Ravenshoe

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  MARSTON'S DISAPPOINTMENT.

  Mary did not wonder at Marston's silence. She imagined that perhaps hehad been sobered by being cast on the shore so unceremoniously, andthought but little more of it. Then she dressed for dinner, and went andstood in one of the deep windows of the hall, looking out.

  The great fire which leapt and blazed in the hall chimney was fastsuperseding the waning daylight outside. It was very pleasant to look atthe fire, and the fire-light on wall and ceiling, on antler and armour,and then to get behind the curtain, and look out into the howlingwinter's evening, over the darkening, raging sea, and the tossing trees,and think how all the boats were safe in, and the men sitting round thepleasant fires with their wives and children, and that the dogs werewarm in the kennels, and the horses in the stable; and to pity the poorbirds, and hope they had good warm nooks and corners to get to; andthen to think of the ships coming up the channel, and hope they mightkeep a good offing.

  This brought her to thinking, for the first time, of her own littleself--how, so many years ago, she had been cast up like a little pieceof seaweed out of that awful ocean. She thought of the _WarrenHastings_, and how she and Charles, on summer days, when out gatheringshells on the rocks, used to look over to where the ship lay beneath thesea, and wonder whereabout it was. Then she had a kindly smile on herface as she thought of Mr. Archer, the brave and good (now I am happy tosay Captain Archer), and looked over the hall to a hideous anddiabolical graven image, which he had sent the year before, among somevery valuable presents, and had begged her to be particularly carefulof, as he had risked his life in getting it; and which she and Charleshad triumphantly placed in the hall, and maintained there, too, in spiteof the sarcasms of Father Mackworth, and the pious horror of theservants and villagers. And so she went on thinking--thinking of herdead parents, of the silence maintained by her relations, of oldDensil's protection, and then of the future. That protection must ceasesoon, and then--

  A governess! There were many stories about governesses not being welltreated. Perhaps it was their own fault, or they were exceptional cases.She would like the nursery best, and to keep away from the drawing-roomaltogether. "Yes," she said, "I will _make_ them love me; I will be sogentle, patient, and obliging. I am not afraid of the children--I know Ican win _them_--or of my mistress much; I believe I can win _her_. I ammost afraid of the superior servants; but, surely, kindness andsubmission will win them in time.

  "My sheet-anchor is old Lady Ascot. She got very fond of me during thatsix months I stayed with her; and she is very kind. Surely she will getme a place where I shall be well treated! and, if not, why then--I shallonly be in the position of thousands of other girls. I must fightthrough it. There is another life after this.

  "It will be terribly hard parting from all the old friends though! Afterthat, I think I shall have no heart left to suffer with. Yes; I supposethe last details of the break-up will be harder to bear than anythingwhich will follow. That will tear one's heart terribly. That over, Isuppose my salary will keep me in drawing materials, and give me thepower, at every moment of leisure, of taking myself into fairy land.

  "I suppose actual destitution is impossible. I should think so. Yes,yes; Lady Ascot would take care of that. If that were to come though?They say a girl can always make four-pence a day by her needle. How Iwould fight, and strive, and toil! And then how sweet death would be!"

  She paused, and looked out on the darkened ocean. "And yet," she thoughtagain, "I would follow--follow him to the world's end:--

  "'Across the hills, and far away, Beyond their utmost purple rim; Beyond the night, across the day, The happy princess followed him.'"

  A door opened into the hall, and a man's step was on the stone-floor;she raised the curtain to see who it was. It was Marston; and he camestraight towards her, and stood beside her, looking out over the wildstormy landscape.

  "Miss Corby," he said, "I was coming to try and find you."

  "You are very lucky in your search," she said, smiling on him. "I wasalone here with the storm; and, if I had not raised the curtain, youwould never have seen me. How it blows! I am glad you are not out inthis. This is one of your lucky days."

  "I should be glad to think so. Will you listen to me for a very fewminutes, while I tell you something?"

  "Surely," she said. "Who is there that I would sooner listen to?"

  "I fear I shall tire your patience now, though. I am a comparativelypoor man."

  "And what of that, my dear Mr. Marston? You are rich in honour, infuture prospects. You have a noble future before you."

  "Will you share it, Mary?"

  "Oh! what do you mean?"

  "Will you be my wife? I love you beyond all the riches and honours ofthe world--I love you as you will never be loved again. It is due to youand to myself to say that, although I call myself poor, I have enough tokeep you like a lady, and all my future prospects beside. Don't give mea hasty answer, but tell me, is it possible you can become my wife?"

