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

his good and the advantage of his family. Supposing, for instance, that he had found her out /after/ marriage instead of before it, and supposing that the story which she told him in her first letter had been true, instead of what it clearly was--a lie? Surely in these and in many other ways his escape had been what an impartial person might call fortunate. At the least, of her own act she had put an end to an imbroglio that had many painful aspects, and there remained no stain upon his honour, for which he was most truly thankful.

And now, having learnt his lesson in the hard school of experience, he would write to his friend the under-secretary, saying he could not be in town till Wednesday. Meanwhile he would pay his visit to Monk's Lodge.

CHAPTER XXXV(DISENCHANTMENT)

It was Sunday evening at Monk's Lodge, and Henry and Mr. Levinger were sitting over their wine after dinner. For a while they talked upon indifferent subjects, and more particularly about the shooting on the previous day and the arrangements for the morrow's sport. Then there was a silence, which Mr. Levinger broke.

"I have heard a curious bit of news," he said, "about Joan Haste. It seems that she is married."

Henry drank half a glass of port wine, and answered, "Yes, I know. She has married your tenant Samuel Rock, the dissenter, a very strange person. I cannot understand it."

"Can't you? I think I can. It is a good match for her, though I don't altogether approve of it, and know nothing of the details. However, I wasn't consulted, and there it is. I hope that they may be happy."

"So do I," said Henry grimly. "And now, Mr. Levinger, I want to have a word with you about the estate affairs. What is to be done? It is time that you took some steps to protect yourself."

"It seems to me, Graves," he answered deliberately, "that my course of action must very much depend upon your own. You know what I mean."

"Yes, Mr. Levinger; but are you still anxious that I should propose to your daughter? Forgive me if I speak plainly."

"That has always been my wish, and I see no particular reason to change it."

"But do you think that it is her wish, Mr. Levinger? I fancy that her manner has been a little cold to me of late, perhaps with justice; and," he added, rather nervously, "naturally I do not wish to lay myself open to a rebuff. I find that I am very ignorant of the ways of women, as of various other things."

"Many of us have made that discovery, Graves; and of course it is impossible for me to guarantee your success, though I think that you will be successful."

"There is another matter, Mr. Levinger: Emma has considerable possessions; am I then justified, in my impoverished condition, in asking her to take me? Would it not be thought, would she not think, that I did so from obvious motives?"

"On that point you may make your mind quite easy, Graves; for I, who am the girl's father, tell you that I consider you will be giving her quite as much as she gives you. I have never hidden from you that I am in a sense a man under a cloud. My follies came to an end many years ago, it is true, and I have never fallen into the clutches of the law, still they were bad enough to force me to change my name and to begin life afresh. Should you marry my daughter, and should you wish it, you will of course have the right to learn my true name, though on that point I shall make an appeal to your generosity and ask you not to press your right. I have done with the past, of which even the thought is hateful to me, and I do not wish to reopen old sores; so perhaps you may be content with the assurance that I am of a good and ancient family, and that before I got into trouble I served in the army with some distinction: for instance, I received the wound that crippled me at the battle of the Alma."

"I shall never press you to tell that which you desire to keep to yourself, Mr. Levinger."

"It is like you to say so, Graves," he answered, with evident relief; "but the mere fact that I make such a request will show you what I mean when I say that Emma has as much or more to gain from this marriage than you have, since it is clear that some rumours of her father's disgrace must follow her through life; moreover she is humbly born upon her mother's side. I do trust and pray, my dear fellow, that it will come off. Alas! I am not long for this world, my heart is troubling me more and more, and the doctors have warned me that I may die at any moment; therefore it is my most earnest desire to see the daughter whom I love better than anything on earth, happily settled before I go."

"Well, Mr. Levinger," Henry answered, "I will ask her to-morrow if I find an opportunity, but the issue does not rest with me. I only wish that I were more worthy of her."

"I am glad to hear it. God bless you, and God speed you, my dear Graves! I hope when I am gone that, whatever you may learn about my unfortunate past, you will still try to think kindly of me, and to remember that I was a man, cursed by nature with passions of unusual strength, which neither my education nor the circumstances of my early life helped me to control."

