CHAPTER XXX
Into Philip's guilty thoughts, as he wended his homeward way, we willnot inquire, and indeed, for all the warm glow that the thousand poundcheque in his pocket diffused through his system, they were not to beenvied. Perhaps no scoundrel presents at heart such a miserable objectto himself and all who know him, as the scoundrel who attempts todeceive himself and, whilst reaping its profits, tries to shoulder theresponsibility of his iniquity on to the backs of others!
Unfortunately, in this prosaic world of bargains, one cannot receivecheques for one thousand pounds without, in some shape or form, givinga _quid pro quo_. Now Philip's _quid_ was to rid his house and theneighbourhood of Arthur Heigham, his guest and his daughter's lover.It was not a task he liked, but the unearned cheque in his breeches-pocket continually reminded him of the obligation it entailed.
When Arthur came to smoke his pipe with his host that evening, thelatter looked so gloomy and depressed, that he wondered to himself ifhe was going to be treated to a repetition of the shadow scene, littleguessing that there was something much more personally unpleasantbefore him.
"Heigham," Philip said, suddenly, and looking studiously in the otherdirection, "I want to speak to you. I have been thinking over ourconversation of about a week ago on the subject of your engagement toAngela, and have now come to a final determination. I may say at oncethat I approve of you in every way" (here his hearer's heart boundedwith delight), "but, under all the circumstances, I don't think that Ishould be right in sanctioning an immediate engagement. You are notsufficiently sure of each other for that. I may seem old-fashioned,but I am a great believer in the virtue of constancy, and I'm anxious,in your own interests, to put yours and Angela's to the test. Theterms that I can offer you are these. You must leave here to-morrow,and must give me your word of honour as a gentleman--which I know willbe the most effectual guarantee that I can take from you--that youwill not for the space of a year either attempt to see Angela again,or to hold any written communication with her, or anybody in any wayconnected with her. The year ended, you can return, and, should youboth still be of the same mind, you can then marry her as soon as youlike. If you decline to accede to these terms--which I believe to beto your mutual ultimate advantage--I must refuse my consent to theengagement altogether."
A silence followed this speech. The match that Arthur had lit beforePhilip began, burnt itself out between his fingers without hisappearing to suffer any particular inconvenience, and now his pipefell with a crash into the grate, and broke into fragments--a fitsymbol of the blow dealt to his hopes. For some moments he was socompletely overwhelmed at the idea of losing Angela for a whole longyear, losing her as completely as though she were dead, that he couldnot answer. At length he found his voice, and said, hoarsely:
"Yours are hard terms."
"I cannot argue the point with you, Heigham; such as they are, theyare my terms, founded on what I consider I owe to my daughter. Do youaccept them?"
"I cannot answer you off-hand. My happiness and Angela's are toovitally concerned to allow me to do so. I must consult her first."
"Very good, I have no objection; but you must let me have your answerby ten to-morrow."
Had Arthur only known his own strength and Philip's weakness--thestrength that honesty and honour ever have in the face of dishonourand dishonesty--had he known the hesitating feebleness of Philip'savarice-tossed mind, how easy it would have been for him to tear hisbald arguments to sheds, and, by the bare exhibition of unshakenpurpose, to confound and disallow his determinations--had he then andthere refused to agree to his ultimatum, so divided was Philip in hismind and so shaken by superstitious fears, that he would have acceptedit as an omen, and have yielded to a decision of character that had noreal existence in himself. But he did not know; indeed, how could heknow? and he was, besides, too thorough a gentleman to allow himselfto suspect foul play. And so, too sad for talk, and oppressed by thedread sense of coming separation from her whom he loved more dearlythan his life, he sought his room, there to think and pace, to paceand think, until the stars had set.
When, wearied out at length, he threw himself into bed, it was only toexchange bad for worse; for on such occasions sleep is worse thanwakefulness, it is so full of dreams, big with coming pain. Shortlyafter dawn he got up again, and went into the garden and listened tothe birds singing their matin hymn. But he was in no mood for thesongs of birds, however sweet, and it was a positive relief to himwhen old Jakes emerged, his cross face set in the gladness of themorning, like a sullen cloud in the blue sky, and began to dosomething to his favourite bed of cabbages. Not that Arthur was fondof old Jakes; on the contrary, ever since the coffin-standconversation, which betrayed, he considered, a malevolent mind, hedetested him personally; but still he set a fancy value on him becausehe was connected with the daily life of his betrothed.
