"Very well. Then you came back and found her engaged to be my wife.

You had it from her own mouth. When a gentleman hears that, what has he to do but to go away?"

"There are circ.u.mstances here."

"What does she say herself? There are no circ.u.mstances to justify you. If you would come here as a friend, I offered to receive you. As you had been known to her, I did not turn my back upon you. But now your conduct is so peculiar that I cannot ask you to remain here any longer." They were walking up and down the long walk, and now Mr Whittlestaff stood still, as though to declare his intention that the interview should be considered as over.

"I know that you wish me to go away," said Gordon.

"Well, yes; unless you withdraw all idea of a claim to the young lady's hand."

"But I think you should first hear what I have to say. You will not surely have done your duty by her unless you hear me."

"You can speak if you wish to speak," said Mr Whittlestaff.

"It was not till yesterday that you made your proposition to Miss Lawrie."

"What has that to do with it?"

"Had I come on the previous day, and had I been able then to tell her all that I can tell her now, would it have made no difference?"

"Did she say so?" asked the fortunate lover, but in a very angry tone.

"No; she did not say so. It was with difficulty that I forced from her an avowal that her engagement was so recent. But she did confess that it was so. And she confessed, not in words, but in her manner, that she had found it impossible to refuse to you the request that you had asked."

"I never heard a man a.s.sert so impudently that he was the sole owner of a lady's favours. Upon my word, I think that you are the vainest man whom I ever met."

"Let it be so. I do not care to defend myself, but only her. Whether I am vain or not, is it not true that which I say? I put it to you, as man to man, whether you do not know that it is true? If you marry this girl, will you not marry one whose heart belongs to me? Will you not marry one of whom you knew two days since that her heart was mine? Will you not marry one who, if she was free this moment, would give herself to me without a pang of remorse?"

"I never heard anything like the man's vanity!"

"But is it true? Whatever may be my vanity, or self-seeking, or unmanliness if you will, is not what I say G.o.d's truth? It is not about my weaknesses, or your weaknesses, that we should speak, but about her happiness."

"Just so; I don't think she would be happy with you."

"Then it is to save her from me that you are marrying her,--so that she may not sink into the abyss of my unworthiness."

"Partly that."

"But if I had come two days since, when she would have received me with open arms--"

"You have no right to make such a statement."

"I ask yourself whether it is not true? She would have received me with open arms, and would you then have dared, as her guardian, to bid her refuse the offer made to her, when you had learned, as you would have done, that she loved me; that I had loved her with all my heart before I left England; that I had left it with the view of enabling myself to marry her; that I had been wonderfully successful; that I had come back with no other hope in the world than that of giving it all to her; that I had been able to show you my whole life, so that no girl need be afraid to become my wife--"

"What do I know about your life? You may have another wife living at this moment."

"No doubt; I may be guilty of any amount of villainy, but then, as her friend, you should make inquiry. You would not break a girl's heart because the man to whom she is attached may possibly be a rogue. In this case you have no ground for the suspicion."

"I never heard of a man who spoke of himself so grandiloquently!"

"But there is ample reason why you should make inquiry. In truth, as I said before, it is her happiness and not mine nor your own that you should look to. If she has taken your offer because you had been good to her in her desolation,--because she had found herself unable to refuse aught to one who had treated her so well; if she had done all this, believing that I had disappeared from her knowledge, and doubting altogether my return; if it be so--and you know that it is so--then you should hesitate before you lead her to her doom."

"You heard her say that I was not to believe any of these things unless I got them from her own mouth?"

"I did; and her word should go for nothing either with you or with me. She has promised, and is willing to sacrifice herself to her promise. She will sacrifice me too because of your goodness,--and because she is utterly unable to put a fair value upon herself. To me she is all the world. From the first hour in which I saw her to the present, the idea of gaining her has been everything. Put aside the words which she just spoke, what is your belief of the state of her wishes?"

"I can tell you my belief of the state of her welfare."

"There your own prejudice creeps in, and I might retaliate by charging you with vanity as you have done me,--only that I think such vanity very natural. But it is her you should consult on such a matter. She is not to be treated like a child. Of whom does she wish to become the wife? I boldly say that I have won her love, and that if it be so, you should not desire to take her to yourself. You have not answered me, nor can I expect you to answer me; but look into yourself and answer it there. Think how it will be with you, when the girl who lies upon your shoulder shall be thinking ever of some other man from whom you have robbed her. Good-bye, Mr Whittlestaff. I do not doubt but that you will turn it all over in your thoughts." Then he escaped by a wicket-gate into the road at the far end of the long walk, and was no more heard of at Croker's Hall on that day.

CHAPTER XI.

MRS BAGGETT TRUSTS ONLY IN THE FUNDS.

Mr Whittlestaff, when he was left alone in the long walk, was disturbed by many troublesome thoughts. The knowledge that his housekeeper was out on the road, and that her drunken disreputable husband was playing the fool for the benefit of all the idlers that had sauntered out from Alresford to see him, added something to his grief. Why should not the stupid woman remain indoors, and allow him, her master, to send for the police? She had declared that she would go with her husband, and he could not violently prevent her. This was not much when added to the weight of his care as to Mary Lawrie, but it seemed to be the last ounce destined to break the horse's back, as is the proverbial fate of all last ounces.

Just as he was about to collect his thoughts, so as to resolve what it might be his duty to do in regard to Mary, Mrs Baggett appeared before him on the walk with her bonnet on her head. "What are you going to do, you stupid woman?"

"I am a-going with he," she said, in the midst of a torrent of sobs and tears. "It's a dooty. They says if you does your dooty all will come right in the end. It may be, but I don't see it no further than taking him back to Portsmouth."

"What on earth are you going to Portsmouth for now? And why? why now?

He's not more drunk than he has been before, nor yet less abominable.

Let the police lock him up for the night, and send him back to Portsmouth in the morning. Why should you want to go with him now?"

"Because you're going to take a missus," said Mrs Baggett, still sobbing.

"It's more than I know; or you know; or anyone knows," and Mr Whittlestaff spoke as though he had nearly reduced himself to his housekeeper's position.

"Not marry her!" she exclaimed.

"I cannot say. If you will let me alone to manage my own affairs, it will be best."

"That man has been here interfering. You don't mean to say that you're going to be put upon by such a savage as that, as has just come home from South Africa. Diamonds, indeed! I'd diamond him!

I don't believe, not in a single diamond. They're all rubbish and paste. If you're going to give her up to that fellow, you're not the gentleman I take you for."

"But if I don't marry you won't have to go," he said, unable to refrain from so self-evident an argument.

"Me going! What's me going? What's me or that drunken old reprobate out there to the likes of you? I'd stay, only if it was to see that Mr John Gordon isn't let to put his foot here in this house; and then I'd go. John Gordon, indeed! To come up between you and her, when you had settled your mind and she had settled hern! If she favours John Gordon, I'll tear her best frock off her back."

"How dare you speak in that way of the lady who is to be your mistress?"

"She ain't to be my mistress. I won't have no mistress. When her time is come, I shall be in the poorhouse at Portsmouth, because I shan't be able to earn a penny to buy gin for him." As she said this, Mrs Baggett sobbed bitterly.

"You're enough to drive a man mad. I don't know what it is you want, or you don't want."