"It is not for me to judge you or any other man; I leave that to those who are without sin," said Henry, and the conversation came to an end.

 

That night Henry was awakened by hearing people moving backwards and forwards in the passages. For a moment he thought of burglars, and wondered if he should get up; but the sounds soon ceased, so he turned over and went to sleep again. As he learned in the morning, the cause of the disturbance was that Mr. Levinger had been seized with one of his heart attacks, which for a few minutes threatened to be serious, if not fatal. Under the influence of restoratives, that were always kept at hand, the danger passed as quickly as it had arisen, although Emma remained by her father's bedside to watch him for a while.

"That was a near thing, Emma," he said presently: "for about thirty seconds I almost thought----" and he stopped.

"Well, it is over now, father dear," she answered.

"Yes, but for how long? One day I shall be taken in this fashion and come back no more."

"Pray don't talk like that, father."

"Why not, seeing that it is what I must accustom my mind to? Oh! Emma, if I could but see you safely married I should not trouble so much, but the uncertainty as to your future worries me more than anything else. However, you must settle these things for yourself; I have no right to dictate to you about them. Good night, my love, and thank you for your kindness. No, there is no need for you to stop up. If I should want anything I will touch the bell."

"I wonder why he is so bent upon my getting married," thought Emma, as she went back to her bed, "especially as, even did anything happen to him, I should be left well off--at least, I suppose so. Well, it is no use my troubling myself about it till the time comes, if ever it does come."

After his attack of the previous night, Mr. Levinger was unable to come out shooting as he had hoped to do. He said, however, that if he felt well enough he would drive in the afternoon to a spot known as the Hanging Wood, which was to be the last and best beat of the day; and it was arranged that Emma should accompany him and walk home, a distance of some two miles.

The day was fine, and the shooting very fair; but, fond as he was of the sport, Henry did not greatly enjoy himself--which, in view of what lay behind and before him, is scarcely to be wondered at.

After luncheon the guns and beaters were employed in driving two narrow covers, each of them about half a mile long, towards a wood planted upon the top of a rise of ground. On they went steadily, firing at cock pheasants only, till, the end of the plantations being unstopped, the greater number of the birds were driven into this Hanging Wood, which ended in a point situated about a hundred and twenty yards from the borders of the two converging plantations. Between these plantations and the wood lay a little valley of pasture land, through which ran a stream; and it was the dip of this valley, together with the position of the cover on the opposite slope, that gave to the Hanging Wood its reputation of being the most sporting spot for pheasant shooting in that neighbourhood. The slaughter of hand-reared pheasants is frequently denounced, for the most part by people who know little about it, as a tame and cruel amusement; and it cannot be denied that this is sometimes so, especially where the object of the keeper, or of his master, is not to show sport, but to return a heavy total of slain at the end of the day. In the case of a cover such as has been described, matters are very different, however; for then the pheasants, flying towards their homes, from which they have been disturbed, come over the guns with great speed and at a height of from eight-and-twenty to forty yards, and the shooting must be good that will bring to bag more than one in four of them.

By the banks of the stream between the covers Henry and his companions found Mr. Levinger and Emma waiting for them, the pony trap in which they had come having been driven off to a little distance, so as not to interfere with the beat.

"Here I am," said Mr. Levinger: "I don't feel up to much, but I was determined to see the Hanging Wood shot again, even if it should be for the last time. Now then, Bowles, get your beaters round as quick as you can, and be careful that they keep wide of the cover, and don't make a noise. I will place the guns. You've no time to lose: the light is beginning to fade."

Bowles and his small army moved off to the right, while Mr. Levinger pointed out to each sportsman the spot to which he should go upon the banks of the stream; assigning to Henry the centre stand, both because he was accompanied by a loader with a second gun, and on account of his reputation of being the best shot present.

"The wind is rising fast and blowing straight down the cover," said Mr. Levinger, when he had completed his arrangements; "those wild-bred birds will take some stopping,