JOAN HASTE, H. RIDER HAGGARD [free ereaders TXT] 📗

"I know, I know," said Henry: "really, I am almost ashamed to look you in the face. As you are aware, the position was not of my making, but I inherit it, and am therefore, indirectly, to some extent responsible for it. I really think, Levinger, that the best thing you can do will be to sell us up, or to take over the property and manage it yourself. In either case you must, I fear, suffer a loss, but as things are at present that loss grows daily greater. You see, the worst of it is that there are several farms coming on hand at Michaelmas, and I can neither find money to work them nor tenants to take them. Should they be suffered to go out of cultivation, your security will be still further depreciated."

"I should be most sorry to take such a course, Graves, for many reasons, of which friendship to your family is not the least; and I have no desire to find the management of a large estate thrust upon me in my condition of health. Of course, should no other solution be found, some steps /must/ be taken sooner or later, for, after all, I am only a trustee, and dare not allow my daughter's property to be dissipated; but I still hope that a solution may be found--though, I admit, not so confidently as I did a few months back."

"It is no good playing with facts," answered Henry doggedly: "for my part I have no such hope."

Mr. Levinger rose and, laying his hand upon Henry's shoulder spoke earnestly.

"Graves," he said, "think again before you say that. I beg of you not to force me to measures that would be most distasteful to me, as I shall be forced if you persist in this declaration--not from any motives of pique or revenge, mind you, but because I am bound to protect the financial interests of another person. Will you forgive me if I speak more clearly, as one friend to another?"

"I'd rather you didn't; but as you like," answered Henry.

"I do like, my dear fellow; because I wish, if possible, to save you from yourself, and also because my own interests are involved. Graves, what is there against her? Why don't you marry her, and have done with all this miserable business? If you could find a sweeter or a better girl, I might understand it. But you cannot. Moreover, though her pride may be a little hurt just now, at heart she is devoted to you."

"Every word that you say is true, Mr. Levinger, except perhaps your last statement, which I am modest enough to doubt. But surely you understand, supposing your daughter to be willing, that it is most humiliating, even for a bankrupt, to take a wife upon such terms."

"I understand your pride, Graves, and I like you for it. Remember, it is not you who are bankrupt, but your father's estate, of which you are executor, and that there are occasions in life when pride should give way. After all, pride is a strictly personal possession; when you die your pride will die with you, but if you have allowed it to ruin your family, that can never be repaired. Are you therefore justified in indulging in this peculiar form of selfishness? And, my dear fellow, are you giving me your true, or rather your only reason?"

"What makes you ask that question, Mr. Levinger?"

"I have heard some gossip, that is all, Graves, as to a scene that is supposed to have occurred at your father's death-bed, in which the name of a certain young woman was mentioned."

"Who told you of this? my sister?"

"Certainly not. If walls have ears to hear, do you suppose that nurses and servants generally are without them? The point is, I have heard it, and, as you make no contradiction, I presume that it contains a proportion of truth."

"If this is so, Mr. Levinger, one might think that it would induce you to request me to abandon the idea of making any advances to your daughter; but it seems to have had an opposite effect."

"Did the story that has reached me prove you to be a confirmed evil liver, or an unprincipled libertine, this might be the case; but it proves nothing of the sort. We are liable to fall into folly, all of us, but some of us can fall out again."

"You are charitable," said Henry; "but it seems to me, as there are two people concerned in this sort of folly, that they owe a duty to each other."

"Perhaps, in some cases; but it is one which has not been recognised by the other person in this instance, seeing that she has gone off and left no address."

"Perhaps she felt obliged to go, or perhaps she was sent, Mr. Levinger."

"If you mean that I sent her, Graves, you are very much mistaken. I have had some queer fiduciary relations with this girl for years, and the other day she came and told me that she was going to London to earn her living. I raised objections, but she overruled them. She is of age, and I have no control over her actions; indeed, on reflection, I thought it best that she should go, for I will not conceal from you that there is a certain amount of loose talk about yourself in Bradmouth. When a young woman gets mixed up in this sort of thing, my experience is, that she had better either marry or try a change of air. In this case she declined to marry, although she had an excellent opportunity of so doing, therefore I fell in with the change of air proposal, and I learn that within a day or two she went away nobody knows whither. I have no doubt, however, that sooner or later I shall hear of her whereabouts, for she is entitled to an allowance of sixty pounds a year, which she will certainly not forget to draw. Till then--unless, indeed, you know her address already--you will scarcely find her; and if you are not going to marry her, which I gather she has never desired, I'll do you the justice to suppose that you cannot wish to follow her, and disturb her in her employment, whatever it may be, since such a course would probably lead to her losing it."

