could the friendless woman do but return tothe father of her child? What claim had I on her, by comparison with_him_? What did it matter, now that the poor creature secretly returnedthe love that I felt for her? There was the child, an obstacle betweenus--there was _his_ hold on her, now that he had got her back! What was_my_ hold worth? All social proprieties and all social laws answered thequestion: Nothing!
My head sunk on my breast; I received the blow in silence.
My good mother took my hand. "You understand it now, George?" she said,sorrowfully.
"Yes, mother; I understand it."
"There was one thing she wished me to say to you, my dear, which I havenot mentioned yet. She entreats you not to suppose that she had thefaintest idea of her situation when she attempted to destroy herself.Her first suspicion that it was possible she might become a mother wasconveyed to her at Edinburgh, in a conversation with her aunt. It isimpossible, George, not to feel compassionately toward this poor woman.Regrettable as her position is, I cannot see that she is to blame forit. She was the innocent victim of a vile fraud when that man marriedher; she has suffered undeservedly since; and she has behaved nobly toyou and to me. I only do her justice in saying that she is a woman in athousand--a woman worthy, under happier circumstances, to be my daughterand your wife. I feel _for_ you, and feel _with_ you, my dear--I do,with my whole heart."
So this scene in my life was, to all appearance, a scene closed forever.As it had been with my love, in the days of my boyhood, so it was againnow with the love of my riper age!
Later in the day, when I had in some degree recovered myself-possession, I wrote to Mr. Van Brandt--as _she_ had foreseen Ishould write!--to apologize for breaking my engagement to dine with him.
Could I trust to a letter also, to say the farewell words for me to thewoman whom I had loved and lost? No! It was better for her, and betterfor me, that I should not write. And yet the idea of leaving her insilence was more than my fortitude could endure. Her last words atparting (as they were repeated to me by my mother) had expressed thehope that I should not think hardly of her in the future. How could Iassure her that I should think of her tenderly to the end of my life?My mother's delicate tact and true sympathy showed me the way. "Send alittle present, George," she said, "to the child. You bear no malice tothe poor little child?" God knows I was not hard on the child! I wentout myself and bought her a toy. I brought it home, and before I sent itaway, I pinned a slip of paper to it, bearing this inscription: "To yourlittle daughter, from George Germaine." There is nothing very pathetic,I suppose, in those words. And yet I burst out crying when I had writtenthem.
The next morning my mother and I set forth for my country-house inPerthshire. London was now unendurable to me. Traveling abroad I hadtried already. Nothing was left but to go back to the Highlands, and totry what I could make of my life, with my mother still left to live for.
CHAPTER XVI. MY MOTHER'S DIARY.
THERE is something repellent to me, even at this distance of time, inlooking back at the dreary days, of seclusion which followed eachother monotonously in my Highland home. The actions of my life, howevertrifling they may have been, I can find some interest in recalling: theyassociate me with my fellow-creatures; they connect me, in some degree,with the vigorous movement of the world. But I have no sympathy with thepurely selfish pleasure which some men appear to derive from dwelling onthe minute anatomy of their own feelings, under the pressure of adversefortune. Let the domestic record of our stagnant life in Perthshire (sofar as I am concerned in it) be presented in my mother's words, not inmine. A few lines of extract from the daily journal which it was herhabit to keep will tell all that need be told before this narrativeadvances to later dates and to newer scenes.
"20th August.--We have been two months at our home in Scotland, and Isee no change in George for the better. He is as far as ever, I fear,from being reconciled to his separation from that unhappy woman. Nothingwill induce him to confess it himself. He declares that his quiet lifehere with me is all that he desires. But I know better! I have been intohis bedroom late at night. I have heard him talking of her in his sleep,and I have seen the tears on his eyelids. My poor boy! What thousandsof charming women there are who would ask nothing better than to be hiswife! And the one woman whom he can never marry is the only woman whomhe loves!
