An Old Man's Love

  CHAPTER X.

  JOHN GORDON AGAIN GOES TO CROKER'S HALL.

  On the next morning, when John Gordon reached the corner of the roadat which stood Croker's Hall, he met, outside on the roadway, closeto the house, a most disreputable old man with a wooden leg and a rednose. This was Mr Baggett, or Sergeant Baggett as he was generallycalled, and was now known about all Alresford to be the husband ofMr Whittlestaff's housekeeper. For news had got abroad, and tidingswere told that Mr Baggett was about to arrive in the neighbourhoodto claim his wife. Everybody knew it before the inhabitants ofCroker's Hall. And now, since yesterday afternoon, all Croker's Hallknew it, as well as the rest of the world. He was standing thereclose to the house, which stood a little back from the road, betweennine and ten in the morning, as drunk as a lord. But I think hismanner of drunkenness was perhaps in some respects different fromthat customary with lords. Though he had only one leg of the flesh,and one of wood, he did not tumble down, though he brandished in theair the stick with which he was accustomed to disport himself. A lordwould, I think, have got himself taken to bed. But the Sergeant didnot appear to have any such intention. He had come out on to theroad from the yard into which the back-door of the house opened, andseemed to John Gordon as though, having been so far expelled, he wasdetermined to be driven no further,--and he was accompanied, at adistance, by his wife. "Now, Timothy Baggett," began the unfortunatewoman, "you may just take yourself away out of that, as fast as yourlegs can carry you, before the police comes to fetch you."

  "My legs! Whoever heared a fellow told of his legs when there wasone of them wooden. And as for the perlice, I shall want the perliceto fetch my wife along with me. I ain't a-going to stir out of thisplace without Mrs B. I'm a hold man, and wants a woman to look arterme. Come along, Mrs B." Then he made a motion as though to run afterher, still brandishing the stick in his hand. But she retreated, andhe came down, seated on the pathway by the roadside, as though he hadonly accomplished an intended manoeuvre. "Get me a drop o' summat,Mrs B., and I don't mind if I stay here half an hour longer." Thenhe laughed loudly, nodding his head merrily at the bystanders,--as nolord under such circumstances certainly would have done.

  All this happened just as John Gordon came up to the corner of theroad, from whence, by a pathway, turned the main entrance into MrWhittlestaff's garden. He could not but see the drunken red-nosedman, and the old woman, whom he recognised as Mr Whittlestaff'sservant, and a crowd of persons around, idlers out of Alresford,who had followed Sergeant Baggett up to the scene of his presentexploits. Croker's Hall was not above a mile from the town, justwhere the town was beginning to become country, and where the housesall had gardens belonging to them, and the larger houses a fieldor two. "Yes, sir, master is at home. If you'll please to ring thebell, one of the girls will come out." This was said by Mrs Baggett,advancing almost over the body of her prostrate husband. "Drunkenbrute!" she said, by way of a salute, as she passed him. He onlylaughed aloud, and looked around upon the bystanders with triumph.

  At this moment Mr Whittlestaff came down through the gate into theroad. "Oh, Mr Gordon! good morning, sir. You find us rather ina disturbed condition this morning. I am sorry I did not thinkof asking you to come to breakfast. But perhaps, under all thecircumstances it was better not. That dreadful man has put us sadlyabout. He is the unfortunate husband of my hardly less unfortunatehousekeeper."

  "Yes, sir, he is my husband,--that's true," said Mrs Baggett.

  "I'm wery much attached to my wife, if you knew all about it, sir;and I wants her to come home with me. Service ain't no inheritance;nor yet ain't wages, when they never amounts to more than twentypounds a-year."

  "It's thirty, you false ungrateful beast!" said Mrs Baggett. But inthe meantime Mr Whittlestaff had led the way into the garden, andJohn Gordon had followed him. Before they reached the hall-door, MaryLawrie had met them.

  "Oh, Mr Whittlestaff!" she said, "is it not annoying? that dreadfulman with the wooden leg is here, and collecting a crowd round theplace. Good morning, Mr Gordon. It is the poor woman's ne'er-do-wellhusband. She is herself so decent and respectable, that she will begreatly harassed. What can we do, Mr Whittlestaff? Can't we get apoliceman?" In this way the conversation was led away to the affairsof Sergeant and Mrs Baggett, to the ineffable distress of JohnGordon. When we remember the kind of speeches which Gordon intendedto utter, the sort of eloquence which he desired to use, it must beadmitted that the interruption was provoking. Even if Mary wouldleave them together, it would be difficult to fall back upon thesubject which Gordon had at heart.

