyes purposely. At the next moment, the sin of
marrying without love,--if not while loving another,--rose vividly
before him, and made him shrink from what, an instant before, seemed
clear duty. The only hope was in the possibility of mistake, which
might yet remain. The whole could not be mistake, about Hester, and
Enderby, and Margaret, and all Mrs Grey's convictions. Some of all
this must be true. The probability was that it was all true: and if
so,--he could almost repine that he had not died when his death was
expected. Then he should not have known of all this injury and woe;
then he should not have had to witness Margaret's love for another: then
Hester's quiet grief would have melted away with time, unembittered by
reproach of him. No one had, till this hour, loved and relished life
more than he; yet now this gladsome being caught himself mourning that
he had survived his accident. He roused himself from this; but all was
fearful and confused before him. He could see nothing as it was, and as
it ought to be: he could decide upon nothing. He must take time: he
must be deliberate upon this, the most important transaction of his
life.
Thus he determined, as the last remains of twilight faded away in his
apartment, and the night air blew in chill from the open window. He was
so exhausted by his mental conflict as to be scarcely able to rise to
close the window, and retire to rest. There was one hope, familiar as
the sunshine to his eyes, but unusually feeble, still abiding in his
mind for comfort,--that he should, sooner or later, clearly discern what
it was his duty to do. All was at present dark; but this light might
flow in. He would wait: he would not act till it did.
He did wait. For many days he was not seen in any of the haunts, to
which he had begun to return. The answer to inquiries was that Mr Hope
was not so well, and wished for entire quiet. Everyone was anxious.
Hester was wretched, and Mrs Grey extremely restless and uneasy. She
made several attempts to see him; but in no instance did she succeed.
She wrote him a private note, and received only a friendly verbal
answer, such as all the world might hear.
Mr Hope did wait for his duty to grow clear in the accumulating light
of thought. He decided at length how to act; and he decided wrong;--not
for want of waiting long enough, but because some considerations
intruded themselves which warped his judgment, and sophisticated his
feelings. He decided upon making the great mistake of his life.
Nothing had ever been clearer to his mind than the guilt of marrying
without love. No man could have spoken more strongly, more solemnly
than he, on the presumption, the dishonourableness, the profligacy, of
such an act: but he was unaware how a man may be betrayed into it while
he has neither presumption, nor treachery, nor profligacy in his
thoughts. Hope went through a world of meditation during the days of
his close retirement; some of his thoughts were superficial, and some
deceived him. He considered Margaret lost to him: he glanced forwards
to his desolation when he should lose the society of both sisters--an
event likely to happen almost immediately, unless he should so act as to
retain them. He dwelt upon Hester's beauty, her superiority of mind to
every woman but one whom he had known, her attachment to himself; her
dependence upon him. He pondered these things till the tone of his mind
was lowered, and too many superficial feelings mingled with the
sacredness of the transaction, and impaired its integrity. Under their
influence he decided what to do.
He had no intention, all this while, of taking Mrs Grey's word for the
whole matter, without test or confirmation. From the beginning, he was
aware that his first step must be to ascertain that she was not
mistaken. And this was his first step.
There were two obvious methods of proceeding. One was to consult Mr
Grey, who stood in the place of guardian to these girls, as to the
probability of his success with Hester, in case of his proposing himself
to her. The other was to ask the same question of Margaret. The
advantage of speaking to Mr Grey was, that he might not be bound to
proceed, in case of Mr Grey differing from his lady's view of the case;
but then, Mr Grey was perhaps unaware of the real state of Hester's
mind. From Margaret there was certainty of hearing nothing but the
truth, however little of it her feelings for her sister might allow her
to reveal; but such a conversation with her would compel him to proceed:
all retreat would be cut off after it; and he naturally shrank from
conversing with Margaret, of all people, on this subject. But Hope was
equal to any effort which he thought a matter of duty; and he resolved
not to flinch from this. He would speak first to Mr Grey; and if Mr
Grey did not undertake to answer for Hester's indifference, he would
seek an interview with Margaret. If Margaret should encourage his
advances on her sister's behalf; the matter was decided. He should have
a wife who might be the pride of any man,--whom it would be an honour to
any man to have attached. If, as was still just possible, Margaret
should believe that her sister felt no peculiar regard for him, he
thought he might intimate so much of the truth as, without offending her
feelings on her sister's account, would secure for him freedom to
reconsider his purposes. No man disliked more than he so circuitous a
method of acting in the most important affair of life. He had always
believed that, in the case of a genuine and virtuous attachment, there
can or ought to be nothing but the most entire simplicity of conduct in
the parties,--no appeal to any but each other,--no seeking of an
intervention, where no stranger ought to intermeddle with the joy: but
the present affair, though perpetually brightening before Hope's fancy,
could not for a moment be thought of as of this kind: and here the
circuitous method, which had always appeared disgusting to his
imagination, was a matter of necessity to his conscience.