CHAPTER XXIX
Philip arrived home about one o'clock on the Monday, and, after theirnursery dinner, Arthur made his way to the study, and soon foundhimself in the dread presence--for what presence is more dread (mostpeople would rather face a chief-justice with the gout)--of the manwhose daughter he was about to ask in marriage.
Philip, whom he found seated by a tray, the contents of which heseemed in no humour to touch, received him with his customarypoliteness, saying, with a smile, that he hoped he had not come totell him that he was sick of the place and its inhabitants, and wasgoing away.
"Far from it, Mr. Caresfoot, I come to speak to you on a verydifferent subject."
Philip glanced up with a quick look of expectant curiosity, but saidnothing.
"In short," said Arthur, desperately, "I come to ask you to sanctionmy engagement to Angela."
A pause--a very awkward pause--ensued.
"You are, then, engaged to my daughter?"
"Subject to your consent, I am."
Then came another pause.
"You will understand me, Heigham, when I say that you take me ratherby surprise in this business. Your acquaintance with her has beenshort."
"That is true, but I have seen a great deal of her."
"Perhaps; but she knows absolutely nothing of the world, and herpreference for you--for, as you say you are engaged to her, I presumeshe has shown a preference--may be a mistake, merely a young girl'sromantic idea."
Arthur thought of his conversation of the previous day with Angela,and could not help smiling as he answered,
"I think if you ask her that, she will tell you that is not the case."
"Heigham, I will be frank with you. I like you, and you have, Ibelieve, sufficient means. Of course, you know that my daughter willhave nothing--at any rate, till I am dead," he added, quickly.
"I never thought about the matter, but I shall be only too glad tomarry her with nothing but herself."
"Very good. I was going to say that, notwithstanding this, marriage isan important matter; and I must have time to think over it before Igive you a decided answer, say a week. I shall not, however, expectyou to leave here unless you wish to do so, nor shall I seek to placeany restrictions on your intercourse with Angela, since it wouldappear that the mischief is already done. I am flattered by yourproposal; but I must have time, and you must understand that in thisinstance hesitation does not necessarily mean consent."
In affairs of this nature a man is satisfied with small mercies, andwilling to put up with inconveniences that appear trifling incomparison with the disasters that might have overtaken him. Arthurwas no exception to the general rule. Indeed, he was profuse in histhanks, and, buoyed up with all the confidence of youth, felt sure inhis heart that he would soon find a way to extinguish any objectionsthat might still linger in Philip's mind.
His would-be father-in-law contented himself with acknowledging hisremarks with courtesy, and the interview came to an end.
Arthur gone, however, his host lost all his calmness of demeanour,and, rising from his untasted meal, paced up and down the room inthought. Everything had, he reflected, fallen out as he wished. YoungHeigham wished to marry his daughter, and he could not wish for abetter husband. Save for the fatality which had sent that woman to himon her fiend's errand, he would have given his consent at once, andbeen glad to give it. Not that he meant to refuse it--he had no suchidea. And then he began to think what, supposing that Lady Bellamy'sembassy had been of a nature that he could entertain, which it wasnot, it would mean to him. It would mean the realization of the workand aspirations of twenty years; it would mean his re-entry into theproperty and position from which he had, according to his own view,been unjustly ousted; it would mean, last but not least, triumph overGeorge. And now chance, mighty chance (as fools call Providence), hadat last thrown into his hands a lever with which it would be easy totopple over every stumbling-block that lay in his path to triumph;more, he might even be able to spoil that Egyptian George, giving himless than his due.
Oh, how he hungered for the broad acres of his birthright! longing forthem as a lover longs for his lost bride. The opportunity would nevercome again; why should he throw it away? To do so would be to turn hiscousin into an open and implacable foe. Why should he allow this girl,whose birth had bereft him of the only creature he had ever loved,whose sex had alienated the family estates, and for whose company hecared nothing, to come as a destruction on his plans? She would bewell-off; the man loved her. As for her being engaged to this youngHeigham, women soon got over those things. After all, now that he cameto think of the matter calmly, what valid cause was there why thething should not be?
And as he paced to and fro, and thought thus, an answer came into hismind. For there rose up before him a vision of his dying wife, andthere sounded in his ears the murmur of her half-forgotten voice,that, for all its broken softness, had, with its last accents, calleddown God's winged vengeance and His everlasting doom on him who wouldharm her unprotected child. And, feeling that if he did this thing, onhim would be the vengeance and the doom, he thought of the shadows ofthe night, and grew afraid.
