CHAPTER XXX.
MARY BELTON.
It was about the middle of the pleasant month of May when ClaraAmedroz again made that often repeated journey to Taunton, with theobject of meeting Mary Belton. She had transferred herself and herown peculiar belongings back from the cottage to the house, and hadagain established herself there so that she might welcome her newfriend. But she was not satisfied with simply receiving her guest atBelton, and therefore she made the journey to Taunton, and settledherself for the night at the inn. She was careful to get a bedroomfor an "invalid lady," close to the sitting-room, and before she wentdown to the station she saw that the cloth was laid for tea, and thatthe tea parlour had been made to look as pleasant as was possiblewith an inn parlour.
She was very nervous as she stood upon the platform waiting for thenew comer to show herself. She knew that Mary was a cripple, but didnot know how far her cousin was disfigured by her infirmity; andwhen she saw a pale-faced little woman, somewhat melancholy, but yetpretty withal, with soft, clear eyes, and only so much appearanceof a stoop as to soften the hearts of those who saw her, Clara wasagreeably surprised, and felt herself to be suddenly relieved of anunpleasant weight. She could talk to the woman she saw there, as toany other woman, without the painful necessity of treating her alwaysas an invalid. "I think you are Miss Belton?" she said, holding outher hand. The likeness between Mary and her brother was too great toallow of Clara being mistaken.
"And you are Clara Amedroz? It is so good of you to come to meet me!"
"I thought you would be dull in a strange town by yourself."
"It will be much nicer to have you with me."
Then they went together up to the inn; and when they had taken theirbonnets off, Mary Belton kissed her cousin. "You are very nearly whatI fancied you," said Mary.
"Am I? I hope you fancied me to be something that you could like."
"Something that I could love very dearly. You are a little tallerthan what Will said; but then a gentleman is never a judge of alady's height. And he said you were thin."
"I am not very fat."
"No; not very fat; but neither are you thin. Of course, you know, Ihave thought a great deal about you. It seems as though you had cometo be so very near to us; and blood is thicker than water, is it not?If cousins are not friends, who can be?"
In the course of that evening they became very confidential together,and Clara thought that she could love Mary Belton better than anywoman that she had ever known. Of course they were talking aboutWilliam, and Clara was at first in constant fear lest some wordshould be said on her lover's behalf,--some word which would driveher to declare that she would not admit him as a lover; but Maryabstained from the subject with marvellous care and tact. Though shewas talking through the whole evening of her brother, she so spokeof him as almost to make Clara believe that she could not have heardof that episode in his life. Mrs. Askerton would have dashed at thesubject at once; but then, as Clara told herself, Mary Belton wasbetter than Mrs. Askerton.
A few words were said about the estate, and they originated inClara's declaration that Mary would have to be regarded as themistress of the house to which they were going. "I cannot agree tothat," said Mary.
"But the house is William's, you know," said Clara.
"He says not."
"But of course that must be nonsense, Mary."
"It is very evident that you know nothing of Plaistow ways, or youwould not say that anything coming from William was nonsense. We areaccustomed to regard all his words as law, and when he says that athing is to be so, it always is so."
"Then he is a tyrant at home."
"A beneficent despot. Some despots, you know, always werebeneficent."
"He won't have his way in this thing."
"I'll leave you and him to fight about that, my dear. I am socompletely under his thumb that I always obey him in everything. Youmust not, therefore, expect to range me on your side."
The next day they were at Belton Castle, and in a very few hoursClara felt that she was quite at home with her cousin. On the secondday Mrs. Askerton came up and called,--according to an arrangement tothat effect made between her and Clara. "I'll stay away if you likeit," Mrs. Askerton had said. But Clara had urged her to come, arguingwith her that she was foolish to be thinking always of her ownmisfortune. "Of course I am always thinking of it," she had replied,"and always thinking that other people are thinking of it. Yourcousin, Miss Belton, knows all my history, of course. But whatmatters? I believe it would be better that everybody should know it.I suppose she's very straight-laced and prim." "She is not prim atall," said Clara. "Well, I'll come," said Mrs. Askerton, "but I shallnot be a bit surprised if I hear that she goes back to Norfolk thenext day."
So Mrs. Askerton came, and Miss Belton did not go back to Norfolk.Indeed, at the end of the visit, Mrs. Askerton had almost taughtherself to believe that William Belton had kept his secret, even fromhis sister. "She's a dear little woman," Mrs. Askerton afterwardssaid to Clara.
"Is she not?"
"And so thoroughly like a lady."
"Yes; I think she is a lady."
"A princess among ladies! What a pretty little conscious way she hasof asserting herself when she has an opinion and means to stick toit! I never saw a woman who got more strength out of her weakness.Who would dare to contradict her?"