And then at last out came Angela, having spied him from behind thecurtains of her window, clothed in the same white gown in which he hadfirst beheld her, and which he consequently considered the prettiestof frocks. Never did she look more lovely than when she came walkingtowards him that morning, with her light, proud step, which was sofull of grace and womanly dignity. Never had he thought her more sweetand heart-compelling, than when, having first made sure that Jakes hadretreated to feed his pigs, she shyly lifted her bright face to begreeted with his kiss. But she was quick of sympathy, and had learnedto read him like an open page, and before his lips had fairly fallenon her own she knew that things had gone amiss.
"Oh, what is it, Arthur?" she said, with a little pant of fear.
"Be brave, dear, and I will tell you." And in somewhat choky tones, herecounted word for word what had passed between her father andhimself.
She listened in perfect silence, and bore the blow as a brave womanshould. When he had finished, she said, with a little tremor in hervoice:
"You will not forget me in a year, will you, Arthur?"
He kissed her by way of answer, and then they agreed to go together toPhilip, and try to turn him from his purpose.
Breakfast was not a cheerful meal that day, and Pigott, noticing theprevailing depression, remarked, with sarcasm, that they might, forall appearance to the contrary, have been married for twenty years;but even this spirited sally did not provoke a laugh. Ten o'clock, thehour that was to decide their fate, came all too soon, and it was withvery anxious hearts that they took their way to the study. Philip, whowas seated in residence, appeared to view Angela's arrival with someuneasiness.
"Of course, Angela," he said, "I am always glad to see you, but Ihardly expected----"
"I beg your pardon for intruding, father," she answered; "but, as thisis very important to me, I thought that I had better come too, andhear what is settled."
As it was evident that she meant to stay, Philip did not attempt togainsay her.
"Oh, very well, very well--I suppose you have heard the terms uponwhich I am prepared to consent to your engagement."
"Yes, Arthur has told me; and it is to implore you to modify them thatwe have come. Father, they are cruel terms--to be dead to each otherfor a whole long year."
"I cannot help it, Angela. I am sorry to inflict pain upon either ofyou; but I have arrived at them entirely in your own interests, andafter a great deal of anxious thought. Believe me, a year's probationwill be very good for both of you; it is not probable that, where myonly child is concerned, I should wish to do anything except what isfor her happiness!"
Arthur looked rebellion at Angela. Philip saw it, and added:
"Of course you can defy me--it is, I believe, rather the fashion forgirls, nowadays, to do so--but, if you do, you must both clearlyunderstand, first, that you cannot marry without my consent till thefirst of May next, or very nearly a year hence, when Angela comes ofage, and that I shall equally forbid all intercourse in the interval;and secondly, that when you do so, it will be against my wish, andthat I shall cut her name out of my will, for this property is onl
yentailed in the male line. It now only remains for me to ask you ifyou agree to my conditions."
Angela answered him, speaking very slowly and clearly:
"I accept them on my own behalf, not because I understand them, orthink them right, or because of your threats, but because, though youdo not care for me, I am your daughter, and should obey you--andbelieve that you wish to do what is best for me. That is why I accept,although it will make my life wretched for a year."
"Do you hear what she says?" said Philip, turning to Arthur. "Do youalso agree?"
He answered boldly, and with some temper (how would he have answeredcould he have seen the thousand pound cheque that was reposing uponthe table in Philip's rusty pocket-book, and known for what purpose itcame there?).
"If it had not been Angela's wish, I would never have agreed. I thinkyour terms preposterous, and I only hope that you have somesatisfactory reason for them; for you have not shown us any. But sinceshe takes this view of the matter, and because, so far as I can see,you have completely cornered us, I suppose I must. You are her father,and cannot in nature wish to thwart her happiness; and if you have anyplan of causing her to forget me--I don't want to be conceited, but Ibelieve that it will fail." Here Angela smiled somewhat sadly. "So,unless one of us dies before the year is up, I shall come back to bemarried on the 9th of June next year."
"Really, my dear Heigham, your way of talking is so aggressive, thatsome fathers might be tempted to ask you not to come back at all; butperhaps it is, under the circumstances, excusable."
"You would probably think so, if you were in my place," blurted outArthur.
"You give me, then, your word of honour as a gentleman that you willattempt, either in person or by letter, no communication with Angelaor with anybody about this place for one year from to-day?"
"On the condition that, at the end of the year, I may return and marryher as soon as I like."
"Certainly; your marriage can take place on the 9th of June next, ifyou like, and care to bring a license and a proper settlement--say, ofhalf your income--with you," answered Philip, with a half smile.
"I take you at your word," said Arthur, eagerly, "that is, if Angelaagrees." Angela made no signs of disagreement. "Then, on those terms,I give you my promise."
