CHAPTER XXXI
THE END CROWNS ALL
"I have done it now," said the Duchess, "God knows what will be theconsequence, but I have at least delivered my soul."
She had scarcely uttered the words before Albert Fanning strode backinto the room. He was not the least awkward now, he looked quite manlyand dignified.
"Will you oblige me," he said, looking straight at the Duchess, "bygiving me the address of Mr. James Randolph?"
"You are not going to do anything," I cried, springing up, "oh, youare not going to say anything? This has been forced out of me, and Ihave not mentioned any one's name."
"I will do nothing to hurt you, dear," he said very gently, and helooked at me again, and putting his hand on mine forced me quietlyback into my seat. Then he turned to the Duchess, waiting for her togive him what he required.
Her face was very white, and her lips tremulous. She tore a sheet outof her little gold-mounted note-book, which always hung at her side,scribbled a few words on it, and handed it to him.
"I am dreadfully sorry to hurt you, you must believe that," she said.
He did not make any response. He bowed to her and then left the room.
"What does it mean? This is terrible," I cried.
The Duchess looked at me.
"Will you come home with me, Westenra? it is best for you," she said."Come and spend the rest of the day with me."
"No, I cannot," I answered; "I must stay here. Albert may come backagain. There is no saying what mischief you have done. I cannot think,I am too miserable, too anxious. Oh, suppose he goes to see Mr.Randolph, and suppose, suppose he tells him."
"I believe in his heart that man is a gentleman. Even if you marry himI shall not be quite so unhappy as I would have been," was theDuchess's next speech, and then seeing that I was not inclined to sayanything more she left the room.
I do not know how the rest of the day passed. From the quiet ofdespair my mind was suddenly roused to a perfect whirl of anxiety, andI could not think consecutively. I could plan nothing, I could hopenothing, but it seemed to me that my journey to Switzerland wasindefinitely postponed, and that my future from being settled in everydetail, month, week, hour, and all, was as indefinite and vague andshadowy as though I were standing on the brink of the other world.
Jasmine entered the room at tea-time and asked me what was the matter.I replied that I had nothing at all fresh to tell her, for I felt thatshe must never know what the Duchess had told Albert Fanning. Shegazed at me as I spoke as though I were a source of irritation to her,and then said that my stepping down had changed me so absolutely thatshe was not sure whether I was a nice girl any longer, and whether,after all, the fate of being Albert Fanning's wife was not the bestfate for me. Then I said stoutly--
"Albert Fanning is one of the best men in the world, and I amfortunate to be left in such good care." Jasmine got really angry andoffended then, and went out of the room. She presently came back toask me, if I would mind dining alone, as she and Henry wished to spendtheir last evening with some friends. I said that, of course, I didnot mind. In reality I was very glad.
Jasmine went out, and I was again alone. How I hated the house; how Ihated the dreary, and yet beautifully-furnished drawing-room; how theheat oppressed me, and seemed to take away the remainder of mystrength! I wondered if it were true, that I was only two-and-twenty,just on the verge of womanhood. I felt quite old, and I stretched outmy arms, and gave a dreary sigh; and felt that the sadness of youthwas just as _great_ as the sadness of age; and that one of its mostpainful moments was the knowledge that, in the ordinary course oflife, I was so far from the end. Yes, I was young, and I must bear myburden, and I was strong too; and there was no chance under anyordinary circumstances of my not living out the full measure of myyears.
Just before dinner the drawing-room door was again opened, and AlbertFanning for the third time that day made his appearance. He lookedquite brisk, and bright, and like his usual self, except that in someextraordinary way his awkwardness and self-consciousness hadcompletely left him; he was evidently absorbed with some business onhand, which made him a new man for the time.
"Will you come for a walk with me, Westenra?" he asked gravely.
"What, now?" I inquired in some surprise and trepidation.
"Yes," he answered, "or, at least, I want you to drive with me now,and to walk with me afterwards. I have a great desire that we shouldspend this evening together; and I fancy, somehow, that you won't denyme. I have a carriage outside; I bought it for you, yesterday, a smartlittle victoria. I will drive you to Richmond, and we can dine there.You will come, won't you, dear?"
I paused to think, then I said, just as gravely as he had addressedme--
"Yes, I'll come."
"That is nice," he remarked, rubbing his hands, "we'll have a goodtime, little girl. We won't mind what the Duchess said; we'll have aright, good, jolly time, you and I."
"Of course," I answered. I went up to my room, dressed, and came downagain.
"I am ready now," I said.
He took my hand.
"It is very good of you, Westenra; we shall have a delightful evening;all that thundery feeling has gone out of the air, everything is crispand fresh, and you'll enjoy your drive."
None of the servants saw us go out, and it was Albert himself who putme into the victoria. He sat beside me, took the reins, and we wereoff.
