Índice Geral das Seções Índice da Seção Atual Índice da Obra Atual Anterior: Capítulo 15 Seguinte: Capítulo 17

CAPÍTULO 16.

JAMES MAYNARD found himself curiously perplexed about a matter, which, had his feelings towards Margaret been of a

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different character, would have been very simple of solution. How was he to see her again before leaving England? To call and ask for her, taking care, perhaps, to do so when Lord Littmass might be out? Nothing could be more natural, had he not happened to be in love with her. But, as it was, nothing could be more difficult. In the first place, he reflected, he had never since she was a mere child met her in her guardian’s house. In the second, a formal visit to her alone could not but expose her to the surmises of the servants. He did not feel sure that a letter would reach her without going through Lord Littmass’s hands; and he recoiled from anything resembling an organised attempt at secrecy.

At length, he bethought him of Dame Partridge, as one able and probably willing to help him. He had on the last occasion of his meeting Margaret in the Park, spoken of a book that he wished her to read. He would make the dame and the book minister to an interview. So, calling a day or two after the meeting with Mr. Tresham, he asked for Lord Littmass. Lord Littmass, as James pretty strongly suspected, was not at home. Upon this he asked to see Dame Partridge, whereupon he was shown into a small back drawing-room, and presently the dame came to him, wearing her usual half-suppressed look of apprehension.

‘Well, nurse,’ he said, ‘I am off on my travels again soon, and I am come to say good-bye to you and Miss Margaret. I should like to see her if she is at home. I want to give her a task to do while I am away, which will strengthen her mind, and improve her German.’

‘And where, and for how long, may you be going this time, sir?’ asked the dame, in her laconic way.

‘Only to Mexico. I shall be back in five or six months.’

‘And does his lordship send–– I mean approve of your going to that wild, unhealthy country?’

‘Certainly; it is partly in his interests that I am going. As to its being wild, you have no idea how much more agreeable a wild country is to me than a tame one, and it is not unhealthy in the parts I shall be most in.’

‘Ah, sir, I was thinking of the people and the danger. I sometimes think you will be going away once too often.’

‘Well, it is of little consequence to any one. One comfort of having neither parents nor friends, is the liberty it gives one to go and get killed wherever one chooses. If I were a married

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man now –,’ and here he broke off abruptly, and then, with a desperate effort, added, –

‘Tell me, do you think I have any chance with Miss Margaret, – I mean, if I could get into an independent position, and could afford to marry, do you think she would care for me?’

‘Does his lordship know of this, sir?’

‘Not in the least. I wouldn’t tell him on any account, until I am sure of herself, and have enough to live upon.’

The dame appeared relieved at hearing this, and said, –

‘Pray, sir, keep to that decision. And, if I may be so bold, I would advise you to say nothing to Miss Margaret about it, at least until you come back. She is but a child in mind, and would not half understand you. She would, besides, in her innocence be very likely to betray it to Lord Littmass.’

‘You think, then, that he would disapprove so very strongly?’

‘It is impossible for me to say what his opinion might be, but if he were to disapprove, you would only be making yourself and her unhappy for nothing. His lordship always has his own way, sir.’

‘Nurse, did you never discover, when I was a boy, that I managed to get my way, too, sometimes? Well, there is but one thing in the world that shall be an obstacle to my marrying Miss Waring, and that is herself. My love for her is such that if she will have me, all the guardians and Lord Littmasses in the world shall not come between to keep us apart. Go now and send her to me.’

‘You don’t mean, sir, to –,

‘I mean to say good-bye. Go, there’s a dear good nurse. You were always my friend as a boy, and you shall be so now.’

Abandoning further opposition, the dame went for Margaret, saying to herself, –

‘He has all his lordship’s imperiousness, when roused. If ever they do come to disagree, it will be terrible work between them.’

‘I have brought you the German tale to make a careful translation of for me,’ said James, as Margaret placed her thin, white hand in his. ‘It will be rather a long task, but it will well repay you by its beauty. It is called “Aslauga’s Knight,” and is by La Motte Fouqué. I shall be glad to have your interpretation of its meaning, too, for, like Undine, and Cupid .and Psyche, it is a bit of an enigma. Six months have to pass. before we can meet again, for I am leaving Europe for about

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that time. If you will write to me about it, or about yourself, I shall be glad indeed. I shall be grieved if our lives are to be altogether severed by my absence. Your goodwill and – and affection are very dear to me, Margaret. You little imagine how dear a woman can become to a man. I should like to teach you this, if I could do it without distressing you,’ he continued, noting the placid yet kindly look with which she gazed upon him, and seeking in vain for any responsive tremor in the hand which still held. ‘I would not cause you a moment’s pain in the world, but I must tell you that you have grown into my life and become so much and so large a part of it, that it would make havoc and wreck of it were I forced to separate you from it.’

‘He paused for a moment, as if expecting her to speak, but seeing her silent and deeply attentive, he again continued, –

‘It is often a woman’s boast that she grants to compassion what love does not prompt; and it is as often her reward that love and happiness spring from obeying her kindly nature. Acting in blindness and in faith she at length opens her eyes in a new world, a world of light and confidence and joy; – unless, indeed, she give herself to a villain. I know, Margaret, that your hesitation does not arise from any distrust of me. It is rather the strangeness of the idea, and mistrust or ignorance of your own nature. I will not ask you to give me any definite answer now, beyond promising me this, that you will try to think of me as I think of you, and that you will do your best to grow into the woman worthy to be the wife of an honest and earnest man. Think, dear Margaret, what joy you will give me when you write and tell me that I may come back to claim you, and wear you as the crown of my life, my prompter and helper to all good ends. What say you?’

