"Is your mamma going to call on Mrs Hope? Then, Margaret, do not let
us detain you here. You will wish to be at home, I am sure."
Never, as Maria supposed, had Margaret more impatiently desired to be at
home. Though accustomed to go in and out of Maria's abode, with or
without reason assigned, she had not now ventured to move, though the
little room felt like a prison. An awkward consciousness had fixed her
to her seat. Now, however, she made haste to depart, promising to visit
her friend again very soon. The little girls wanted her to arrange to
come every morning, and stay all the time of lessons: but Margaret
declined making any such engagement.
As she went home, she scarcely raised her eyes, for fear of seeing
_him_; and yet she lingered for an instant at her brother's door, from a
feeling of disappointment at having met no one she knew.
She had fully and undoubtingly intended to tell Hester of Philip's
arrival; but when she had taken off her bonnet, and settled herself
beside her sister in the drawing-room, she found that it was quite
impossible to open the subject. While she was meditating upon this, the
entrance of the Greys seemed to settle the matter. She supposed they
would make the disclosure for her: but she soon perceived that they had
not heard the news. Mrs Grey went on quoting Mrs Enderby and Phoebe,
and Sophia remarked on the forsaken condition of the old lady, in a way
which was quite incompatible with any knowledge of the new aspect which
affairs had assumed this morning. It was a great relief to Margaret to
be spared the discussion of a fact, on which so much was to be said; but
lo! in the midst of a flow of talk about fomentations, and the best kind
of night-light for a sick room, there was a knock at the door, every
stroke of which was recognised to a certainty by Margaret. While the
other ladies were pushing back their chairs, to break up the appearance
of a gossip, and make room for another party of visitors, Margaret was
wholly occupied with contriving to sit upright, notwithstanding the
dimness that came over her sight.
It was he. He entered the room quickly, looked taller than ever, as
Sophia thought to herself, and more than ever like a Polish Count, now
that his blue great-coat was buttoned up to the chin. He stopped for
half a moment on seeing ladies in cloaks and bonnets, and then came
forward, and shook hands with everybody. Hester observed that he looked
full at Margaret as he held out his hand to her; but Margaret did not
see this, for, though she commanded herself wonderfully, she could not
meet his eye. Of course, he was asked when he arrived, and had to
answer the question, and also the remarks which were made on the length
of his absence, and on the expectations of everybody in Deerbrook that
he would have visited the old place at Christmas or New Year. He was
then pitied on account of the state of his mother's health. To this he
made no reply whatever; but when Mrs Grey inquired how he found Mrs
Enderby, he briefly--somewhat abruptly--answered that he thought her
very ill. It was equally impossible for Margaret to sit totally silent
while all this was going on, and to address herself to him: she
therefore kept some conversation with Sophia on the greenhouse, and the
fate of the evergreens in the shrubbery, in consequence of the severity
of the frost in January--which laurestinus had been lost, and how the
arbutus had suffered, and how long it would be before the laurels on the
grass could grow up to their former size and beauty. While Sophia was
telling that the greenhouse occupied a great deal of time, and that she
had therefore turned over her interest in it to Sydney, and begged the
little girls to divide her garden between them, Mr Enderby was seen to
take Hester into the window, and after remarking upon the snowdrops
beneath, to speak privately to her. Margaret was afraid Mrs Grey would
take the hint, and go away. Her presence now appeared a sort of
protection, which Margaret exerted herself to retain, by not allowing
the conversation to flag. She need not have feared; Mrs Grey was
turning over in her mind how she might best introduce her
congratulations on Mr Enderby's engagement, and her inquiries after
Miss Bruce's welfare--topics on which she conceived that good manners
required her to enter. Meantime, Mr Enderby had been saying to Hester:
"You will excuse the offer of my good wishes on your settlement here
being briefly and hastily made; but I am at this moment in great
anxiety. Is Hope at home?"
"No: he is some miles off in the country."
"Then I must charge you with a message to him. I think my mother very
ill; and I find it is some time since Hope has seen her. Will you beg
him to come to her without loss of time, when he returns?"
"Certainly; he will be home within two or three hours, I have no doubt."
"And then ask him whether he will not prescribe a visit from you to my
mother. It will do her good, I am confident. You know she is all alone
now with her maid."