"Don't you think this is a neat little turn-out?" he said, as we drovedown in the soft summer air to Richmond.
I praised the victoria to his heart's content, and then I told himthat I thought his taste was much improved.
"It is all owing to you, dear," he replied. "You like things to look_gentle_ somehow. I could not see myself looking at you in a placewith _loud_ things. It was only this morning I was saying to myself,early this morning, I mean"--he gave a quick sigh as he uttered theselast words--"I was saying to myself, that we would furnish the houseat Highgate over again according to your ideas. We would just leave acouple of rooms for mother, according to her tastes, and you and Ishould have the rest of the house furnished as you like. Liberty,Morris, all the rest, everything soft, and cloudy, and dim, and youwalking about in the midst of the pretty things, and I coming home,and--but, never mind, dear, only I would like you always to feel, thatthere is nothing under the sun I would not do for you, nothing."
"You are very, very kind," I murmured.
"Oh, it is not real kindness," he replied with great earnestness. "Youmust not speak of it as kindness; you cannot call it that, when youlove, and I love you so much, little girl, that when I do things foryou, I do things for myself; you can never call it just _kindness_when you please yourself. That is how I feel about the matter. Youunderstand, don't you?"
I nodded. I understood very well. Albert thought me kind when I saidgentle and affectionate words to him, but he thought himself ratherselfish than otherwise, when he poured out his whole heart at my feet.
As we were driving quickly in the direction of Richmond, he told memany of his plans. I had never heard him speak more freely norunrestrainedly. Amongst other things he mentioned Jane Mullins.
"She is a capital woman," he said, "and she and I have gone carefullyinto the matter of the house in Graham Square. Jane wants to give itup, and it is quite too big for her to manage alone. I am startingher in a little boarding-house in Pimlico, and with her business-likeinstincts she will do uncommonly well there. She spoke of you when Isaw her yesterday, there were tears in her eyes."
"She must come and see us when we are settled at Highgate," I replied,but to this remark of mine he made no answer.
We got to Richmond, and had some dinner, and then we went out, andwalked up and down on the terrace outside the hotel. There was alovely view, and the stars were coming out. Albert said--
"Let us turn down this walk. It is quite sheltered and rather lonely,and at the farther end there is an arbour, they call it the 'Lover'sArbour.' Beyond doubt many lovers have sat there; you and
I, Westenra,will sit there to-night."
I had been feeling almost happy in his society--I had almost forgottenthe Duchess, and even Jim Randolph had been put into the background ofmy thoughts; but when Albert proposed that he and I should sit in the"Lover's Arbour" as lovers, I felt a shiver run through me. I said nota word, however, and I do not think he noticed the momentaryunwillingness which made me pause and hesitate. We walked between thebeautiful flowering shrubs, and under the leafy trees to the littlearbour, and we entered. I seated myself; he stood in the doorway.
"Won't you come and sit down, too?" I said.
"Do you ask me?" he answered, a light leaping into his eyes.
"Yes, I do ask you," I replied after a moment.
He sat down--then suddenly without the slightest warning, his armswere round me; he had strained me to his heart; he had kissed meseveral times on my lips.
"Oh, you ought not," I could not help exclaiming.
"But why not?" he cried, and he did not let me go, but looked into myeyes, almost fiercely it seemed to me. "You are my promised wife, mayI not kiss you just once?"
"Oh, I know, you have the right to kiss me, but you have alwaysbeen----" I could not finish the words. He suddenly dropped his arms,moved away from me, and stood up. His face was gloomy, then the gloomseemed to clear as by a great effort.
"I have kissed you," he said; "I vowed I would, and I have done it. Ishall remember that kiss, and the feel of you in my arms, all my lifelong; but I am not going to think of my own feelings, I have somethingfar more important to say. Do you know, little girl, that I receivedan awful shock to-day? Now, listen. You gave me your bond, did younot?"
"I did, Albert, I did."
"Just come out here, dear, I want to see your face. Ah! the moonshines on it and lights it up; there never was a face in all theworld like yours, never to me; and I vowed, that because of it, andbecause of you, I would lead a good life, a beautiful life. A greatdeal, that I did not think was in me, has been awakened since you weregood to me, Westenra."
"You have been very kind to me, Albert," I said, "and I will marryyou. I will marry you when a year is up."
"You are a good girl," he said, patting my hand; but he did notsqueeze it, nor even take it in his. "You are a very good girl, andyou remember your bond. It was faithfully given, was it not?"
"Very faithfully, Albert."
"And you always, always meant to keep it?"
"I always did. I will keep it. Albert, why do you question me? Why doyou doubt me?"
