"I MUST GO TO FETCH HER HOME."
When Philip Ray left Crawford's House that night he felt anything at
all but the elation supposed to be proper in the accepted suitor of a
beautiful girl. He had, indeed, a great many troubles in his mind, and
as he walked home to his lonely lodgings in Camberwell he was nearly a
miserable man. It would not be true to say he was out and out
miserable, but he was perilously close to it.
In the first place, he had to leave Hetty behind him, a thing almost
beyond endurance. Then, when removed from the intoxicating influence
of her presence and undistracted by the magic of her beauty, he
began to turn his eyes inward upon himself, and investigate his own
unworthiness with brutal candour--nay, with gross injustice.
What on earth was he that a faultless, an exquisite creature like
Hetty should give herself to him? That was a question he asked himself
over and over again, without being able to find any reason whatever
for her sacrifice. More than once he felt inclined to go back, make a
clean breast of it by telling her that as a friend he would recommend
her to have nothing whatever to do with himself. The words of love and
devotion she had spoken to him on the island were a source of intense
pain to him. A nice kind of fellow _he_ was indeed for her to say
_she_ would follow round all the world! He was obtaining love under
false pretences, that's what he was doing. And such love! and from
such a perfect creature! It was simply a monstrous fraud! There was
something underhand and dishonourable about it; for if she had only
known him for what he was, she would flee out of the very parish away
from him. He must have been mad to ask her to marry him.
It had all come on him suddenly. When he suggested that she should go
to the island with him on the excuse of seeing how the boy got on, he
had no intention of proposing to her; and, nevertheless, no sooner had
he set foot on the Ait than he must retain her hand and ask her to
give it to him for ever! Could he have meant the whole thing as a
joke, or was the Master of all Evil at the bottom of it?
But the full turpitude of his act did not appear until he considered
ways and means. At present his salary was barely enough to keep
himself in the strictest economy. He could not, after paying for food,
lodgings, and clothes all on the humblest scale, save five pounds a
year. It is true he had a yearly increase of salary, and by-and-by
would have the chance of promotion. But at the most favourable
estimate he could not hope to have an income on which he might
prudently marry sooner than between twenty and thirty years. Say, in
twenty-five years, when his salary would be sufficient, he would be
fifty-two and she forty-five! If he had any hair left on his head then
it would be snow-white, and he would be sure to have rheumatism and
most likely a touch of asthma as well. He would have confirmed
bachelor habits and exacting notions about his food and an abject
horror of the east wind. He would tell old stories as new, and laugh
at them, and the younger men in the office would laugh at him for
laughing at these old tales, and mimic him behind his back, and call
him an old fossil and other endearing names, indicative of pity in
them and senility in him! What a poor idiot he had been to speak to
the girl!
It was true the Layards were not very well off themselves now; but
they had once been rich, and naturally Hetty ought to be raised by
marriage far up above their present position. She was a lady and a
beauty, and the most enchanting girl that ever the sun shone on, and
ought to wear a coronet if such things went by charm; and here was he,
a pauper junior clerk in one of the most miserably-paid branches of
the Civil Service, coolly asking her to be his wife! His conduct had
been criminal, nothing short of it.
What on earth would Frank say when he told him of it? If Frank was an
honourable man he would go over to Layard, and advise the brother to
forbid the suitor his house.
Suitor, indeed! Pretty suitor he was to go wooing such a girl as
Hetty!
But then Hetty had told him she loved him and would follow him to the
ends of the earth, and he'd just like to hear any man in _his_
presence say Hetty wasn't to do what she pleased, even if her pleasure
took such a preposterous form as love for him. Now that he came to
think of it in that way, if it pleased Hetty to love him she should
love him, in spite of all the Franks and all the brothers in
Christendom; for wasn't Hetty's happiness and pleasure dearer to him
than the welfare of empires? And if he hadn't quite a hundred a year,
he could make it more by coaching fellows for the Civil Service and in
a thousand other ways.
Philip Ray having arrived at this more hopeful and wholesome view of
his affairs went to bed, and lay awake some time trying to compose a
poem in his sweetheart's praise. Having found, however, that he could
not keep the lines of equal length, and that the rhymes came in now at
the wrong places and anon not at all, he abandoned poetry as an
occupation with which he had no familiarity, and took to one in which
he had experience--sleep.
When he awoke next morning all his troubles and doubts had cleared
away. The lead of the night before had been transmuted into gold by
the alchemy of sleep. He seemed to himself really a fairly good fellow
(which was no egotistical over-estimate, but a very fair appraisement
of his value). No insuperable difficulties presented themselves in his
mind to the making thirty, forty, fifty pounds a year more than his
salary. He knew Hetty loved him, and he simply adored his exquisite
jocund Hebe with the rich heart and frank avowal of love. A fig for
obstacles with such a prize before him! If any considerable sum of
money was attached to the setting of the Thames on fire here was your
man able and willing to undertake the feat.
When the afternoon came, and he found himself released from the
drudgery of his desk, he hastened to Welford. Alfred Layard did not
get home in the evening until eight o'clock, and, of course, Ray could
not call at Crawford's House until after that hour. But he could go to
the Ait, and who could say but Hetty might appear at the window, or
even come out on Crawford's Quay? In any case he wanted to see Frank
and tell him what he had done, for he would as soon have thought of
picking a pocket as of keeping a secret from his brother-in-law.
Philip Ray hastened along the canal with long quick strides, swinging
his arms as he went. Now that the prospect of seeing Hetty again was
close upon him he had not only lost all his gloom, but was in a state
of enthusiastic hopefulness. He hailed the island three times before
Bramwell answered.