"I am aware of that. It is not from negligence or disinclination, I
assure you, that we have seen so little of Mrs Enderby for some time
past."
"I know it, I know it," said he, shaking his head. Then, after a
pause--"Shall you be at home this evening?"
"Yes."
"And alone?"
"Yes. Will you come?"
"Thank you; I will come in for an hour. I shall then hear Hope's report
of my mother; and--between ourselves--I want a few words with your
sister. Can you manage this for me?"
"No doubt."
He was gone in another moment, with a bow to the whole party.
"Gone!" cried Mrs Grey; "and I have not said a word to him about his
engagement and Miss Bruce! How very odd he must think us, Sophia!"
"There will be plenty of time for all we have to say," observed Hester.
"He is so uneasy about his mother, I see, that he will not leave her yet
awhile."
Margaret was sure she perceived in her sister's beautiful eye and lip
the subtle expression of amusement that they bore when a gay thought was
in her mind, or when her neighbours were setting off in speculation on a
wrong scent.
"But half the grace of one's good wishes is in their being offered
readily," said Mrs Grey, "as I was saying to Sophia, the other day,
when we were considering whether Mr Grey should not write to Mr
Enderby with our congratulations. _We_ should not like to appear
backward on such an occasion, for many reasons. Well now, my dears; one
thing more. You must come to tea with us this evening. It will be a
mild evening, I have no doubt; and I have sent to Miss Young, to say
that my sedan will bring her at six o'clock. We have quite set our
hearts upon having you for a sociable evening."
"Thank you," said Hester: "we would come with great pleasure, but that
we are engaged."
"Engaged, my dear! Margaret has just told us that you have no
engagement."
"So Margaret thought: but we are engaged. A friend of Mr Hope's is
coming to spend the evening, and I promised that we would be at home."
"Dear!" said Sophia; "and we had quite set our hearts upon your coming."
"Cannot you bring the gentleman with you, my dear? I am sure Mr Grey
will be happy to see any friend of Mr Hope's."
"Thank you; but he is coming on business."
"Oh, well! But Margaret can be spared, surely. I suppose you must stay
and make tea, my dear. It would not do, I know, for you to appear to
neglect your husband's country patients--particularly in the present
state of affairs. But Margaret can come, surely. Sydney shall step for
her, a little before six."
"Oh, yes," said Sophia; "Margaret can come. The gentleman can have no
business with her, I suppose."
Margaret was again puzzled with the fun that lurked in the eye and lip.
She had been passive till now; but seeing Hester's determination that
she should not go, she said very decidedly that she should much prefer
coming some evening when her brother and sister need not be left behind.
"Mrs Grey is not very well pleased," observed Margaret, when their
visitors were gone. "Could not you have been a little more explicit as
to this gentleman, whoever he may be?"
"I thought it better not to say more," said Hester, now unable to help
stealing a glance at her sister. "Our visitor is to be Mr Enderby. He
is so uneasy about his mother, that my husband is to see her this
afternoon; and Mr Enderby offers to come in the evening, to discuss her
case." After a slight pause, Hester continued--"Sophia was very
positive about its being impossible that our visitor could have any
business with you--was not she?"
"Oh, Hester!" said Margaret, imploringly, with her eyes full of tears.
"Well, well," said Hester, remembering how cruel this speech might
appear to her sister, "I ought not to speak to you from my own habitual
disbelief of Mrs Rowland's news. I will go away, dear; only just
saying, first, that I like Philip's looks very well. He does not seem
happier than he ought to be, while his mother is so ill: nor does he act
as if he felt he had neglected us, his old friends. As my husband says,
we must hear his own story before we judge him."
When she left the room, Margaret could not have settled with herself
whether there was most pain or pleasure in the prospect of this evening.
Five minutes before, she had believed that she should spend it at the
Greys'--should hear the monotonous hiss of the urn, which seemed to take
up its song, every time she went, where it had left off last--should see
Mrs Grey's winks from behind it--should have the same sort of cake, cut
by Sophia into pieces of exactly the same size--should hear Sydney told
to be quiet, and the little girls to go to bed--should have to play Mrs
Grey's favourite waltz, and sing Mr Grey's favourite song--and at last,
to refuse a glass of sherry three times over, and come away, after
hearing much wonder expressed that the evening was gone already. Now,
instead of this, there was to be the fear and constraint of Philip's
presence, so unlike what that had ever been before!--no longer gay,
easy, and delightful, but all that was awkward. No one would be sure of
what the others were feeling; or whether there was any sufficient reason
for their mutual feelings being so changed. Who would find the
conversation? What could be talked about which would not bring one or
another into collision with Mrs Rowland or Miss Bruce? But yet, there
would be his presence, and with it, bliss. There would be his very
voice; and something of his thoughts could not but come out. She was
better pleased than if his evening was to be spent anywhere else.