"But then she knows everything so well," said Clara.
"And how like her brother she is!"
"Yes;--there is a great family likeness."
"And in character, too. I'm sure you'd find, if you were to try her,that she has all his personal firmness, though she can't show it ashe does by kicking out his feet and clenching his fist."
"I'm glad you like her," said Clara.
"I do like her very much."
"It is so odd,--the way you have changed. You used to speak of him asthough he was merely a clod of a farmer, and of her as a stupid oldmaid. Now, nothing is too good to say of them."
"Exactly, my dear;--and if you do not understand why, you are not soclever as I take you to be."
Life went on very pleasantly with them at Belton for two or threeweeks;--but with this drawback as regarded Clara, that she had nomeans of knowing what was to be the course of her future life. Duringthese weeks she twice received letters from her cousin Will, andanswered both of them. But these letters referred to matters ofbusiness which entailed no contradiction,--to certain details ofmoney due to the estate before the old squire's death, and to thatvexed question of Aunt Winterfield's legacy, which had by this timedrifted into Belton's hands, and as to which he was inclined to actin accordance with his cousin's wishes, though he was assured by Mr.Green that the legacy was as good a legacy as had ever been left byan old woman. "I think," he said in his last letter, "that we shallbe able to throw him over in spite of Mr. Green." Clara, as she readthis, could not but remember that the man to be thrown over was theman to whom she had been engaged, and she could not but remember alsoall the circumstances of the intended legacy,--of her aunt's death,and of the scenes which had immediately followed her death. It was soodd that William Belton should now be discussing with her the meansof evading all her aunt's intentions,--and that he should be doingso, not as her accepted lover. He had, indeed, called himself herbrother, but he was in truth her rejected lover.
From time to time during these weeks Mrs. Askerton would ask herwhether Mr. Belton was coming to Belton, and Clara would answer herwith perfect truth that she did not believe that he had any suchintention. "But he must come soon," Mrs. Askerton would say. And whenClara would answer that she knew nothing about it, Mrs. Askertonwould ask further questions about Mary Belton. "Your cousin must knowwhether her brother is coming to look after the property?" But MissBelton, though she heard constantly from her brother, gave no suchintimation. If he had any intention of coming, she did not speakof it. During all these days she had not as yet said a word ofher brother's love. Though his name was daily in her mouth,--andlatterly, was frequently m
entioned by Clara,--there had been noallusion to that still enduring hope of which Will Belton himselfcould not but speak,--when he had any opportunity of speaking at all.And this continued till at last Clara was driven to suppose that MaryBelton knew nothing of her brother's hopes.
But at last there came a change,--a change which to Clara was asgreat as that which had affected her when she first found thather delightful cousin was not safe against love-making. She hadmade up her mind that the sister did not intend to plead for herbrother,--that the sister probably knew nothing of the brother'snecessity for pleading,--that the brother probably had no furtherneed for pleading! When she remembered his last passionate words, shecould not but accuse herself of hypocrisy when she allowed place inher thoughts to this latter supposition. He had been so intentlyearnest! The nature of the man was so eager and true! But yet, inspite of all that had been said, of all the fire in his eyes, andlife in his words, and energy in his actions, he had at last seenthat his aspirations were foolish, and his desires vain. It could nototherwise be that she and Mary should pass these hours in such calmrepose without an allusion to the disturbing subject! After thisfashion, and with such meditations as these, had passed by the lastweeks;--and then at last there came the change.
"I have had a letter from William this morning," said Mary.
"And so have not I," said Clara, "and yet I expect to hear from him."
"He means to be here soon," said Mary.
"Oh, indeed!"
"He speaks of being here next week."
For a moment or two Clara had yielded to the agitation caused by hercousin's tidings; but with a little gush she recovered her presenceof mind, and was able to speak with all the hypothetical propriety ofa female. "I am glad to hear it," she said. "It is only right that heshould come."
"He has asked me to say a word to you,--as to the purport of hisjourney."
Then again Clara's courage and hypocrisy were so far subdued thatthey were not able to maintain her in a position adequate to theoccasion. "Well," she said laughing, "what is the word? I hope it isnot that I am to pack up, bag and baggage, and take myself elsewhere.Cousin William is one of those persons who are willing to doeverything except what they are wanted to do. He will go on talkingabout the Belton estate, when I want to know whether I may reallylook for as much as twelve shillings a week to live upon."
"He wants me to speak to you about--about the earnest love he bearsfor you."
"Oh dear! Mary;--could you not suppose it all to be said? It is anold trouble, and need not be repeated."
