A Tale of a Lonely Parish Part 18

"Excuse me--I don't quite understand--"

"At sea," explained the squire. "There is no luxury like being below when the decks are wet and there is heavy weather about."

"I should think so," said Mrs. G.o.ddard. "Have you been at sea much, Mr.

Juxon?"

"Thirty years," returned the squire laconically. Mrs. G.o.ddard looked at him in astonishment.

"You don't mean to say you have been a sailor all your life?"

"Does that surprise you? I have been a sailor since I was twelve years old. But I got very tired of it. It is a hard life."

"Were you in the navy, Mr. Juxon?" asked Mrs. G.o.ddard eagerly, feeling that she was at last upon the track of some information in regard to his past life.

"Yes--I was in the navy," answered the squire, slowly. "And then I was at college, and then in the navy again. At last I entered the merchant service and commanded my own ships for nearly twenty years."

"How very extraordinary! Why then, you must have been everywhere."

"Very nearly. But I would much rather be in Billingsfield."

"You never told me," said Mrs. G.o.ddard almost reproachfully. "What a change it must have been for you, from the sea to the life of a country gentleman!"

"It is what I always wanted."

"But you do not seem at all like the sea captains one hears about--"

"Well, perhaps not," replied the squire thoughtfully. "There are a great many different cla.s.ses of sea captains. I always had a taste for books. A man can read a great deal on a long voyage. I have sometimes been at sea for more than two years at a time. Besides, I had a fairly good education and--well, I suppose it was because I was a gentleman to begin with and was more than ten years in the Royal Navy. All that makes a great difference. Have you ever made a long voyage, Mrs. G.o.ddard?"

"I have crossed the channel," said she. "But I wish you would tell me something more about your life."

"Oh no--it is very dull, all that. You always make me talk about myself,"

said the squire in a tone of protestation.

"It is very interesting."

"But--could we not vary the conversation by talking about you a little?"

suggested Mr. Juxon.

"Oh no! Please--" exclaimed Mrs. G.o.ddard rather nervously. She grew pale and busied herself again with the tea. "Do tell me more about your voyages. I suppose that was the way you collected so many beautiful things, was it not?"

"Yes, I suppose so," answered the squire, looking at her curiously. "In fact of course it was. I was a great deal in China and South America and India, and in all sorts of places where one picks up things."

"And in Turkey, too, where you got Stamboul?"

"Yes. He was so wet that I left him outside to day. Did not want to spoil your carpet."

The squire had a way of turning the subject when he seemed upon the point of talking about himself which was very annoying to Mrs. G.o.ddard. But she had not entirely recovered her equanimity and for the moment had lost control of the squire. Besides she had a headache that day.

"Stamboul does not get the benefit of the contrast we were talking about at first," she remarked, in order to say something.

"I could not possibly bring him in," returned the squire looking at her again. "Excuse me, Mrs. G.o.ddard--I don't mean to be inquisitive you know, but--I always want to be of any use."

She looked at him inquiringly.

"I mean, to be frank, I am afraid that something is giving you trouble. I have noticed it for some time. You know, if I can be of any use, if I can help you in any way--you have only to say the word."

Again she looked at him. She did not know why it was so, but the genuinely friendly tone in which he made the offer touched her. She was surprised, however; she could not understand why he should think she was in trouble, and indeed she was in no greater distress than she had suffered during the greater part of the last three years.

"You are very kind, Mr. Juxon. But there is nothing the matter--I have a headache."

"Oh," said the squire, "I beg your pardon." He looked away and seemed embarra.s.sed.

"You have done too much already," said Mrs. G.o.ddard, fearing that she had not sufficiently acknowledged his offer of a.s.sistance.

"I cannot do too much. That is impossible," he said in a tone of conviction. "I have very few friends, Mrs. G.o.ddard, and I like to think that you are one of the best of them."

"I am sure--I don't know what to say, Mr. Juxon," she answered, somewhat startled by the directness of his speech. "I am sure you have always been most kind, and I hope you do not think me ungrateful."

"I? You? No--dear me, please never mention it! The fact is, Mrs.

G.o.ddard--" he stopped and smoothed Ms hair. "What particularly disagreeable weather," he remarked irrelevantly, looking out of the window at the driving sleet.

Mrs. G.o.ddard looked down and slowly stirred her tea. She was pale and her hand trembled a little, but no one could have guessed that she was suffering any strong emotion. Mr. Juxon looked towards the window, and the grey light of the winter's afternoon fell coldly upon his square sunburned face and carefully trimmed beard. He was silent for a moment, and then, still looking away from his companion, he continued in a less hesitating tone.

"The fact is, I have been thinking a great deal of late," he said, "and it has struck me that your friendship has grown to be the most important thing in my life." He paused again and turned his hat round upon his knee. Still Mrs. G.o.ddard said nothing, and as he did not look at her he did not perceive that she was unnaturally agitated.

"I have told you what my life has been," he continued presently. "I have been a sailor. I made a little money. I finally inherited my uncle's estate here. I will tell you anything else you would like to ask--I don't think I ever did anything to conceal. I am forty-two years old. I have about five thousand a year and I am naturally economical. I would like to make you a proposal--a very respectful proposal, Mrs. G.o.ddard--"

Mrs. G.o.ddard uttered a faint exclamation of surprise and fell back in her chair, staring with wide eyes at the squire, her cheeks very pale and her lips white. He was too much absorbed in what he was saying to notice the short smothered e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n, and he was too much embarra.s.sed to look at her.

"Mrs. G.o.ddard," he said, his voice trembling slightly, "will you marry me?"

He was not prepared for the result of his speech. He had pondered it for some time and had come to the conclusion that it was best to say as little as possible and to say it plainly. It was an honourable proposal of marriage from a man in middle life to a lady he had known and respected for many months; there was very little romance about it; he did not intend that there should be any. As soon as he had spoken he turned his head and looked to her for his answer. Mrs. G.o.ddard had clasped her small white hands over her face and had turned her head away from him against the cushion of the high backed chair. The squire felt very uncomfortable in the dead silence, broken only by the sleet driving against the window panes with a hissing, rattling sound, and by the singing of the tea-kettle. For some seconds, which to Juxon seemed like an eternity, Mrs. G.o.ddard did not move. At last she suddenly dropped her hands and looked into the squire's eyes. He was startled by the ashen hue of her face.

"It is impossible," she said, shortly, in broken tones. But the squire was prepared for some difficulties.

"I do not see the impossibility," he said quite calmly. "Of course, I would not press you for an answer, my dear Mrs. G.o.ddard. I am afraid I have been very abrupt, but I will go away, I will leave you to consider--"

"Oh no, no!" cried the poor lady in great distress. "It is quite impossible--I a.s.sure you it is quite, quite impossible!"

"I don't know," said Mr. Juxon, who saw that she was deeply moved, but was loath to abandon the field without a further struggle. "I am not a very young man, it is true--but I am not a very old one either. You, my dear Mrs. G.o.ddard, have been a widow for some years--"

"I?" cried Mrs. G.o.ddard with a wild hysterical laugh. "I! Oh G.o.d of mercy! I wish I were." Again she buried her face in the cushion. Her bosom heaved violently.

The squire started as though he had been struck, and the blood rushed to his brown face so that the great veins on his temples stood out like cords.

"Did I--did I understand you to say that--your husband is living?" he asked in a strong, loud voice, ringing with emotion.

Mrs. G.o.ddard moved a little and seemed to make a great effort to speak.