"You are right there: I never wish to see her again, unless it is in order to ask her to become my wife."

"Then do not see her, Graves. For her sake, for your own, for your mother's, and for mine, or rather for my daughter's, I beg you not to see her, or to allow these quixotic notions of yours to drag you down to ruin. Let the thing alone, and all will be well; follow it up, and you are a lost man. Do you think that you would find happiness in such a marriage?--I am putting aside all questions of duty, position and means--I tell you, 'no.' I am not speaking without my book," he added fiercely, "and I warn you that when you have grown accustomed to her beauty, and she had ceased to wonder at your generosity, your life would become a hell. What sympathy can there be between individuals so different in standing, in taste, and in education? How could you bear the jealousies, the passions, and the aggressive ignorance of such a woman? How could you continue to love her when you remembered in what fashion your affection had begun; when for her sake you found yourself a social outcast, and when, every time that you beheld her face, you were constrained to recollect that it was the wrecker's light which lured you, and through you all whom you hold dear, to utter and irretrievable disaster? I tell you that I have seen such cases, and I have seen their miserable ends; and I implore you, Henry Graves, to pause before you give another and a signal example of them."

"You speak very feelingly," said Henry, "and no doubt there is a great deal of truth in what you say. I had two messmates who made /mésalliances/, and certainly it didn't answer with them, for they have both gone to the dogs--indeed, one poor fellow committed suicide. However, it is very difficult to argue on such matters, and still more difficult to take warning from the fate of others, since the circumstances are never similar. But I promise you this, Levinger, that I will do nothing in a hurry--for two or three months, indeed--and that I will take no step in the matter without informing you fully of my intentions, for I think that this is due to you. Meanwhile, if you are good enough to allow me to remain upon friendly terms with your daughter and yourself, I shall be glad, though I am sure I do not know how she will receive me. Within a few months I shall finally have decided upon my course of action, and if I then come to the conclusion that I am not bound in honour elsewhere, perhaps I may ask you to allow me to try my fortune with Miss Levinger, unworthy of her as I am and always shall be."

"I can find no fault with that arrangement, Graves. You have set out your mind like an honest man, and I respect you for it. It will make me the more anxious to learn, when the three months are up, that you have decided to forget all this folly and to begin afresh. Now I have something to ask you: it is that, so soon as you can get about again, you will pay us the visit which was so unfortunately postponed. Please understand I do not mean that I wish you to make advances to my daughter, but I should like you to grow to know each other better in an ordinary and friendly fashion. Will you come?"

Henry reflected, and answered, "Thank you, yes, I will."

At this moment the door was opened, and the butler, Thomson, announced that lunch was ready, adding, "Shall I wheel you in, Sir Henry? Her ladyship bids me say she hopes that you will come."

"Yes, I suppose so," he answered. "Here, give me a hand into the chair."

In another minute they were advancing in solemn procession across the hall, Mr. Levinger walking first, leaning on his stick, and Henry following after in the invalid chair propelled by Thomson. So agitated was he at the thought of meeting Emma, and by a secret fear, born of a guilty conscience that she should know what he and her father had been employing the last hour in discussing her, that he forgot to guide the chair properly, and despite Thomson's warning, "To the right, Sir Henry," he contrived to strike the jamb of the door so sharply that he must have overturned had not Emma, who was standing close by, sprung forward and seized the wheel.

In one way this accident was fortunate, for it lessened the awkwardness of their meeting. Henry apologised and she laughed; and presently they were seated side by side at table, discussing the eccentricities of invalid chairs with somewhat unnecessary persistence and fervour.

After this the lunch went off well enough. It was not an altogether cheerful meal, indeed; but then nothing at Rosham was ever quite cheerful, and probably nothing had been for generations. The atmosphere of the place, like its architecture, was oppressive, even lugubrious, and the circumstances in which the present company were assembled did not tend towards unrestrained gaiety. Ellen talked energetically of matters connected with dress, in which Emma did not seem to take any vivid interest; Lady Graves threw in an occasional remark about the drought and the prevalence of blight upon the roses; while Henry for the most part preserved a discreet, or rather an embarrassed, silence; and Mr. Levinger