When Arthur and his host met, according to their custom, that evening,no allusion was made on either side to their conversation of theafternoon, nor did her father even speak a word to Angela on thesubject. Life, to all appearance, went on in the old house preciselyas though nothing had happened. Philip did not attempt to put thesmallest restraint on Arthur and his daughter, and studiously shut hiseyes to the pretty obvious signs of their mutual affection. For them,the long June days were golden, but all too short. Every morning foundtheir mutual love more perfect, but when the flakes of crimson lightfaded from the skies, and night dropped her veil over the tall treesand peaceful lake, by some miracle it had grown deeper and moreperfect still. Day by day, Arthur discovered new charms in Angela;here some hidden knowledge, there an unsuspected grace, and everywherean all-embracing charity and love. Day by day he gazed deeper into thedepths of her mind, and still there were more to plumb. For it was astorehouse of noble thoughts and high ambitions--ambitions, many ofwhich could only find fulfilment in another world than this. And, themore he saw of her, the prouder he was to think that such a perfectcreature should so dearly love himself; and with the greater joy didhe look forward to that supreme and happy hour when he should call herhis. And so day added itself to day, and found them happy.
Indeed, the aspect of their fortunes seemed as smooth and smiling asthe summer surface of the lake. About Philip's final consent to theirengagement they did not trouble themselves, judging, not unnaturally,that his conduct was in itself a guarantee of approval. If he meant toraise any serious objections, he would surely have done so before,Arthur would urge, and Angela would quite agree with him, and wonderwhat parent could find it in his heart to object to her bonnie-eyedlover.
What a merciful provision of Providence it is that throws a veil overthe future, only to be pierced by the keenest-eyed of Scotchmen!Where should we find a flavour in those unfrequent cups that theshyest of the gods, Joy, holds to our yearning lips, could we know ofthe bitter that lurks in the tinselled bowl? Surely we have much to bethankful for, but for nothing should we be so grateful as for thisblessed impotence of foresight!
But, as it is often on the bluest days that the mercury begins to sinkbeneath the breath of far-off hurricane, so there is a warning spiritimplanted in sensitive minds that makes them mistrustful of too greathappiness. We feel that, for most of us, the wheel of our fortunesrevolves too quickly to allow of a long continuance of unbroken joy.
"Arthur," said Angela, one morning, when eight days had passed sinceher father's return from town, "we are too happy. We should throwsomething into the lake."
"I have not got a ring, except the one you gave me," he answered; forhis signet was on his finger. "So, unless we sacrifice Aleck or theravens, I don't know what it is to be."
"Don't joke, Arthur. I tell you we are too happy.
"
Could Arthur have seen through an acre or so of undergrowth as Angelauttered these words, he would have perceived a very smart page-boywith the Bellamy crest on his buttons delivering a letter to Philip.It is true that there was nothing particularly alarming about that,but its contents might have given a point to Angela's forebodings. Itran thus:
"Rewtham House, Monday.
"My dear Mr. Caresfoot,
"With reference to our conversation last week about your daughter and G., can you come over and have a quiet chat with me this afternoon?
"Sincerely yours, "Anne Bellamy."
Philip read this note, and then re-read it, knowing in his heart thatnow was his opportunity to act up to his convictions, and put an endto the whole transaction in a few decisive words. But a man who hasfor so many years given place to the devil of avarice, even though itbe avarice with a legitimate object, cannot shake himself free fromhis clothes in a moment; even when, as in Philip's case, honour andright, to say nothing of a still more powerful factor, superstition,speak so loudly in his ears. Surely, he thought, there would be noharm in hearing what she had to say. He could explain his reasons forhaving nothing to do with the matter so much better in person. Suchmental struggles have only one end. Presently the smart page-boy boreback this note:
"Dear Lady Bellamy,
"I will be with you at half-past three.
"P.C."
It was with very curious sensations that Philip was that afternoonshown into a richly furnished boudoir in Rewtham House. He had notbeen in that room since he had talked to Maria Lee, sitting on thatvery sofa now occupied by Lady Bellamy's still beautiful form, and hecould not but feel that it was a place of evil omen for him.