"Very good. Then that is settled, and I will send for a dog-cart totake you to the four o'clock train. I fear you will hardly be readyfor the 12.25. I shall, however, hope," he added, "to have thepleasure of presenting this young lady to you for good and all on thisday next year. Good-bye for the present. I shall see you before yougo."
It is painful to have to record that when Arthur got outside the door,and out of Angela's hearing, he cursed Philip, in his grief and anger,for the space of some minutes.
To linger over those last hours could only be distressing to thesympathetic reader of this history, more especially if he, or she, hasever had the misfortune to pass through such a time in their ownproper persons. The day of any one's departure is always wretched, butmuch more is it wretched, when the person departing is a lover, whoseface will not be seen and of whom no postman will bear tidings for awhole long year.
Some comfort, however, these two took in looking forward to thatjoyous day when the year of probation should have been gathered to itspredecessors, and in making the most minute arrangements for theirwedding: how Angela was to warn Mr. Fraser that his services would berequired; where they should go to for their honeymoon, and even ofwhat flowers the wedding bouquet, which Arthur was to bring down fromtown with him, should be composed.
And thus the hours passed away, all too quickly, and each of themstrove to be merry, in order to keep up the spirits of the other. Butit is not in human nature to feel cheerful with a lump of ice upon theheart! Dinner was even more dismal than breakfast, and Pigott, who hadbeen informed of the impending misfortune, and who was distrustful ofPhilip's motives, though she did not like to add to the general gloomby saying so, made, after the manner of half-educated people, apainful and infectious exhibition of her grief.
"Poor Aleck," said Angela, when the time drew near, bending down overthe dog to hide a tear, as she had once before bent down to hide ablush; "poor Aleck, I shall miss you almost as much as your master."
"You will not miss him, Angela, because I am going to make you apresent of him if you will keep him."
"That is very good of you, dear. I shall be glad to have him for yoursake."
"Well, keep him, love, he is a good dog; he will quite havetransferred his allegiance by the time I come back. I hope you won'thave done the same, Angela."
"Oh, Arthur, why will you so often make me angry by saying suchthings? The sun will forget to shine before I forget you."
"Hush, love, I did not mean it," and he took her in his arms. And sothey sat there together under the oak where first they had met, handin hand and heart to heart, and it was at this moment that the self-reliant strength, and more beautiful serenity of Angela's character ascompared with her lover's came into visible play. For whilst, as themoment of separation drew nigh, he could scarcely contain his grief,she on the other hand grew more and more calm, strengthening hisweakness with her quiet power; and bidding him seek consolation in histrouble at the hands of Him who for His own purposes decreed it.
"Dearest," she said, in answer to his complainings, "there are so manythings in the world that we cannot understand, and yet they must beright and lead to a good end. What may happen to us before this yearis out, of course we cannot say, but I feel that all love is immortal,and that there is a perfect life awaiting us, if not in this world,then in the next. Remember, dear, that these few years are, after all,but as a breath to the general air, or as that dew-drop to the watersof the lake, when compared with the future that awaits us there, andthat until we attain that future we cannot really know each other, orthe true meaning and purpose of our love. So look forward to itwithout fear, dear heart, and if it should chance that I should passout of your life, or that other ties should spring up round you thatshall forbid the outward expression of our love----" Here Arthurstarted and was about to interrupt, but she stopped him. "Do notstart, Arthur. Who can read the future? Stranger things have happened,and if, I say, such a thing should come about in our case, thenremember, I implore you, that in that future lies the answer to thepuzzles of the world, and turn your eyes to it, as to the horizonbeyond which you will find me waiting for you, and not only me, butall that you have ever loved. Only, dear, try to be a good man andlove me always."
He looked at her in wonder.
"Angela," he said, "what has made you so different from other women?With all whom I have known, love is an affair of passion or amusement,of the world and the day, but yours gazes towards Heaven, and looks tofind its real utterance in the stillness of Eternity! To be loved byyou, my dear, would be worth a century of sorrows."
At last the moment came, as all moments good and bad must come. ToPigott, who was crying, he gave a hug and a five-pound note, to Aleck,a pat on the head, to Philip, who could not look him in the face, ashake of the hand, and to Angela, who bravely smiled into his eyes--along last kiss.
But, when the cruel wheels began to crunch upon the gravel, the greattears welling to her eyes blotted him from sight. Blindly she made herway up to her room, and throwing herself upon the bed let herunrestrained sorrow loose, feeling that she was indeed desolate andalone.