CHAPTER XIX
ON CHANGING ONE'S NAME
With a smile Marjory began:
"You are satisfied that it was because of the fireworks and Joan of Arcbusiness that I came away?"
"Oh yes!"
"And that this was the final and determining cause?"
"Why certainly!"
"Then you are wrong!" I looked at her in wonder and in some secretconcern. If I were wrong in this belief, then why not in others? IfAdams's belief and my acceptance of it were erroneous, what new mysterywas there to be revealed? Just at present things had been looking sowell for the accomplishment of my wishes that any disturbance must beunwelcome. Marjory, watching me from under her eyelashes, had by thistime summed me up. The stern look which she always had when her browswere fixed in thought, melted into a smile which was partly happy,partly mischievous, and wholly girlish.
"Make your mind easy, Archie" she said, and oh! how my heart leaped whenshe addressed me by my Christian name for the first time. "There isn'tanything to get uneasy about. I'll tell you what it was if you wish."
"Certainly I wish, if you don't dislike telling me."
So she went on:
"I did not mind the fireworks; that is I did mind them and liked themtoo. Between you and me, there has to be a lot of fireworks for one toobject to them. People may say what they please, but it's only those whohave not tasted popular favour that say they don't like it. I don't knowhow Joan of Arc felt, but I've a pretty cute idea that she was likeother girls. If she enjoyed being cheered and made much of as well asI did, no wonder that she kept up the game as long as she could. Whatbroke me all up was the proposals of marriage! It's all very wellgetting proposed to by people you know, and that you don't dislike. Butwhen you get a washing basket full of proposals every morning by thepost; when seedy looking scallywags ogle you; when smug young men withsoft hats and no chins wait outside your door to hand you their ownpoems; and when greasy cranks stop your carriage to proffer their heartsto you before your servants, it becomes too much. Of course you can burnthe letters, though there are some of them too good and too honest notto treat their writers with respect. But the cranks and egotists, andscallywags and publicans and sinners, the loafers that float round onelike an unwholesome miasma; these are too many and too various, and tooawful to cope with. I felt the conviction so driven in to me that thegirl, or at any rate her personality, counts for so little, but that hermoney, or her notoriety, or celebrity or whatever it is, counts for somuch, that I couldn't bear to meet strangers at all. Burglars and ghostsand tigers and snakes and all kinds of things that dart out on youare bad enough; but I tell you that proposers on the pounce are a holyterror. Why, at last I began to distrust everyone. There wasn't anunmarried man of my acquaintance that I didn't begin to suspect of somedesign; and then the funny part of it was that if they didn't come upto the scratch I felt aggrieved. It was awfully unfair wasn't it? But Icould not help it. I wonder if there is a sort of moral jaundice whichmakes one see colours all wrong! If there is, I had it; and so I justcame away to get cured if I could.
"You can't imagine the freedom which it was to me not to be made muchof and run after. Of course there was a disappointing side to it;I'm afraid people's heads swell very quick! But, all told, it wasdelightful. Mrs. Jack had come with me, and I had covered up my tracksat home so that no one would be worried. We ran up to Canada, and atMontreal took a steamer to Liverpool. We got out, however, at Moville.We had given false names, so that we couldn't be tracked." Here shestopped; and a shy look grew over her face. I waited, for I thought itwould embarrass her less to tell things in her own way than to be askedquestions. The shy look grew into a rosy blush, through which came thatdivine truth which now and again can shine from a girl's eyes. She saidin quite a different way from any in which she had spoken to me as yet;with a gentle appealing gravity:
"That was why I let you keep the wrong impression as to my name. Icouldn't bear that you, who had been so good to me, should, at the verystart of our--our friendship, find me out in a piece of falsity. Andthen when we knew each other better, and after you had treated me withso much confidence about the Second Sight and Gormala and the Treasure,it made me feel so guilty every time I thought of it that I was ashamedto speak." She stopped and I ventured to take her hand. I said in asconsolatory a way as I could:
"But my dear, that was not any deceit--to me at any rate. You tookanother name to avoid trouble before ever I even saw you; how then couldI be aggrieved. Besides" I added, feeling bolder as she did not make anyeffort to draw away her hand, "I should be the last person in the worldto object to your changing your name!"
"Why?" she asked raising her eyes to mine with a glance which shotthrough me. This was pure coquetry; she knew just as well as I did whatI meant. All the same, however, I said:
"Because I too want you to change it!" She did not say a word, butlooked down.
I was now sure of my ground, and without a word I bent over and kissedher. She did not draw back. Her arms went round me; and in an instant Ihad a glimpse of heaven.
Presently she put me away gently and said:
"There was another reason why I did not speak all that time. I can tellit to you now."
"Pardon me" I interrupted "but before you tell me, am I to take itthat--well, what has just been between us--is an affirmative answer tomy question?" Her teeth flashed as well as her eyes as she answered:
"Have you any doubt? Was there any imperfection in the answer? If so,perhaps we had better read it as 'no.'"
My answer was not verbal; but it was satisfactory to me. Then she wenton:
"I can surely tell you now at all events. Have you still doubts?"
"Yes" said I, "many, very many, hundreds, thousands, millions, all ofwhich are clamouring for instant satisfaction!" She said quietly andvery demurely, at the same time raising that warning hand which Ialready well knew, and which I could not but feel was apt to have aninfluence on my life, though I had no doubt but that it would always befor good:
"Then as there are so many, there is not the slightest use trying todeal with them now."