Lady Bellamy rose to greet him with her most fascinating smile.
"This is very kind," she said, as she motioned him to a seat, whichPhilip afterwards discovered had been carefully arranged so as to puthis features in the full light, whilst, sitting on the sofa, her ownwere concealed. "Well, Mr. Caresfoot," she began, after a littlepause, "I suppose I had better come to the point at once. First ofall, I presume that, as you anticipated would be the case, thereexists some sort of understanding between Mr. Heigham and yourdaughter."
Philip nodded.
"Well, your cousin is as determined as ever about the matter. Indeed,he is simply infatuated or bewitched, I really don't know which."
"I am sorry for it, Lady Bellamy, as I cannot----"
"One moment, Mr. Caresfoot; first let me tell you his offer, then wecan talk it over. He offers, conditionally on his marriage with yourdaughter, to sell you the Isleworth estates at a fair valuationhereafter to be agreed upon, and to make a large settlement."
"And what part does he wish me to play in the matter?"
"This. First, you must get rid of young Heigham, and prevent him fromholding _any_ communication, either with Angela herself, or with anyother person connected with this place, for one year from the date ofhis departure. Secondly, you must throw no obstacle in George's path.Thirdly, if required, you must dismiss her old nurse, Pigott."
"It cannot be, Lady Bellamy. I came here to tell you so. I dare notforce my daughter into such a marriage for all the estates inEngland."
Lady Bellamy laughed.
"It is amusing," she said, "to see a father afraid of his owndaughter; but you are over-hasty, Mr. Caresfoot. Who asked you toforce her? All you are asked to do is not to interfere, and leave therest to myself and George. You will have nothing to do with it one wayor the other, nor will any responsibility rest with you. Besides, itis very probable that your cousin will live down his fancy, or someother obstacle will arise to put an end to the thing, in which caseMr. Heigham will come back at the end of his year's probation, andevents will take their natural course. It is only wise and right thatyou should try the constancy of these young lovers, instead of lettingthem marry out of hand. If, on the other hand, Angela should in thecourse of the year declare a preference for her cousin, surely thatwill be no affair of yours."
"I don't understand what your interest is in this matter, LadyBellamy."
"My dear Mr. Caresfoot, what does my interest matter to you? Perhaps Ihave one, perhaps I have not; all women love match-making, you know;what really is important is your decision," and she shot a glance athim from the heavy-lidded eyes, only to recognize that he was notconvinced by her arguments, or, if convinced, obstinate. "By the way,"she went on, slowly, "George asked me to make a payment to you on hisaccount, money that has, he says, been long owing, but which it hasnot hitherto been convenient to repay."
"What is the sum?" asked Philip, abstractedly.
"A large one; a thousand pounds."
It did not require the peculiar intonation she threw into her voice tomake the matter clear to him. He was well aware that no such sum wasowing.
"Here is the cheque," she went on; and, taking from her purse a signedand crossed cheque upon a London banker, she unfolded it and threw itupon the table, watching him the while.
Philip gazed at the money with the eyes of a hungry wolf. A thousandpounds! That might be his for the asking, nay, for the taking. Itwould bind him to nothing. The miser's greed took possession of him ashe looked. Slowly he raised his hand, twitching with excitement, andstretched it out towards the cheque, but, before his fingers touchedit, Lady Bellamy, as though by accident, dropped her white palm uponthe precious paper.
"I suppose that Mr. Heigham will leave to-morrow on the understandingwe mentioned?" she said carelessly, but in a significant tone.
Philip nodded.
The hand was withdrawn as carelessly as it had come, leaving thecheque, blushing in all its naked beauty, upon the table. Philip tookit as deliberately as he could, and put it in his pocket. Then,rising, he said good-bye, adding, as he passed through the door:
"Remember, I have no responsibility in the matter. I wash my hands ofit, and wish to hear nothing about it."
"The thousand pounds has done it," reflected Lady Bellamy. "I toldGeorge that he would rise greedily at money. I have not watched himfor twenty years for nothing. Fancy selling an only daughter'shappiness in life for a thousand pounds, and such a daughter too! Iwonder how much he would take to murder her, if he were certain thathe would not be found out. Upon my word, my work grows quiteinteresting. That cur, Philip, is as good as a play," and she laughedher own peculiar laugh.