Marion Fay: A Novel

  CHAPTER XII.

  LORD HAMPSTEAD AGAIN WITH MRS. RODEN.

  Weeks had passed by since Lord Hampstead had walked up and down BroadStreet with Mr. Fay,--weeks which were to him a period of terriblewoe. His passion for Marion had so seized upon him, that it had inall respects changed his life. The sorrow of her alleged ill-healthhad fallen upon him before the hunting had been over, but from thatmoment he had altogether forgotten his horses. The time had now comein which he was wont to be on board his yacht, but of his yacht hetook no notice whatever. "I can tell you nothing about it as yet,"he said in the only line which he wrote to his skipper in answer topiteous applications made to him. None of those who were near anddear to him knew how he passed his time. His sister left him and wentup to the house in London, and he felt that her going was a relief tohim. He would not even admit his friend Roden to come to him in histrouble. He spent his days all alone at Hendon, occasionally goingacross to Holloway in order that he might talk of his sorrow to Mrs.Roden. Midsummer had come upon him before he again saw the Quaker.Marion's father had left a feeling almost of hostility in his mindin consequence of that conversation in Broad Street. "I no longerwant anything on your behalf," the Quaker had seemed to say. "I carenothing now for your name, or your happiness. I am anxious only formy child, and as I am told that it will be better that you should notsee her, you must stay away." That the father should be anxious forhis daughter was natural enough. Lord Hampstead could not quarrelwith Zachary Fay. But he taught himself to think that their interestswere at variance with each other. As for Marion, whether she wereill or whether she were well, he would have had her altogether tohimself.

  Gradually there had come upon him the conviction that there was areal barrier existing between himself and the thing that he desired.To Marion's own words, while they had been spoken only to himself,he had given no absolute credit. He had been able to declare to herthat her fears were vain, and that whether she were weak or whethershe were strong, it was her duty to come to him. When they two hadbeen together his arguments and assurances had convinced at any ratehimself. The love which he had seen in her eyes and had heard fromher lips had been so sweet to him, that their savour had overcomewhatever strength her words possessed. But these protestations, theseassurances that no marriage could be possible, when they reached himsecond-hand, as they had done through his sister and through theQuaker, almost crushed him. He did not dare to tell them that hewould fain marry the girl though she were dying,--that he wouldaccept any chance or no chance, if he might only be allowed to holdher in his arms, and tell her that she was all his own. There hadcome a blow, he would say to himself, again and again, as he walkedabout the grounds at Hendon, there had come a blow, a fatal blow, ablow from which there could be no recovery,--but, still, it should,it ought, to be borne together. He would not admit to himself thatbecause of this verdict there ought to be a separation between themtwo. It might be that the verdict had been uttered by a Judge againstwhom there could be no appeal; but even the Judge should not beallowed to say that Marion Fay was not his own. Let her come anddie in his arms if she must die. Let her come and have what of lifethere might be left to her, warmed and comforted and perhaps extendedby his love. It seemed to him to be certainly a fact, that becauseof his great love, and of hers, she did already belong to him; andyet he was told that he might not see her;--that it would be betterthat she should not be disturbed by his presence,--as though he wereno more than a stranger to her. Every day he almost resolved todisregard them, and go down to the little cottage in which she wasliving. But then he remembered the warnings which were given to him,and was aware that he had in truth no right to intrude upon theQuaker's household. It is not to be supposed that during this timehe had no intercourse with Marion. At first there came to be a fewlines, written perhaps once a week from her, in answer to many lineswritten by him; but by degrees the feeling of awe which at firstattached itself to the act of writing to him wore off, and she didnot let a day pass without sending him some little record of herselfand her doings. It had come to be quite understood by the Quakerthat Marion was to do exactly as she pleased with her lover. No onedreamed of hinting to her that this correspondence was improper orinjurious. Had she herself expressed a wish to see him, neither wouldthe Quaker nor Mrs. Roden have made strong objection. To whatevermight have been her wish or her decision they would have acceded. Itwas by her word that the marriage had been declared to be impossible.It was in obedience to her that he was to keep aloof. She had failedto prevail with her own soft words, and had therefore been driven touse the authority of others.

  But at this period, though she did become weaker and weaker fromday to day, and though the doctor's attendance was constant at thecottage, Marion herself was hardly unhappy. She grieved indeed forhis grief; but, only for that, there would have been triumph and joyto her rather than grief. The daily writing of these little notes wasa privilege to her and a happiness, of which she had hitherto knownnothing. To have a lover, and such a lover, was a delight to her,a delight to which there was now hardly any drawback, as there wasnothing now of which she need be afraid. To have him with her asother girls may have their lovers, she knew was impossible to her.But to read his words, and to write loving words to him, to talk tohim of his future life, and bid him think of her, his poor Marion,without allowing his great manly heart to be filled too full withvain memories, was in truth happiness to her. "Why should you want tocome?" she said. "It is infinitely better that you should not come.We understand it all now, and acknowledge what it is that the Lordhas done for us. It would not have been good for me to be your wife.It would not have been good for you to have become my husband. But itwill I think be good for me to have loved you; and if you will learnto think of it as I do, it will not have been bad for you. It hasgiven a beauty to my life," she said, "which makes me feel that Iought to be contented to die early. If I could have had a choice Iwould have chosen it so."