‘You know, James,’ she replied, gazing calmly and steadfastly upon him, ‘that you have from me the gratitude, respect, and affection which I owe to you as my one friend who has taken any interest in me and taught me anything. What more I have to give that you can care for, I know not. It would be making a poor return to give you the trouble of taking care of me altogether, when Lord Littmass gives me up,’ she added, with a gentle smile; ‘and so burden you with a useless encumbrance when you have to fight your own way in the world.’

‘Then you do not absolutely forbid me to hope? You will let me write to you, and you will write to me ––’ he exclaimed, with joyous eagerness. ‘Oh, darling girl, you know not how

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great a weight you lift from my heart, how black a cloud from my life. Now can I go forth among my fellow-men, and work and win my way to the fortune that is to free me from my bonds. Do you know that I have accepted a mission to Mexico solely because it gives me promise of the independence that I covet for your sake? Should I succeed, as I now feel that I must, I shall free your guardian from further trouble on your account, and you from further obligation to one who evidently cares not for you.’

‘Do you know,’ said Margaret, ‘that it has never occurred to me to inquire on what terms Lord Littmass takes care of me, or in what relation I stand towards him. I do not know whether I am an expense to him, or, indeed, who I really am. What a thoughtless child I have always been! Since you spoke to me just now, a thick veil seems to have fallen from my sight. I am years older. Ah, what will my guardian say?’

As she uttered the question her faithful nurse entered the room, thinking, probably, that the leave-taking had lasted long enough, and hearing Margaret’s words, said, –

‘He will say nothing, my dear young lady, because he must know nothing. Whatever Mr. James has said to you, you must keep safe in your own breast, even from me; or there may be sad trouble in store for us all. Now, sir, you must go, – indeed.’

‘I shall see you again before I leave England, if possible,’ he said to Margaret. In the mean time, I shall live and work in hope.’

He took his departure, and Margaret followed her nurse back to their sitting-room in silence. Arrived there, she began turning over the pages of the German book Maynard had given her, the dame furtively watching her the while. Presently she looked up and said, –

‘Nurse, is life a riddle to everybody?’

‘Dear me, miss, why?’

‘Tell me, is it?’

‘Yes, dear child, it is, until –– until ––’

‘Until when? they die?’

‘No, until they learn to love.’

Margaret resumed her book. After a few more silent moments she said, –

‘I suppose I am very stupid.’

‘Dear heart, and why?’

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‘I don’t seem to understand anything?’

‘You are very young yet, miss.’

‘Oh,’ she said, musingly. ‘At what age do people learn to love, and understand riddles?’

‘Ah, dear child, it takes people at all ages, but some keep it off for a long time.’

‘I do not think I am getting any nearer to that age. What do people do when they cannot learn the lesson?’

‘What I hope some day to see you do; that is, to entrust yourself to the care of a good husband, who will teach you.’

‘Mr. Maynard wants me to marry him some day, when he has enough money to live without his fellowship. I am very fond of him and wish to see him happy, and making a great name in the world; but, do you know, nurse dear, that I cannot imagine myself doing as he wishes, or, indeed, ever marrying anybody. I suppose other people are not like me. Are they?’

‘It would be well if many were like you, and could wait patiently to learn life’s lessons without being so eager to anticipate them. It’s a happy thing, miss, never to expect too much, and to be able to be content to do one’s duty when the time comes.’

‘Oh, if I had any duty, how I should enjoy doing it. Do you know that it seems to me that the more I disliked it, the more I should wish to do it, if I was only sure it was my duty. What do you think of my asking my guardian to set me some duty to do?’

It was a new idea to the dame that Margaret should venture to speak to Lord Littmass of her own accord. She had carefully avoided inculcating any fear of him, but at the same time had also carefully avoided encouraging any familiarity with him. So she said, –

‘I think his lordship would be best pleased by your quietly pursuing your occupations, and improving yourself, and waiting patiently until some change occurs that requires his interference.’

‘Do you think it would be any relief to him if I were to be married?’

‘Any one who wants to marry you, must go to his lordship first, and obtain his consent.’

‘Do you think Mr. Maynard has done so?’

‘I can’t say, indeed. Probably not.’

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‘And what would my guardian say to him if he did?’

‘Gentlefolks can’t marry without money, and as Mr. James would have no money but what he could earn, he could hardly go to his lordship and ask to be allowed to live on yours, – that is, if you have any?’

‘Do you think I have?’ asked Margaret, eagerly.

‘It is impossible for me to say. Why do you want to know?’

‘I should so like to give it to Mr. Maynard. He would make so much better a use of it than I shall ever be able to.’

‘Young ladies don’t generally give their money away to gentlemen without giving themselves with it. Not that I mean to say there is any reason for you to suppose that you have any, independently of his lordship.’

‘I wish I knew something about myself; what I have, who I am, and what I was made for.’

‘All in good time. Such knowledge comes too soon for most of us who have to be our own providences. You may rest content in having a providence in your guardian, and a friend in Mr. James, if anything happens to his lordship.’

‘And in you too, nurse, dear; I don’t know what I should ever do without you. There, I have three friends, I, who thought myself so lonely.’

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