Dinner passed, she did not know how, except that her brother thought
Mrs Enderby not materially worse than when he saw her last. The
tea-tray came and stood an hour--Mr Hope being evidently restless and
on the watch. He said at last that it would be better to get tea over
before Enderby came; and Margaret repeated in her own mind that it _was_
less awkward; and yet she was disappointed. The moment the table was
cleared, _his_ knock was heard. He would not have tea: he had been
making his mother's tea, and had had a cup with her. And now, what was
Hope's judgment on her state of health?
The gentlemen had scarcely entered upon the subject when a note was
brought in for Margaret. Everything made her nervous; but the purport
of this note was merely to ask for a book which she had promised to lend
Mrs Levitt. As she went up to her room for it, she was vexed that the
interruption had occurred now; and was heartily angry with herself that
she could command herself no better, and be no more like other people
than she fancied she had been this day. "There is Hester," thought she,
"looking nothing less than merry, and talking about whatever occurs, as
if nothing had happened since we met him last; while I sit, feeling like
a fool, with not a word to say, and no courage to say it if I had. I
wonder whether I have always been as insignificant and dull as I have
seen myself to be to-day. I do not believe I ever thought about the
matter before: I wish I could forget it now." Notwithstanding her
feeling of insignificance in the drawing-room, however, she was so
impatient to be there again that her hands trembled with eagerness in
doing up the parcel for Mrs Levitt.
When she re-entered the drawing-room, Philip was there alone--standing
by the fire. Margaret's first impulse was to retreat; but her better
judgment prevailed in time to intercept the act. Philip said:
"Mr and Mrs Hope have, at my desire, given me the opportunity of
speaking to you alone. You must not refuse to hear what I have to say,
because it is necessary to the vindication of my honour;--and it is also
due to another person."
Of course, Margaret sat down. She seemed to intend to speak, and Philip
waited to hear her; but no words came, so he went on.
"You have been told, I find, that I have been for some time engaged to a
lady who is now at Rome--Miss Bruce. How such a notion originated, we
need not inquire. The truth is, that I am but slightly acquainted with
Miss Bruce, and that nothing has ever occurred which could warrant such
a use of that lady's name. I heard nothing of this till to-day, and--"
"Is it possible?" breathed Margaret.
"I was shocked to hear of it from my poor mother; but infinitely more
shocked--grieved to the very soul, to find that you, Margaret, believed
it."
"How could we help it? It was your sister who told us."
"What does my sister know of me compared with you? I thought--I hoped--
but I see now that I was presumptuous--I thought that you knew me
enough, and cared for me enough, to understand my mind, and trust my
conduct through whatever you might hear of me from others. I have been
deceived--I mean I have deceived myself, as to the relation in which we
stand. I do not blame you, Margaret--that is, I will not if I can help
it--for what you have given credit to about me; but I did not think you
would have mortified me so deeply."
"You are partly wrong now; you are unjust at this moment," replied
Margaret, looking up with some spirit. "I do not wish to speak of Mrs
Rowland--but remember, your mother never doubted what your sister said;
the information was given in such a way as left almost an impossibility
of disbelief. There was nothing to set against the most positive
assurances--nothing from you--not a word to any of your old friends--"
"And there was I, working away on a new and good plan of life, living
for you, and counting the weeks and days between me and the time when I
might come and show you what your power over me had enabled me to do--
and you were all the while despising or forgetting me, allowing me no
means of defending myself, yielding me up to dishonour with a mere shake
of the head, as if I had been an acquaintance of two or three
ball-nights. It is clear that you knew my mind no better than I now
find I knew yours."
"What would you have had me do?" asked Margaret, with such voice as she
had.