  But these teachings from her had no effect whatever upon him. Itwas her idea that she would pass away, and that there would remainwith him no more than a fair sweet shade which would have butlittle effect upon his future life beyond that of creating for himoccasionally a gentle melancholy. It could not be, she thought, thatfor a man such as he,--for one so powerful and so great,--such amemory should cause a lasting sorrow. But with him, to his thinking,to his feeling, the lasting biting sorrow was there already. Therecould be no other love, no other marriage, no other Marion. He hadheard that his stepmother was anxious for her boy. The way should beopen for the child. It did seem to him that a life, long continued,would be impossible to him when Marion should have been taken awayfrom him.

  "Oh yes;--he's there again," said Miss Demijohn to her aunt. "Hecomes mostly on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. What he can becoming about is more than I can guess. Crocker says it's all truelove. Crocker says that the Duca says--"

  "Bother the Duca," exclaimed the old woman. "I don't believe thatCrocker and George Roden ever exchange a word together."

  "Why shouldn't they exchange words, and they fast friends of fiveyears' standing? Crocker says as Lord Hampstead is to be at LadyAmaldina's wedding in August. His lordship has promised. And Crockerthinks--"

  "I don't believe very much about Crocker, my young woman. You hadbetter look to yourself, or, perhaps, you'll find when you have gotyourself married that Crocker has not got a roof to cover you."

  Lord Hampstead had walked over to Paradise Row, and was seated withMrs. Roden when this little squabble was going on. "You don't thinkthat I ought to let things remain as they are," he said to Mrs.Roden. To all such questions Mrs. Roden found it very difficult tomake any reply. She did in truth think that they ought to be allowedto remain as they were,--or rather that some severance should be mademore decided even than that which now existed. Putting aside herown ideas, she was quite sure that Marion would not consent to amarriage. And, as it was so, and must be so, it was better, shethought, that the young people should see no more of each other.This w
riting of daily letters,--what good could it do to either ofthem? To her indeed, to Marion, with her fixed purpose, and settledreligious convictions, and almost certain fate, little evil might bedone. But to Lord Hampstead the result would be, and was, terriblypernicious. He was sacrificing himself, not only as Mrs. Rodenthought for the present moment, but for many years perhaps,--perhapsfor his future life,--to a hopeless passion. A cloud was falling uponhim which might too probably darken his whole career. From the dayon which she had unfortunately taken Marion to Hendon Hall, she hadnever ceased to regret the acquaintance which she had caused. To herthinking the whole affair had been unfortunate. Between people sodivided there should have been no intimacy, and yet this intimacyhad been due to her. "It is impossible that I should not see her,"continued Lord Hampstead. "I will see her."

  "If you would see her, and then make up your mind to part withher,--that I think would be good."

  "To see her, and say farewell to her for ever?"

  "Yes, my lord."

  "Certainly not. That I will never do. If it should come to pass thatshe must go from me for ever, I would have her in my arms to the verylast!"

  "At such a moment, my lord, those whom nature has given to her forher friends--"

  "Has not nature given me too for her friend? Can any friend love hermore truly than I do? Those should be with us when we die to whom ourlife is of most importance. Is there any one to whom her life can behalf as much as it is to me? The husband is the dearest to his wife.When I look upon her as going from me for ever, then may I not saythat she is the same to me as my wife."

  "Why--why,--why?"

  "I know what you mean, Mrs. Roden. What is the use of asking 'why'when the thing is done? Could I make it so now, as though I had neverseen her? Could I if I would? Would I if I could? What is the goodof thinking of antecedents which are impossible? She has becomemy treasure. Whether past and fleeting, or likely to last me formy life, she is my treasure. Can I make a change because you askwhy,--and why,--and why? Why did I ever come here? Why did I knowyour son? Why have I got a something here within me which kills mewhen I think that I shall be separated from her, and yet crowns mewith glory when I feel that she has loved me. If she must leave me, Ihave to bear it. What I shall do, where I shall go, whether I shallstand or fall, I do not pretend to say. A man does not know, himself,of what stuff he is made, till he has been tried. But whatever may bemy lot, it cannot be altered by any care or custody now. She is myown, and I will not be separated from her. If she were dead, I shouldknow that she was gone. She would have left me, and I could not helpmyself. As yet she is living, and may live, and I will be with her. Imust go to her there, or she must come here to me. If he will permitit I will take some home for myself close to hers. What will itmatter now, though every one should know it? Let them all know it.Should she live she will become mine. If she must go,--what will theworld know but that I have lost her who was to have been my wife?"