  "Oh, I am so sorry for this!" said poor Mary. "I never dreamt of this.Oh, no! it is utterly and entirely impossible, Mr. Marston--utterly andhopelessly impossible! You must forgive me, if you can; but you mustnever, never think about me more."

  "Is there no hope?" said Marston.

  "No hope, no hope!" said Mary. "Please never think about me any more,till you have forgiven me; and then, with your children on your knee,think of me as a friend who loves you dearly."

  "I shall think of you till I die. I was afraid of this: it is just as Ithought."

  "What did you think?"

  "Nothing--nothing! Will you let me kiss your hand?"

  "Surely; and God bless you!"

  "Are we to say good-bye for ever, then?" said poor Marston.

  "I hope not. I should be sorry to think that," said poor Mary, crying."But you must never speak to me like this again, dear Mr. Marston. Godbless you, once more!"

  Charles was dressing while this scene was going on, and was thinking,while brushing his hair, what there was for dinner, and whether therewould be a turbot or not, and whether the cook would send in the breastof the venison. The doe, Charles sagely reflected, had been killed fivedays before, and the weather had been warm: surely That Woman would letthem have the breast. He was a fool not to have told her of it in themorning before he went out; but she was such an obstinate old catamaranthat she very likely wouldn't have done it. "There was no greatermistake," this young Heliogabalus proceeded to remark, "than hangingyour breasts too long. Now your haunch, on the other hand----" but wecannot follow him into such a vast and important field of speculation."There would be a couple of cocks, though--pretty high, near about themark----"

  The door opened, and in walked Father Mackworth.

  "Hallo, Father!" said Charles. "How are you? Did you hear of our spillto-day? We were deuced near done for, I assure you."

  "Charles," said the priest, "your nature is frank and noble. I was interror to-day lest you should go to your account bearing me malice."

  "A Ravenshoe never bears malice, Father," said Charles.

  "A Ravenshoe never does, I am aware," said Father Mackworth, with such adead equality of emphasis, that Charles could not have sworn that helaid any on the word "Ravenshoe."

  "But I have got an apology to make to you, Father," said Charles: "Ihave to apologise to you for losing my temper with you the other day,and breaking out into I can't say what tirade of unjust anger. I prayyou to forgive me. We don't love one another, you know. How can we? ButI behaved like a blackguard, as I always do when I am in a passion.Will you forgive me?"

  "I had forgotten the circumstance." ("Good heaven!" said Charles tohimself, "can't this man help lying!") "But, if I have anything toforgive, I freely do so. I have come to ask for a peace. As long as yourfather lives, let there be outward peace between us, if no more."

  "I swear there shall," said Charles. "I like you to-night, sir, betterthan ever I did before, for t
he kindness and consideration you show tomy father. When he is gone there will be peace between us, for I shallleave this house, and trouble you no more."

  "I suppose you will," said Father Mackworth, with the same deadness ofemphasis remarked before. And so he departed.

  "That is a manly young fellow, and a gentleman," thought FatherMackworth. "Obstinate and headstrong, without much brains; but with morebrains than the other, and more education. The other will be verytroublesome and headstrong; but I suppose I shall be able to managehim."

  What person do you think Father Mackworth meant by the "other"? Hedidn't mean Cuthbert.

  At dinner Densil was garrulous, and eager to hear of their shipwreck. Hehad made a great rally the last fortnight, and was his old self again.Lord Saltire, whose gout had fled before careful living and moderateexercise, informed them, after the soup, that he intended to leave themafter four days' time, as he had business in another part of thecountry. They were rather surprised at his abrupt departure, and he saidthat he was very sorry to leave such pleasant society, in which he hadbeen happier than he had been for many years.

  "There is a pleasant, innocent, domestic sort of atmosphere whichradiates from you, my old friend," he said, "such as I seldom or neverget away from you or Mainwaring, grim warrior though he be (you rememberhim at Ranford, Charles?). But the law of the Medes and Persians is notamenable to change, and I go on Thursday."

  The post arrived during dinner, and there was a letter for Charles. Itwas from Ranford. "Welter comes on Thursday, father--the very day LordSaltire goes. How annoying!"

  "I must try to bear up under the affliction!" said that nobleman, takingsnuff, and speaking very drily.

  "Where is he to go, I wonder?" mused Mary, aloud. "He must go into thewest wing, for he always smokes in his bedroom."

  Charles expected that Cuthbert would have had a sneer at Welter, whom hecordially disliked; but Cuthbert had given up sneering lately. "Not muchmore reading for you, Charles!" he said.

  "I am afraid not," said Charles. "I almost wish he wasn't coming; wewere very happy before."