"All right" I said "we shall take them in proper season and deal withthem seriatim." She said nothing, but she looked happy.
I felt so happy myself that the very air round us, and the sunshine,and the sea, seemed full of joyous song. There was music even in thescreaming of the myriad seagulls sweeping overhead, and in the wash ofthe rising and falling waves at our feet. I kept my eyes on Marjory asshe went on to speak:
"Oh, it is a delight to be able to tell you now what a pleasure it wasto me to know that you, who knew nothing of me, of my money, or my ship,or all the fireworks and Joan of Arc business--I shall never forget thatphrase--had come to me for myself alone. It was a pleasure which I couldnot help prolonging. Even had I had no awkwardness in telling my name,I should have kept it back if possible; so that, till we had made ourinner feelings known to each other, I should have been able to revel inthis assurance of personal attraction;" I was so happy that I felt Icould interrupt:
"That sounds an awfully stilted way of putting it, is it not?" I said."May I take it that what you mean is, that though you loved me alittle--of course after I had shown you that I loved you a greatdeal--you still wished to keep me on a string; so that my ignorance ofyour extrinsic qualities might add a flavour to your enjoyment of mypersonal devotion?"
"You talk" she said with a joyful smile "like a small book with giltedges! And now, I know you want to know more of my surroundings, wherewe are living and what are our plans."
Her words brought a sort of cold shiver to me. In my great happiness Ihad forgotten for the time all anxiety for her safety. In a rush thereswept over me all the matters which had caused me such anguish of mindfor the last day and a half. She saw the change in me, and with poeticfeeling put in picturesque form her evident concern:
"Archie, what troubles you? your face is like a cloud passing over acornfield!"
"I am anxious about you" I sai
d. "In the perfection of happinesswhich you have given me, I forgot for the moment some things that aretroubling me." With infinite gentleness, and with that sweet tendernesswhich is the sympathetic facet of love, she laid her hand on mine andsaid:
"Tell me what troubles you. I have a right to know now, have I not?" Foranswer I raised her hand and kissed it; then holding it in mine I wenton:
"At the same time that I learned about you, I heard of some other thingswhich have caused me much anxiety. You will help to put me at ease,won't you?"
"Anything you like I shall do. I am all yours now!"
"Thank you, my darling, thank you!" was all I could say; her sweetsurrender of herself overwhelmed me. "But I shall tell you later; in themeantime tell me all about yourself, for that is a part of what I waitfor." So she spoke:
"We are living, Mrs. Jack and I, in an old Castle some miles back in thecountry from here. First I must tell you that Mrs. Jack is my old nurse.Her husband had been a workman of my father's in his pioneer days. WhenDad made his own pile he took care of Jack--Jack Dempsey his name was,but we never called him anything but Jack. His wife was Mrs. Jack then,and has been so ever since to me. When mother died, Mrs. Jack, who hadlost her husband a little while before, came to take care of me. Thenwhen father died she took care of everything; and has been like a motherto me ever since. As I dare say you have noticed, she has never got overthe deferential manner which she used to have in her poorer days. ButMrs. Jack is a rich woman as women go; if some of my proposers had anidea of how much money she has they would never let her alone till shemarried some one. I think she got a little frightened at the way I wastreated; and there was a secret conviction that she might be the next tosuffer. If it hadn't been for that, I doubt if she would ever, even toplease me, have fallen in with my mad scheme of running away under falsenames. When we came to London we saw the people at Morgan's; and thegentleman who had charge of our affairs undertook to keep silence as tous. He was a nice old man, and I told him enough of the state of affairsfor him to understand that I had a good reason for lying dark. I thoughtthat Scotland might be a good place to hide in for a time; so we lookedabout amongst the land agents for a house where we would not be likelyto be found. They offered us a lot; but at last they told us of onebetween Ellon and Peterhead, way back from the road. We found it in adip between a lot of hills where you would never suspect there was ahouse at all, especially as it was closely surrounded with a wood. It isin reality an old castle, built about two or three hundred years ago.The people who own it--Barnard by name, are away, the agent told us, andthe place was to let year after year but no one has ever taken it. Hedidn't seem to know much about the owners as he had only seen theirsolicitor; but he said they might come some time and ask to visit thehouse. It is an interesting old place, but awfully gloomy. There aresteel trellis gates, and great oak doors bound with steel, that rumblelike thunder when you shut them. There are vaulted roofs; and windows inthe thickness of the wall, which though they are big enough to sit in,are only slits at the outside. Oh! it is a perfect daisy of an oldhouse. You must come and see it! I will take you all over it; that is,over all I can, for there are some parts of it shut off and locked up."
"When may I go?" I asked.
"Well, I had thought," she answered, "that it would be very nice if youwere to get your wheel and ride over with me to-day."
"Count me in every time! By the way what is the name of the place?"
"Crom Castle. Crom is the name of the little village, but it is a coupleof miles away." I paused a while thinking before I spoke. Then with mymind made up I said:
"Before we leave here I want to speak of something which, howeverunimportant you may think it, makes me anxious. You will let me at thebeginning beg, won't you, that you do not ask me who my informant is, ornot to tell you anything except what I think advisable." Her face grewgrave as she said:
"You frighten me! But Archie, dear, I trust you. I trust you; and youmay speak plainly. I shall understand."