  Even Mrs. Roden had not the heart to tell him that he had seenMarion for the last time. It would have been useless to tell himso, for he would not have obeyed the behest contained in such anassertion. Ideas of prudence and ideas of health had restrained himhitherto,--but he had been restrained only for a time. No one haddared suggest to him that he should never again see his Marion. "Isuppose that we must ask Mr. Fay," she replied. She was herself morepowerful than the Quaker, as she was well aware; but it had becomenecessary to her to say something.

  "Mr. Fay has less to say to it even than I have," said Hampstead. "Mybelief is that Marion herself is the only one among us who is strong.If it were not that she is determined, he would yield and you wouldyield."

  "Who can know as she knows?" said Mrs. Roden. "Which among us is solikely to be guided by what is right? Which is so pure, and honest,and loving? Her conscience tells her what is best."

  "I am not sure of that," said he. "Her conscience may fill her aswell as another with fears that are unnecessary. I cannot think thata girl should be encouraged by those around her to doom herself afterthis fashion. Who has a right to say that God has determined that sheshall die early?" Mrs. Roden shook her head. "I am not going to teachothers what religion demands, but to me it seems that we should leavethese things in God's hands. That she may doubt as to herself may benatural enough, but others should not have encouraged her."

  "You mean me, my lord?"

  "You must not be angry with me, Mrs. Roden. The matter to me is sovital that I have to say what I think about it. It does seem to methat I am kept away from her, whereas, by all the ties which canbind a man and a woman together, I ought to be with her. Forms andceremonies seem to sink to nothing, when I think of all she is to me,and remember that I am told that she is soon to be taken away fromme."

  "How would it be if she had a mother?"

  "Why should her mother refuse my love for her daughter? But she hasno mother. She has a father who has accepted me. I do believe thathad the matter been left wholly to him, Marion would now be my wife."

  "I was away, my lord, in Italy."

  "I will not be so harsh to such a friend as you, as to say that Iwish you had remained there; but I feel,--I cannot but feel--"

  "My lord, I think the truth is that you hardly know how strong insuch a matter as this our Marion herself can be. Neither have I norhas her father prevailed upon her. I can go back now, and tell youwithout breach of confidence all that passed between her and me. Whenfirst your name was discussed between us; when first I saw that youseemed to make much of her--"

  "Make much of her!" exclaimed Hampstead, angrily.

  "Yes; make much of her! When first I thought that you were becomingfond of her."

  "You speak as though there had been some idle dallying. Did I notworship her? Did I not pour out my whole heart into her lap from thefirst moment in which I saw her? Did I hide it even from you? Wasthere any pretence, any falsehood?"

  "No, indeed."

  "Do not say that I made much of her. The phrase is vile. When shetold me that she loved me, she made much of me."

  "When first you showed us that you loved her," she continued, "Ifeared that it would not be for good."

  "Why should it not be for good?"

  "I will not speak of that now, but I thought so. I thought so, and Itold my thoughts to Marion."

  "You did?"

  "I did;--and I think that in doing so, I did no more than my dutyto a motherless girl. Of the reasons which I gave to her I willsay nothing now. Her reasons were so much stronger, that mine werealtogether unavailing. Her resolutions were built on so firm a rock,that they needed no persuasions of mine to strengthen them. I hadever known Marion to be pure, unselfish, and almost perfect. ButI had never before seen how high she could rise, how certainly shecould soar above all weakness and temptation. To her there was nevera moment of doubt. She knew from the very first that it could not beso."

  "It shall be so," he said, jumping up from his chair, and flinging uphis arms.

  "It was not I who persuaded her, or her father. Even you cannotpersuade her. Having convinced herself that were she to marry you,she would injure you, not all her own passionate love will induce herto accept the infinite delight of yielding to you. What may be bestfor you;--that is present to her mind, and nothing else. On that herheart is fixed, and so clear is her judgment respecting it, that shewill not allow the words of any other to operate on her for a moment.Marion Fay, Lord Hampstead, is infinitely too great to have beenpersuaded in any degree by me."

  * * * * * *

  Nevertheless Mrs. Roden did allow herself to say that in her opinionthe lover should be allowed to see his mistress. She herself would goto Pegwell Bay, and endeavour to bring Marion back to Holloway. ThatLord Hampstead should himself go down and spend his long hours atthe little seaside place did not seem to her to be fitting. But shepromised that she would do her best to arrange at any rate anothermeeting in Paradise Row.