"I believe I had not thought of that," said Philip, half laughing. "I
only felt that you ought to have trusted me--that you must have known
that I loved neither Miss Bruce, nor any one but you; and that I could
not be engaged to any one while I loved you.--Tell me at once,
Margaret--did I not deserve this much from you?"
"You did," said Margaret, distinctly. "But there is another way of
viewing the whole, which does not seem to have occurred to you. I have
been to blame, perhaps; but if you had thought of the other
possibility--"
"What other? Oh! do speak plainly."
"I must, at such a time as this. If I could not think you guilty, I
might fancy myself to have been mistaken."
"And did you fancy so? Did you suppose I neither loved you, nor meant
you to think that I did?"
"I did conclude myself mistaken."
"Oh, Margaret! I should say--if I dared--that such a thought--such
humility, such generosity--could come of nothing but love."
Margaret made no reply. They understood one another too completely for
words. Even in the first gush of joy, there was intense bitterness in
the thought of what Margaret must have suffered; and Philip vowed, in
the bottom of his soul, that his whole life should be devoted to make
her forget it. He could have cursed his sister with equal energy.
There was no end to what had to be said. Philip was impatient to tell
what he had been doing, and the reasons of the whole of his conduct.
Margaret's views had become his own, as to the desultoriness of the life
he had hitherto led. He had applied himself diligently to the study of
the law, intending to prove to himself and to her, that he was capable
of toil, and of a steady aim at an object in life, before he asked her
to decide what their relation to each other was henceforth to be.
"Surely," said he, "you might have discovered this much from my letters
to my mother."
"And how were we to know what was in your letters to your mother?"
"Do you mean that you have not read or heard them all this time?"
"Not a word for these three months. We have scarcely seen her for many
weeks past; and then she merely showed us what long letters you wrote
her."
"And they were all written for you! She told me, the last time I was
here, that she could keep nothing from you: and, relying upon her words,
I have supposed this to be a medium of communication between us
throughout. I could have no other, you know. When did my mother leave
off reading my letters to you?"
"From the week you went away last. Mrs Rowland came in while we were
in the midst of one; and the consequence was--"
"That you have been in the dark about me ever since. You saw that I did
write?"
"Yes. I have seen most of the post-marks--and the interiors--upside
down. But Mrs Rowland was always there--or else Phoebe."
"And have you really known nothing about me whatever?"
"Little George told me that you had lessons to learn, very hard and very
long, and, if possible, more difficult than his."
"And did not you see then that I was acting upon your views?"
"I supposed Miss Bruce might have had them first."
"Miss Bruce!" he cried, in a tone of annoyance. "I know nothing of Miss
Bruce's views on any subject. I cannot conceive how my sister got such
a notion into her head--why she selected her."
Margaret was going to mention the "sisterly affection" which had long
subsisted between Miss Bruce and Mrs Rowland, according to the latter;
but it occurred to her that it was just possible that Philip might not
be altogether so indifferent to Miss Bruce as Miss Bruce was to him; and
this thought sealed her lips.
"I wonder whether Rowland believed it all the time," said Philip: "and
Hope? It was unworthy of Hope's judgment--of his faith--to view the
case so wrongly."
"I am glad you are beginning to be angry with somebody else," said
Margaret. "Your wrath seemed all to be for me: but your old friends,
even to your mother, appear to have had no doubt about the matter."
"There is an excuse for them which I thought you had not. I am an
altered man, Margaret--you cannot conceive how altered since I began to
know you. They judged of me by what I was once... We will not say how
lately."
"I assure you I do not forget the accounts you used to give of
yourself."
"What accounts?"
"Of how you found life pleasant enough without philosophy and without
anything to do... and other wise sayings of the kind."
"It is by such things that those who knew me long ago have judged me
lately--a retribution which I ought not to complain of. If they
believed me fickle, idle, selfish, it is all fair. Oh! Margaret, men
know nothing of morals till they know women."
"Are you serious?"
"I am solemnly persuaded of it. Happy they who grow up beside mothers
and sisters whom they can revere! But for this, almost all men would be
without earnestness of heart--without a moral purpose--without
generosity, while they are all the while talking of honour. It was so
with me before I knew you. I am feeble enough, and selfish enough yet,
God knows! but I hope still to prove that you have made a man of me, out
of a light, selfish... But what right have I, you may think, to ask you
to rely upon me, when I have so lately been what I tell you. I did not
mean to ask you yet. This very morning, nothing could be further from
my intentions. I do not know how long I should have waited before I
should have dared. My sister has rendered me an inestimable service
amidst all the mischief she did me. I thank her. Ah! Margaret, you
smile!"