  It is matter of consideration whether, when important subjects areto be brought upon the _tapis_, the ultimate result will or will notdepend much on the manner in which they are introduced. It oughtnot to be the case that they shall be so prejudiced. "By-the-by, mydear fellow, now I think of it, can you lend me a couple of thousandpounds for twelve months?" Would that generally be as efficaciousas though the would-be borrower had introduced his request with thegeneral paraphernalia of distressing solemnities? The borrower, atany rate, feels that it would not, and postpones the moment tillthe fitting solemnities can be produced. But John Gordon could notpostpone his moment. He could not go on residing indefinitely at theClaimant's Arms till he could find a proper opportunity for assuringMr Whittlestaff that it could not be his duty to marry Mary Lawrie.He must rush at his subject, let the result be what it might. Indeedhe had no hopes as to a favourable result. He had slept upon it, aspeople say when they intend to signify that they have lain awake,and had convinced himself that all eloquence would be vain. Was itnatural that a man should give up his intended wife, simply becausehe was asked? Gordon's present feeling was an anxious desire tobe once more on board the ship that should take him again to thediamond-fields, so that he might be at peace, knowing then, as hewould know, that he had left Mary Lawrie behind for ever. At thismoment he almost repented that he had not left Alresford without anyfarther attempt. But there he was on Mr Whittlestaff's ground, andthe attempt must be made, if only with the object of justifying hiscoming.

  "Miss Lawrie," he began, "if you would not mind leaving me and MrWhittlestaff alone together for a few minutes, I will be obligedto you." This he said with quite sufficient solemnity, so that MrWhittlestaff drew himself up, and looked hard and stiff, as though hewere determined to forget Sergeant Baggett and all his peccadilloesfor the moment.

  "Oh, yes; certainly; but--" Mr Whittlestaff looked sternly at her,as though to bid her go at once. "You must believe nothing as comingfrom me unless it comes out of my own mouth." Then she put her handupon his arm, as though half embracing him.

  "You had better leave us, perhaps," said Mr Whittlestaff. And thenshe went.

  Now the moment had come, and John Gordon felt the difficulty. It hadnot been lessened by the assurance given by Mary herself that nothingwas to be taken as having come from her unless it was known and heardto have so come. And yet he was thoroughly convinced that he wasaltogether loved by her, and that had he appeared on the scene buta day sooner, she would have accepted him with all her heart. "MrWhittlestaff," he said, "I want to tell you what passed yesterdaybetween me and Miss Lawrie."

  "Is it necessary?" he asked.

  "I think it is."

  "As far as I am concerned, I doubt the necessity. Miss Lawrie hassaid a word to me,--as much, I presume, as she feels to benecessary."

  "I do not think that her feeling in the matter should be a guide foryou or for me. What we have both of us to do is to think what may bebest for her, and to effect that as far as may be within our power."

  "Certainly," said Mr Whittlestaff. "But it may so probably be thecase that you and I shall differ materially as to thinking what maybe best for her. As far as I understand the matter, you wish that sheshould be your wife. I wish that she should be mine. I think that asmy wife she would live a happier life than she could do as yours; andas she thinks also--" Here Mr Whittlestaff paused.

  "But does she think so?"

  "You heard wha
t she said just now."

  "I heard nothing as to her thoughts of living," said John Gordon "Norin the interview which I had with her yesterday did I hear a wordfall from her as to herself. We have got to form our ideas as to thatfrom circumstances which shall certainly not be made to appear by herown speech. When you speak against me--"

  "I have not said a word against you, sir."

  "Perhaps you imply," said Gordon, not stopping to notice MrWhittlestaff's last angry tone,--"perhaps you imply that my life maybe that of a rover, and as such would not conduce to Miss Lawrie'shappiness."

  "I have implied nothing."

  "To suit her wishes I would remain altogether in England. I was verylucky, and am not a man greedy of great wealth. She can remain here,and I will satisfy you that there shall be enough for our jointmaintenance."

  "What do I care for your maintenance, or what does she? Do you know,sir, that you are talking to me about a lady whom I intend to make mywife,--who is engaged to marry me? Goodness gracious me!"

  "I own, sir, that it is singular."

  "Very singular,--very singular indeed. I never heard of such a thing.It seems that you knew her at Norwich."

  "I did know her well."

  "And then you went away and deserted her."

  "I went away, Mr Whittlestaff, because I was poor. I was told by herstep-mother that I was not wanted about the house, because I had nomeans. That was true, and as I loved her dearly, I started at once,almost in despair, but still with something of hope,--with a shade ofhope,--that I might put myself in the way of enabling her to becomemy wife. I did not desert her."

  "Very well. Then you came back and found her engaged to be my wife.You had it from her own mouth. When a gentleman hears that, what hashe to do but to go away?"