"No," said Mary, "I cannot suppose it to be all said." Clara lookingup as she heard the voice, was astonished both by the fire in thewoman's eye and by the force of her tone. "I will not think so meanlyof you as to believe that such words from such a man can be passed byas meaning nothing. I will not say that you ought to be able to lovehim; in that you cannot control your heart; but if you cannot lovehim, the want of such love ought to make you suffer,--to suffer muchand be very sad."
"I cannot agree to that, Mary."
"Is all his life nothing, then? Do you know what love means withhim;--this love which he bears to you? Do you understand that itis everything to him?--that from the first moment in which heacknowledged to himself that his heart was set upon you, he could notbring himself to set it upon any other thing for a moment? Perhapsyou have never understood this; have never perceived that he is somuch in earnest, that to him it is more than money, or land, orhealth,--more than life itself;--that he so loves that he wouldwillingly give everything that he has for his love? Have you knownthis?"
Clara would not answer these questions for a while. What if she hadknown it all, was she therefore bound to sacrifice herself? Could itbe the duty of any woman to give herself to a man simply because aman wanted her? That was the argument as it was put forward now byMary Belton.
"Dear, dearest Clara," said Mary Belton, stretching herself forwardfrom her chair, and putting out her thin, almost transparent, hand,"I do not think that you have thought enough of this; or, perhaps,you have not known it. But his love for you is as I say. To him it iseverything. It pervades every hour of every day, every corner in hislife! He knows nothing of anything else while he is in his presentstate."
"He is very good;--more than good."
"He is very good."
"But I do not see that;--that-- Of course I know how disinterested heis."
"Disinterested is a poor word. It insinuates that in such a matterthere could be a question of what people call interest."
"And I know, too, how much he honours me."
"Honour is a cold word. It is not honour, but love,--downright true,honest love. I hope he does honour you. I believe you to be anhonest, true woman; and, as he knows you well, he probably doeshonour you;--but I am speaking of love." Again Clara was silent. Sheknew what should be her argument if she were determined to oppose hercousin's pleadings; and she knew also,--she thought she knew,--thatshe did intend to oppose them; but there was a coldness in theargument to which she was averse. "You cannot be insensible to suchlove as that!" said Mary, going on with the cause which she had inhand.
"You say that he is fond of me."
"Fond of you! I have not used such trifling expressions as that."
"That he loves me."
"You know he loves you. Have you ever doubted a word that he hasspoken to you on any subject?"
"I believe he speaks truly."
"You know he speaks truly. He is the very soul of truth."
"But, Mary--"
"Well, Clara! But remember; do not answer me lightly. Do not playwith a man's heart because you have it in your power."
"You wrong me. I could never do like that. You tell me that he lovesme;--but what if I do not love him? Love will not be constrained. AmI to say that I love him because I believe that he loves me?"
This was the argument, and Clara found herself driven to use it,--notso much from its special applicability to herself, as on account ofits general fitness. Whether it did or did not apply to herself shehad no time to ask herself at that moment; but she felt that no mancould have a right to claim a woman's hand on the strength of his ownlove,--unless he had been able to win her love. She was arguing onbehalf of women in general rather than on her own behalf.
"If you mean to tell me that you cannot love him, of course I mustgive over," said Mary, not caring at all for men and women ingeneral, but full of anxiety for her brother. "Do you mean to saythat,--that you can never love him?" It almost seemed, from herface, that she was determined utterly to quarrel with her new-foundcousin,--to quarrel and to go at once away if she got an answer thatwould not please her.
"Dear Mary, do not press me so hard."
"But I want to press you hard. It is not right that he should losehis life in longing and hoping."
"He will not lose his life, Mary."
"I hope not;--not if I can help it. I trust that he will be strongenough to get rid of his trouble,--to put it down and trample itunder his feet." Clara, as she heard this, began to ask herself whatit was that was to be trampled under Will's feet. "I think he willbe man enough to overcome his passion; and then, perhaps,--you mayregret what you have lost."
"Now you are unkind to me."
"Well; what would you have me say? Do I not know that he is offeringyou the best gift that he can give? Did I not begin by swearing toyou that he loved you with a passion of love that cannot but beflattering to you? If it is to be love in vain, this to him is agreat misfortune. And, yet, when I say that I hope that he willrecover, you tell me that I am unkind."
"No;--not for that."
"May I tell him to come and plead for himself?"
Again Clara was silent, not knowing how to answer that last question.And when she did answer it, she answered it thoughtlessly. "Of coursehe knows that he can do that."
"He says that he has been forbidden."
"Oh, Mary, what am I to say to you? You know it all, and I wonderthat you can continue to question me in
this way."
"Know all what?"