"I thought you were never coming," said he, as the two shook hands
upon his landing.
"I was busy when you hailed," said Bramwell, "and I could not
believe it was you so early." Then noticing the excitement of his
brother-in-law, he said, "What is the matter? Has anything happened?"
"Yes. Let us go in. I want to talk to you most particularly," said
Ray. Then in his turn noticing the appearance and manner of the other,
he said, "What is the matter with _you?_ _You_ too look as if
something had happened."
"I have been up all night at work," he answered, as they entered the
cottage.
Ray's sister had gone to Mrs. Pemberton's to get the luggage she had
left there.
They went into the sitting-room. Frank was playing by himself in the
old timber-yard.
"Now, what is your news?" asked Bramwell, feeling sick at the thought
that it must be something about Ainsworth.
Ray fidgeted on his chair. He found it more easy to say to himself, "I
must tell Frank at once," than to accomplish the design now that the
two were face to face. He hummed and hawed, and loosed his collar by
thrusting his finger between his neck and the band of his shirt, but
no words came. At last he got up and began walking about nervously.
"What is it, Philip? Can I do anything for you?" asked Bramwell, in a
placid voice and with a quiet smile.
"No, thank you, Frank, I've done it all myself. I've done all that man
could do."
Bramwell turned pale; seizing the arms of his chair, he said
apprehensively, "You don't mean to say have met Ainsworth, and----"
"No--no--no!"
Bramwell threw himself back, infinitely relieved.
"The fact is I have made a fool of myself."
"In what way, Philip?"
"You know my income?"
Bramwell nodded.
"Well, it may as well come out first as last. I--don't start, and
pray, pray don't laugh at me--I've fallen in love."
Bramwell nodded again and looked grave.
"And I have proposed."
Bramwell looked pained.
"And have been accepted."
"There is no chance whatever of my knowing anything of the lady?" said
Bramwell in a tone implying that the answer must be in the negative.
"There is. You do. I proposed last night on this island to Miss
Layard, and she has accepted me."
"Merciful heavens!" cried the other man, springing to his feet.
Ray paused and stared at his brother-in-law. "Why, what on earth is
the matter with you, Frank? There is nothing so very shocking or
astonishing in it, is there? I know for a man in my position it was
rash, almost mad, to do such a thing. But there is nothing to make you
look scared. Tell me why you are so astonished and shocked? If I told
you I had shot Ainsworth you couldn't look more alarmed."
"I'll tell you later--not now. Go on with your story, Philip. When you
know all you will see why I was startled. It has nothing to do with
you. I wish you and Miss Layard all the happiness that can fall to the
lot of mortals; but I need scarcely tell you that, my dear, dear
Philip."
"I know it, Frank. You need not tell me you wish me well. You're the
most-generous-hearted fellow alive. You have suffered cruel wrong
through my blood, but never through me personally. Yet I believe if I
had done you a personal wrong you would shake my hand and wish me well
all the same. I believe if you yourself had thought of Hetty, and she
chose me, you would be just as cordial in your good wishes as you are
now."
"I should indeed," said Bramwell, with a strange light in his eyes.
"And now tell me the rest of your story."
Again he shook his brother-in-law warmly by both hands, and then sat
down.
"There is nothing else to tell. When we came over here to see about
the boy last night I asked her to be my wife, and she consented. By
the way, how did he get on after I left?"
"For a while his rest was broken," said Bramwell, with a wan smile,
"but after that he slept perfectly till it was time to get up."
"I knew the child was only dreaming. But Hetty"--yes, he had called
her Hetty to his brother-in-law: how incomparably rich this made him
feel!--"but Hetty was fairly terrified, and I thought it better to
give way to her. It was nothing but a nightmare or a dream."
"Do you know, I am not so sure of that, Philip?"
"So sure of what?" asked the other man, drawing down his straight
eyebrows over his eyes, and peering into Bramwell's face, looking for
symptoms of incipient insanity.
"That it was all a dream," answered the other, returning his gaze.
"Are you mad?" cried Ray, drawing back, and regarding his companion
with severe displeasure.
"That is the second time I have been asked the same question within
the past twenty-four hours. Do you know who the other person was who
asked me that question?"
"Who?"
"Kate."
"O, he is mad!" cried Ray, stopping in his walk and surveying Bramwell
with pity and despair.
The other went on, quietly looking his brother-in-law in the face
steadily.
"The crisis of that disease went in her favour. She inserted that
announcement of her death in order that I might feel myself free to
marry if I chose. On her way to the River she came to this place to
get one more sight of her child. I found her here----"
"And you forgave her?" said Ray, in a breathless voice.
"Yes."
"Why?" fiercely.
"Because I thought it would be well for her to be near her child. And
she is to stay here----"
"Here? With you? You do not mean to say you will meet her day after
day for evermore?"
"Why not? She had nowhere else to go to--except the River."
"But he will come again, and she will leave you."
"No, no. He will not come again. Her beauty is gone for ever."
"Her beauty gone for ever! How came that to be?"
"The illness marked her for life."
"And yet she may stay?"
"Why not? Will it not comfort her to be near her child?"
"O, Frank, you make all other men look small!"
"I said I would tell you why I started and cried out a while ago. Last
night, when I believed myself free, I thought I might speak to Miss
Layard----"
"O, my brother! O, this is the cruellest blow that ever fell on man!
My heart is breaking for you."
"I did not know last night that your mind was set on Miss Layard."
"Do not speak of me."
"Boland's Ait!" cried a voice from without.
"Hark!" said Bramwell, holding up his finger. "That is Kate's voice. I
must go to fetch her home."