  "There are circumstances here."

  "What does she say herself? There are no circumstances to justifyyou. If you would come here as a friend, I offered to receive you. Asyou had been known to her, I did not turn my back upon you. But nowyour conduct is so peculiar that I cannot ask you to remain here anylonger." They were walking up and down the long walk, and now MrWhittlestaff stood still, as though to declare his intention that theinterview should be considered as over.

  "I know that you wish me to go away," said Gordon.

  "Well, yes; unless you withdraw all idea of a claim to the younglady's hand."

  "But I think you should first hear what I have to say. You will notsurely have done your duty by her unless you hear me."

  "You can speak if you wish to speak," said Mr Whittlestaff.

  "It was not till yesterday that you made your proposition to MissLawrie."

  "What has that to do with it?"

  "Had I come on the previous day, and had I been able then to tell herall that I can tell her now, would it have made no difference?"

  "Did she say so?" asked the fortunate lover, but in a very angrytone.

  "No; she did not say so. It was with difficulty that I forced fromher an avowal that her engagement was so recent. But she did confessthat it was so. And she confessed, not in words, but in her manner,that she had found it impossible to refuse to you the request thatyou had asked."

  "I never heard a man assert so impudently that he was the sole ownerof a lady's favours. Upon my word, I think that you are the vainestman whom I ever met."

  "Let it be so. I do not care to defend myself, but only her. WhetherI am vain or not, is it not true that which I say? I put it to you,as man to man, whether you do not know that it is true? If you marrythis girl, will you not marry one whose heart belongs to me? Willyou not marry one of whom you knew two days since that her heart wasmine? Will you not marry one who, if she was free this moment, wouldgive herself to me without a pang of remorse?"

  "I never heard anything like the man's vanity!"

  "But is it true? Whatever may be my vanity, or self-seeking, orunmanliness if you will, is not what I say God's truth? It is notabout my weaknesses, or your weaknesses, that we should speak, butabout her happiness."

  "Just so; I don't think she would be happy with you."

  "Then it is to save her from me that you are marrying her,--so thatshe may not sink into the abyss of my unworthiness."

  "Partly that."

  "But if I had come two days since, when she would have received mewith open arms--"

  "You have no right to make such a statement."

  "I ask yourself whether it is not true? She would have received mewith open arms, and would you then have dared, as her guardian, tobid her refuse the offer made to her, when you had learned, as youwould have done, that she loved me; that I had loved her with allmy heart before I left England; that I had left it with the view ofenabling myself to marry her; that I had been wonderfully successful;that I had come back with no other hope in the world than that ofgiving it all to her; that I had been able to show you my whole life,so that no girl need be afraid to become my wife--"

  "What do I know about your life? You may have another wife living atthis moment."

  "No doubt; I may be guilty of any amount of villainy, but then, asher friend, you should make inquiry. You would not break a girl'sheart because the man to whom she is attached may possibly be arogue. In this case you have no ground for the suspicion."

  "I never heard of a man who spoke of himself so grandiloquently!"

  "But there is ample reason why you should make inquiry. In truth, asI said before, it is her happiness and not mine nor your own that youshould look to. If she has taken your offer because you had been goodto her in her desolation,--because she had found herself unable torefuse aught to one who had treated her so well; if she had doneall this, believing that I had disappeared from her knowledge, anddoubting altogether my return; if it be so--and you know that it isso--then you should hesitate before you lead her to her doom."

  "You heard her say that I was not to believe any of these thingsunless I got them from her own mouth?"

  "I did; and her word should go for nothing either with you or withme. She has promised, and is willing to sacrifice herself to herpromise. She will sacrifice me too because of your goodness,--andbecause she is utterly unable to put a fair value upon herself. To meshe is all the world. From the first hour in which I saw her to thepresent, the idea of gaining her has been everything. Put aside thewords which she just spoke, what is your belief of the state of herwishes?"

  "I can tell you my belief of the state of her welfare."

  "There your own prejudice creeps in, and I might retaliate bycharging you with vanity as you have done me,--only that I thinksuch vanity very natural. But it is her you should consult on such amatter. She is not to be treated like a child. Of whom does she wishto become the wife? I boldly say that I have won her love, and thatif it be so, you should not desire to take her to yourself. You havenot answered me, nor can I expect you to answer me; but look intoyourself and answer it there. Think how it will be with you, when thegirl who lies upon your shoulder shall be thinking ever of some otherman from whom you have robbed her. Good-bye, Mr Whittlestaff. I donot doubt but that you will turn it all over in your thoughts." Thenhe escaped by a wicket-gate into the road at the far end of the longwalk, and was no more heard of at Croker's Hall on that day.