  Charles was surprised to see Marston so silent at dinner. He feared hemight have offended him, but couldn't tell how. Then he wondered to seeMary so silent, too, for she generally chirruped away like a lark; buthe didn't refer the two similar phenomena to a common cause, and so hearrived at no conclusion.

  When Lord Saltire went to bed that night, he dismissed Charles fromattendance, and took Marston's arm; and, when they were alone together,he thus began:--

  "Does your shrewdness connect my abrupt departure with the arrival ofLord Welter?"

  "I was inclined to, my lord; but I do not see how you were to have knownit."

  "I heard yesterday from Lady Ascot."

  "I am sorry he is coming," said Marston.

  "So am I. I can't stay in the house with him. The contrast of his loud,coarse voice and stable slang to the sort of quiet conversation we havehad lately would be intolerable; besides, he is an atrocious youngruffian, and will ruin our boy if he can."

  "Charles won't let him now, Lord Saltire."

  "Charles is young and foolish. I am glad, however, that Welter does notgo back to Oxford with him. But there will be Welter's set in theirglory, I suppose, unless some of them have got hung. I would sooner seehim at home. He is naturally quiet and domestic. I suppose he was in asad set up there."

  "He was in a very good set, and a very bad one. He was a favouriteeverywhere."

  "He had made some acquaintances he ought to be proud of, at least," saidLord Saltire, in a way which made honest Marston blush. "I wish hewasn't going to Ranford."

  "Report says," said Marston, "that affairs are getting somewhat shakythere: Welter's tradesmen can't get any money."

  Lord Saltire shook his head significantly, and then said, "Now I want tospeak to you about yourself. Did not you have a disappointment to-day?"

  "Yes, my lord."

  "Ha!"

  They both sat silent for a moment.

  "How did you guess that, Lord Saltire?"

  "I saw what was going on; and, by your manner and hers to-day, I guessedsomething had taken place. Is there no hope for you?"

  "None."

  "I feared not: but what right had I to tell you so?"

  "Perhaps, my lord, I should not have believed you if you had," saidMarston, smiling.

  "What man would have? You are not angry?"

  "How could I be? The world is out of joint, that is all."

  "You are a true gentleman. I swear to you," said the old man, eagerly,"that there is no one in fault. She has given her honest little heartaway--and what wonder!--but believe me that you are behaving as a manshould behave, in not resenting it. If you were a heathen and aFrenchman (synonymous terms, my dear boy), you might find it your dutyto cut somebody's throat; but, being a Christian and a gentleman, youwill remain a true friend to somebody who loves you dearly, and is worthloving in return. This sort of thing cuts a man up confoundedly. Ithappened to me once; but, believe me, you will get over it."

  "I mean to do so. How kind and generous you are to me! How shall I everrepay you?"

  "By kindness to those I love," said the old man. "I take thisopportunity of telling you that your fortunes are my particular care. Icannot get you the wife you love, but I am rich and powerful, and can domuch. Not another word. Go to bed, sir--to bed."

  Marston, sitting on his bedside that night, said aloud to himself, "Andso that is that dicing old _roue_, Saltire, is it? Well, well; it is afunny world. What a noble fellow he would have been if he had had abetter chance. Nay, what a noble fellow he is. I am ten years oldersince this morning" (he wasn't, but he thought it). And so he said hisprayers like an honest man, and prayed for the kind old heathen who hadsuch a warm heart; and then, being nowise ashamed to do so, he prayedthat he might sleep well; and, for a time, he forgot all about hisdisappointment, and slept like a child.

  Lord Saltire's valet was a staid and sober-minded gentleman ofsixty-four. Generally, when he was putting his lordship to bed, he usedto give him the news of the day; but to-night Lord Saltire said, "Nevermind the news, Simpson, if you please; I am thinking of something." Mylord used to wear a sort of muffler, like a footless stocking, to keephis old knees warm in bed. He remained silent till he got one on, andthen, without taking the other from the expectant Simpson, he addressedthe fire-irons aloud:

  "This is a pretty clumsy contrivance to call a world!" he said, withprofound scorn. "Look here (to the poker), here's as fine a lad as everyou saw, goes and falls in love with a charming girl, who cares no morefor him than the deuce. He proposes to her, and is refused. Why? becauseshe has given her heart away to another fine young fellow, who don'tcare twopence for her, and has given _his_ heart away to the mostambitious young Jezebel in the three kingdoms, who I don't believe caresso very much for him. I am utterly disgusted with the whole system ofmundane affairs! Simpson, give me that muffler, if you please; and praydon't wake me before nine. I must try to sleep off the recollection ofsome of this folly."