"I will tell you in a minute, darling. Now I want to ask you aquestion. Do you love me the least little scrap? Look well, well intoyour heart before you answer. I know that when you said you wouldmarry me, you did not love me. You were willing to be bone of my bone,and flesh of my flesh; my dear, dear wife, till death us did part; youwere willing to be all that?"
"I was," I said.
"And yet had you _never_ a kindly feeling towards me?"
"A very kindly feeling," I answered, "very kindly, but I----"
"I know," he said, "you are a good girl. I won't press you too hard.Still my questions are not quite over. Had you, Westenra, at the timeyou promised yourself to me, any sort of idea that you cared foranother?"
"He was dead, or at least, I thought he was dead," I said, trembling,and turning away. "Had I thought him alive, even for mother's sake, Icould not have done it, but I thought him dead."
"And now that he has come back, you are sorry you gave me that bond?"
"Do not question me," I replied; "I will do my best for you; you willnever regret that you have taken me to be your wife, but you must notquestion me."
"Because of your sore, sore heart," he said, looking very kindly atme; and now I looked back at him, and saw that in some wonderful waythe expression on his face had changed; the look of passion had leftit--it was quite quiet, a very kindly face, a very good face; neverwere there more honest blue eyes.
"I pressed you hard," he said, "I should not have done it, I see itall now, and you were so good and so unselfish. You gave me that bondfor your mother's sake. I meant to put you into a corner; I meant toforce your hand. It was unfair, miserably unfair. I did not think soat the time, but now I see it. Well, my dear, you are so gentle, andso different from other girls, that you have opened my eyes. There isa good bit of pain in having one's eyes opened sometimes, but there isalso great joy in giving perfect joy to one whom you love, as I loveyou. So, if you will promise, little girl, faithfully, that never,never shall those debts which I paid for you, be paid back again tome; if you will allow me, for the whole of my life, to feel that I wasthe one who saved Westenra in her hour of bitter need; I was the onewho helped her mother in her last moments to go down to the grave inpeace, if you will promise all that, Westenra, there is an end ofeverything else. You have your bond back again. I don't want it,child, it is yours to do what you will with. You are free, Westenra.If it is hard on me, I am not going to talk of myself; but, I hope, Iam manly enough to bear a bit of pain, and not cause the girl I lovebest on earth to suffer pain to her dying day. You are free, Westenra,that is all."
"But I won't be free," I answered passionately, for at that moment allthe heroism in me, all that my dead father had given me before I wasborn, all that I owed to him, sprang to life in my veins, and I sawAlbert Fanning as a hero, and faintly, very faintly, I began to lovehim in return. Not for a moment with the love I had for Jim, but stillwith a love which might have made me a blessed if not a happy wife.
"I won't be free, Albert," I cried, "I gave you my bond, and I willkeep it; I will marry you."
"Never mind about that just now," he said; "but do you think--" he satdown near me as he spoke, and looked me in the face. "Do you think youcould bring yourself to do one last thing for me?"
"It won't be a last thing," I answered, "it will be the first of many;I will do everything for you; I will marry you."
"It is not such a big thing as that," he replied; "but it is a bigthing, at least a very big thing to me. It is something that I shallprize all my life. I took you in my arms just now and kissed you--willyou kiss me just once of your own accord?"
I did not hesitate; I raised my lips and pressed a kiss on his cheek.He looked at me very mournfully and quietly.
"Thank you," he said, "I shall always have this to make a better manof me."
"But I am going to be yours; you won't cast me off," I pleaded; "Isaid I would marry you on the 1st of June next year, and I will."
"But I would rather not, my little girl. The fact is this, Westenra, Iwould not marry you now at any price. I would have married you had Ithought I could have won you in the end, but I won't have a wife wholoves another. I could not do it on any terms, Westenra. I am low downenough, but I am not as low as that. So I refuse you, dear; I give youup--you understand, don't you?"
I did understand. A wild wave of joy, almost intolerable, surgedround my heart, and the next moment Mr. Fanning took my hand and ledme out of the arbour just where the moon was shining.
"I asked Mr. Randolph to come down," he said quietly, "I guessed thatperhaps he would be wanted. I think this is he."
Footsteps were heard approaching, and Jim Randolph stood in themoonlit path.
"How do you do, Mr. Randolph?" said Albert Fanning, with that newdignity which self-denial gave him. He looked almost grand at themoment.
"I have just been telling this young girl, Mr. Randolph, that I haveheard a certain secret about her which she was bravely trying to keepto herself, and in consequence of that secret I can have nothing moreto do with her. She wanted to marry me, sir, but I have refused her;she is quite free, free for any one else to woo and win. She is a verygood girl, sir, and--but that is all, I have nothing more to say. Ihave given her back her bond." And then without a word, Albert Fanningwalked quickly away through the gloom of the shrubbery, and Jim and Ifound ourselves alone face to face with the moonlight shining on usboth.
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