Margaret smiled again. The smile owned that she was thinking the same
thing about their obligations to Mrs Rowland.
"Whatever you might have said to me this evening," continued Philip, "if
your regard for me had proved to have been quite overthrown--if you had
continued to despise me, as you must have done at times--I should still
have blessed you, all my life--I should have worshipped you, as the
being who opened a new world to me. You lifted me out of a life of
trifling--of trifling which I thought very elegant at the time--trifling
with my own time and faculties--trifling with other people's serious
business--trifling with something more serious still, I fear--with their
feelings. As far as I remember, I thought all this manly and refined
enough: and but for you, I should have thought so still. You early
opened my eyes to all the meanness and gross selfishness of such a life:
and if you were never to let me see you again, I believe I could not
fall back into the delusion. But if you will be the guide of my life--"
Margaret sighed deeply. Even at this moment of vital happiness, her
thoughts rested on her sister. She remembered what Hester's
anticipations had been, in prospect of having Edward for the guide of
her life.
"I frighten you, I see," said Philip, "with my confessions; but, be the
consequences what they may, I must speak, Margaret. If you despise me,
I must do you the justice, and give myself the consolation, of
acknowledging what I have been, and what I owe to you."
"It is not that," said Margaret. "Let the past go. Let it be forgotten
in reaching forward to better things. But do not let us be confident
about the future. I have seen too much of that. We must not provide
for disappointment. Let us leave it till it comes. Surely," she added,
with a gentle smile, "we have enough for the present. I cannot look
forward yet."
"How you must have suffered!" cried Philip, in a tone of grief. "You
have lost some of your confidence, love. You did not cling to the
present, and shrink from the future when... Oh, it is bitter, even now,
to think, that while I was working on, in hope and resolution, you were
suffering here, making it a duty to extinguish your regard for me, I all
the time toiling to deserve it--and there was no one to set us right,
and the whole world in league to divide us."
"That is all over now."
"But not the consequences, Margaret. They have shaken you: they have
made you know doubt and fear."
"We are both changed, Philip. We are older, and I trust it will appear
that we are wiser than we were. Yes, older. There are times in one's
life when days do the work of years and our days have been of that kind.
You have discovered a new life, and my wishes and expectations are much
altered. They may not be fewer, or less bright, but they are very
different."
"If they were pure from fears--"
"They are pure from fears. At this moment I can fear nothing. We have
been brought together by the unquestionable Providence which rules our
lives; and this is enough. The present is all right; and the future,
which is to come out of it, will be all right in its way. I have no
fear--but I do not want to anticipate. This hour with its
satisfactions, is all that I can bear."
Notwithstanding this, and Philip's transport in learning it, they did go
back, again and again, into the past; and many a glance did they cast
into the future. There was no end to their revelations of the
circumstances of the last two months, and of the interior history which
belonged to them. At last, the burning out of one of the candles
startled them into a recollection of how long their conversation had
lasted, and of the suspense in which Edward and Hester had been kept.
Enderby offered to go and tell them the fact which they must be
anticipating: and, after having agreed that no one else should know at
present--that Miss Bruce's name should be allowed to die out of
Deerbrook speculations, for Mrs Rowland's sake, before any other was
put in its place, Philip left his Margaret, and went into the
breakfast-room, where his presence was not wholly unexpected.
In five minutes, Margaret heard the hall door shut, and, in another
moment, her brother and sister came to her. Hester's face was all
smiles and tears: her mind all tumult with the vivid recollection of her
own first hours of happy hopeful love, mingled with the griefs which
always lay heavy within her, and with that warm attachment to her sister
which circumstances occasionally exalted into a passion.
"We ought to rejoice with nothing but joy, Margaret," said she: "but I
cannot see how we are to spare you. I do not believe I can live without
you."
Her husband started at this echo of the thoughts for which he was at the
moment painfully rebuking himself. He had nothing to say; but gave his
greeting in a brotherly kiss, like that which he had offered on his
marriage with her sister, and on his entrance upon his home.