"25th.--A long conversation about George with Mr. MacGlue. I have neverliked this Scotch doctor since he encouraged my son to keep the fatalappointment at Saint Anthony's Well. But he seems to be a clever man inhis profession--and I think, in his way, he means kindly toward George.His advice was given as coarsely as usual, and very positively at thesame time. 'Nothing will cure your son, madam, of his amatory passionfor that half-drowned lady of his but change--and another lady. Sendhim away by himself this time; and let him feel the want of some kindcreature to look after him. And when he meets with that kind creature(they are as plenty as fish in the sea), never trouble your head aboutit if there's a flaw in her character. I have got a cracked tea-cupwhich has served me for twenty years. Marry him, ma'am, to the new onewith the utmost speed and impetuosity which the law will permit.' I hateMr. MacGlue's opinions--so coarse and so hard-hearted!--but I sadly fearthat I must part with my son for a little while, for his own sake.
"26th.--Where is George to go? I have been thinking of it all throughthe night, and I cannot arrive at a conclusion. It is so difficult toreconcile myself to letting him go away alone.
"29th.--I have always believed in special providences; and I am nowconfirmed in my belief. This morning has brought with it a note fromour good friend and neighbor at Belhelvie. Sir James is one of thecommissioners for the Northern Lights. He is going in a Governmentvessel to inspect the lighthouses on the North of Scotland, and on theOrkney and Shetland Islands--and, having noticed how worn and ill mypoor boy looks, he most kindly invites George to be his guest on thevoyage. They will not be absent for more than two months; and thesea (as Sir James reminds me) did wonders for George's health when hereturned from India. I could wish for no better opportunity than this oftrying what change of air and scene will do for him. However painfully Imay feel the separation myself, I shall put a cheerful face on it; and Ishall urge George to accept the invitation.
"30th.--I have said all I could; but he still refuses to leave me. I ama miserable, selfish creature. I felt so glad when he said No.
"31st.--Another wakeful night. George must positively send his answer toSir James to-day. I am determined to do my duty toward my son--he looksso dreadfully pale and ill this morning! Besides, if something is notdone to rouse him, how do I know that he may not end in going back toMrs. Van Brandt after all? From every point of view, I feel bound toinsist on his accepting Sir James's invitation. I have only to be firm,and the thing is done. He has never yet disobeyed me, poor fellow. Hewill not disobey me now.
"2d September.--He has gone! Entirely to please me--entirely against hisown wishes. Oh, how is it that such a good son cannot get a good wife!He would make any woman happy. I wonder whether I have done right insending him away? The wind is moaning in the fir plantation at the backof the house. Is there a storm at sea? I forgot to ask Sir James how bigthe vessel was. The 'Guide to Scotland' says the coast is rugged; andthere is a wild sea between the north shore and the Orkney Islands. Ialmost regret having insisted so strongly--how foolish I am! We are allin the hands of God. May God bless and prosper my good son!
"10th.--Very uneasy. No letter from George. Ah, how full of trouble thislife is! and how strange that we should cling to it as we do!
"15th.--A letter from George! They have done with the north coast andthey have crossed the wild sea to the Orkneys. Wonderful weather hasfavored them so far; and George is in better health and spirits. Ah! howmuch happiness there is in life if we only have the patience to wait forit.
"2d October.--Another letter. They are safe in the harbor of Lerwick,the chief port in the Shetland Islands. The weather has not latterlybeen at all favorable. But the amendment in George's heal
th remains. Hewrites most gratefully of Sir James's unremitting kindness to him. I amso happy, I declare I could kiss Sir James--though he _is_ a great man,and a Commissioner for Northern Lights! In three weeks more (wind andweather permitting) they hope to get back. Never mind my lonely lifehere, if I can only see George happy and well again! He tells me theyhave passed a great deal of their time on shore; but not a word doeshe say about meeting any ladies. Perhaps they are scarce in those wildregions? I have heard of Shetland shawls and Shetland ponies. Are thereany Shetland ladies, I wonder?"
CHAPTER XVII. SHETLAND HOSPITALITY.
"GUIDE! Where are we?"
"I can't say for certain."
"Have you lost your way?"
The guide looks slowly all round him, and then looks at me. That is hisanswer to my question. And that is