"That I have been engaged to Captain Aylmer."
"But you are not engaged to him now."
"No--I am not."
"And there can be no renewal there, I suppose?"
"Oh, no!"
"Not even for my brother would I say a word if I thought--"
"No;--there is nothing of that; but--. If you cannot understand, I donot think that I can explain it." It seemed to Clara that her cousin,in her anxiety for her brother, did not conceive that a woman,even if she could suddenly transfer her affections from one man toanother, could not bring herself to say that she had done so.
"I must write to him to-day," said Mary, "and I must give him someanswer. Shall I tell him that he had better not come here till youare gone?"
"That will perhaps be best," said Clara.
"Then he will never come at all."
"I can go;--can go at once. I will go at once. You shall never haveto say that my presence prevented his coming to his own house. Iought not to be here. I know it now. I will go away, and you may tellhim that I am gone."
"No, dear; you will not go."
"Yes;--I must go. I fancied things might be otherwise, because heonce told me that--he--would--be--a brother to me. And I said I wouldhold him to that;--not only because I want a brother so badly, butbecause I love him so dearly. But it cannot be like that."
"You do not think that he will ever desert you?"
"But I will go away, so that he may come to his own house. I oughtnot to be here. Of course I ought not to be at Belton,--either inthis house or in any other. Tell him that I will be gone before hecan come, and tell him also that I will not be too proud to acceptfrom him what it may be fit that he should give me. I have no one buthim;--no one but him;--no one but him." Then she burst into tears,and throwing back her head, covered her face with her hands.
Miss Belton, upon this, rose slowly from the chair on which she wassitting, and making her way painfully across to Clara, stood leaningon the weeping girl's chair. "You shall not go while I am here," shesaid.
"Yes; I must go. He cannot come till I am gone."
"Think of it all once again, Clara. May I not tell him to come, andthat while he is coming you will see if you cannot soften your hearttowards him?"
"Soften my heart! Oh, if I could only harden it!"
"He would wait. If you would only bid him wait, he would be so happyin waiting."
"Yes--till to-morrow morning. I know him. Hold out your little fingerto him, and he has your whole hand and arm in a moment."
"I want you to say that you will try to love him."
But Clara was in truth trying not to love him. She was ashamed ofherself because she did love the one man, when, but a few weekssince, she had confessed that she loved another. She had mistakenherself and her own feelings, not in reference to her cousin, but insupposing that she could really have sympathised with such a man asCaptain Aylmer. It was necessary to her self-respect that she shouldbe punished because of that mistake. She could not save herself fromthis condemnation,--she would not grant herself a respite--because,by doing so, she would make another person happy. Had Captain Aylmernever crossed her path, she would have given her whole heart to hercousin. Nay; she had so given it,--had done so, although CaptainAylmer had crossed her path and come in her way. But it was matter ofshame to her to find that this had been possible, and she could notbring herself to confess her shame.
The conversation at last ended, as such conversations always do end,without any positive decision. Mary wrote of course to her brother,but Clara was not told of the contents of the letter. We, however,may know them, and may understand their nature, without learningabove two lines of the letter. "If you can be content to wait awhile,you will succeed," said Mary; "but when were you ever content towait for anything?" "If there is anything I hate, it is waiting,"said Will, when he received the letter; nevertheless the letter madehim happy, and he went about his farm with a sanguine heart, as hearranged matters for another absence. "Away long?" he said, in answerto a question asked him by his head man; "how on earth can I say howlong I shall be away? You can go on well enough without me by thistime, I should think. You will have to learn, for there is no knowinghow often I may be away, or for how long."
When Mary said that the letter had been written, Clara again spokeabout going. "And where will you go?" said Mary.
"I will take a lodging in Taunton."
"He would only follow you there, and there would be more trouble.That would be all. He must act as your guardian, and in thatcapacity, at any rate, you must submit to him." Clara, therefore,consented to remain at Belton; but, before Will arrived, she returnedfrom the house to the cottage.
"Of course I understand all about it," said Mrs. Askerton; "and letme tell you this,--that if it is not all settled within a week fromhis coming here, I shall think that you are without a heart. He isto be knocked about, and cuffed, and kept from his work, and made torun up and down between here and Norfolk, because you cannot bringyourself to confess that you have been a fool."
"I have never said that I have not been a fool," said Clara.
"You have made a mistake,--as young women will do sometimes, evenwhen they are as prudent and circumspect as you are,--and now youdon't quite like the task of putting it right."
It was all true, and Clara knew that it was true. The putting rightof mistakes is never pleasant; and in this case it was so unpleasantthat she could not bring herself to acknowledge that it must be done.And yet, I think, that by this time she was aware of the necessity.