"How quiet, how very quiet she is!" exclaimed Hester, an Margaret left
the room, after a few words on the events of the evening, and a calm
good-night. "I hope it is all right. I hope she is quite satisfied."
"Satisfied is the word," said her husband. "People are quiet when they
are relieved--calm when they are satisfied--people like Margaret. It is
only great minds, I believe, which feel real satisfaction."
Hester gave him pain by a deep sigh. She was thinking how seldom, and
for how short a time, she had ever felt real satisfaction.
"And how often, and for how long," she asked, "do great minds find
themselves in that heaven?"
"By the blessing of God, not seldom, I trust," replied he; "though not
so often as, by obeying their nature, they might. Intellectual
satisfaction is perhaps not for this world, except in a few of the
inspired hours of the Newtons and the Bacons, who are sent to teach what
the human intellect is. But as often as a great mind meets with full
moral sympathy--as often as it is loved in return for love--as often as
it confides itself unreservedly to the good Power which bestowed its
existence, and appointed all its attributes, I imagine it must repose in
satisfaction."
"Then satisfaction ought to be no new feeling to Margaret," said Hester.
"She always loves every one: she meets with sympathy wherever she
turns; and I believe she has faith enough for a martyr, without knowing
it. Ought not she--must not she, have often felt real satisfaction?"
"Yes."
"I wonder you dole out your words so sparingly about such a being as
Margaret," said Hester, resentfully. "I can tell you, Edward, though
you take so coolly the privilege of having such a one so nearly
connected with you, you might search the world in vain for her equal.
You little know the wealth of her heart and soul, Edward. I ask you
whether she does not deserve to feel full satisfaction of conscience and
affections, and you just answer `Yes,' with as much languor as if I had
asked you whether the clock has struck eleven yet! I can tell you
this--I have said in my own heart, and just to Morris, for years, that
the happiest man of his generation will be he who has Margaret for a
wife: and here you, who ought to know this, give me a grudging `Yes,' in
answer to the first question, arising out of my reverence for Margaret,
that I ever asked you!"
"You mistake me," replied Hope, in a tone of gentleness which touched
her very soul. "One's words may be restrained by reverence as well as
by want of heart. I regard Margaret with a reverence which I should not
have thought it necessary to put into words for your conviction."
"Oh, I am wrong--as I always am!" cried Hester. "You must forgive me
again, as you do far, far too often. But tell me, Edward, ought not
Margaret's husband to be the happiest man living?"
"Yes," said Edward, with a smile. "Will that do this time?"
"Oh, yes, yes," replied she--the thought passing through her mind, that,
whether or not her husband excepted himself as a matter of course, she
should not have asked a question to which she could not bear all
possible answers. Even if he meant that Margaret's husband might be a
happier man than himself, it was only too true. As quick as lightning
these thoughts passed through her mind, and, apparently without a pause,
she went on, "And now, as to Enderby--is he worthy to be this happy
husband? Does he deserve her?"
Mr Hope did pause before he replied:
"I think we had better dwell as little as we can on that point of the
story--not because I am afraid--(do not take fright and suppose I mean
more than I say)--not because I am afraid, but because we can do
nothing, discern nothing, about it. Time must show what Enderby is--or
rather, what he has the power of becoming. Meanwhile, the thing is
settled. They love and have promised, and are happy. Let us shun all
comparison of the one with the other of them, and hope everything from
him."
"There will be some amusement," said Hester, after a smiling reverie,
"in having this secret to ourselves for a time, while all the rest of
Deerbrook is so busy with a different idea and expectation. How _will_
Mrs Rowland bear it?"
"Mrs Grey might have said that," said Hope, laughing.
"Well, but is it not true? Will it not be very amusing to see the
circulation of stories about Miss Bruce, given `from the best
authority,' and to have all manner of news told us about Philip; and to
watch how Mrs Rowland will get out of the scrape she is in? Surely,
Edward, you are not above being amused with all this?"
"I shall be best pleased when it is all over. I have lived some years
longer than you in Deerbrook, and have had more time to get tired of its
mysteries and mistakes."
"For your comfort, then, it cannot be long before all is open and
rightly understood. We need only leave Mrs Rowland time to extricate
herself, I suppose. I wonder how she will manage it."
"We shall be taken by surprise with some clever device, I dare say. It
is a pity so much ingenuity should be wasted on mischief."