By Veldt and Kopje Part 9

The girl told all her troubles and fears. Her story was a sad one. An orphan, and educated at the expense of the Mission Society, she had chosen the alternative of coming to South Africa and marrying a man she had never seen or heard of in preference to undertaking teaching work, which she not alone hated, but was quite unfit for. She had suddenly made up her mind to this course, to supply the place of one of the Lavinia-Matilda sisterhood, who was to have come, but who was prevented from doing so by illness. Alone with her thoughts, amid the silence of the sea, Stella had come bitterly to regret the step she had unthinkingly taken. Lavinia and Matilda had disliked her from the first, and excluded her from their improving companionship. When she made friends with the young Scotsman, who made her his confidante in respect of an ardent mutual attachment between himself and a girl he had left behind him, they had made cruel remarks on the subject, which had the effect of making her practically drop their acquaintance. Kind Mrs Wiseman did her best to comfort this belated little sunbird, who had absorbed some of the sombreness of the plumage of the too highly domesticated fowls whose cage she had shared during the past three months, and then retired to her room, where she woke her husband up for the purpose of making him listen to Stella's history.

Next morning she heard Lavinia--in a voice evidently meant to be overheard--congratulating Matilda upon the fact that they had locked their door before retiring to rest, and thus prevented the entrance of an intruder. "One can never feel quite safe, you know, in savage countries."

As the week which had to elapse between the arrival of the nymphs and that of the swains drew to a close, Mrs Wiseman found herself more and more drawn towards Stella, but unable to approach nearer to anything like friendliness with the other two. Her relations with Stella no doubt formed a bar to anything of the kind. Consequently, these patterns of propriety of the very properest type continued to cultivate each other's society to a point of exclusiveness that verged upon rudeness.

As her regard for Stella grew, Mrs Wiseman began to think more and more of the girl's future. She was well acquainted with the three ministers, and having had experience of the working of the system under which these marriages were arranged, she had no difficulty in forecasting Stella's connubial destiny. She was absolutely certain that the Reverend Peter Bloxam would see the finger of Providence clearly indicating Stella as his fore-ordained bride, and she sighed at the incongruous prospect. As to young Wardley, well, he and Stella would have suited each other excellently well; but she knew by experience that one might as well expect children to pa.s.s by a rosy-cheeked apple for the sake of a turnip as to think that the two seniors would prefer the unimpeachable but mature qualities of either Lavinia or Matilda to the beauty and sweetness of Stella. Mrs Wiseman herself had come out from England as a pretty, fresh young girl, and had been promptly and unhesitatingly recognised as his Providence-selected bride by a man who was almost old enough to be her father. On the same occasion a certain young minister (the youngest of the batch) and she had looked at each other with eyes full of mournful sympathy that was closely akin to love--she from the side of her old, grizzled bridegroom, and he from that of his antique bride, who had fallen to him as the youngest of the party by a process of elimination of the others by his seniors, under Providential direction. In her case, however, things had, in a measure come right; her husband and the other clergyman's wife had, after four years, died within a few months of each other, and when, about a year subsequently, the widow and the widower met, they found that the mournful element in their looks had given place to one of hopeful antic.i.p.ation, which was duly realised a few months afterwards in a happy marriage. The odds were, of course, very much against such a fortunate combination happening in the case of Stella and young Wardley. She sighed more and more as the time for the arrival of the three suitors drew nigh, and the gloom of her thoughts seemed to communicate itself to all the others, so much so that the Parsonage took on the air of a house from which funerals rather than weddings were expected.

It was the evening before the expected arrival of the bridegrooms. The brides had retired to their rooms, and Mrs Wiseman went upstairs to have her usual chat with Stella. They had hitherto by tacit consent avoided discussion of the approaching events except in the most general terms.

"My dear," said Mrs Wiseman, after a pause in the conversation, "suppose you and I have a chat about those who are expected to arrive to-morrow; I know them all, so can tell you what each one is like. Do you realise that in two days you will be engaged, and that in three you will be married?"

"Yes," replied Stella; "I am not likely to forget it. I shall be glad to hear what my future husband is like."

"Well, if I must tell the truth, I think it is a great shame the way they manage these things--I mean their giving the oldest man first choice."

"Are a--any of them _very_ old?"

"Well, there is Mr Bloxam; he is the eldest. To speak quite candidly, he must be at least forty-six. My dear, it's a shame of me to talk like this, for you cannot help yourself, and I _know_ you'll have to marry him, and I think it's a great shame. If it had been young Wardley, now--"

"A--is Mr Wardley young?"

"Yes. My dear, you and Wardley would suit each other just beautifully.

He is not so very young either; he must be nearly thirty, but I have known him ever since he first came out--quite a boy. He has a temper, but his wife could manage him perfectly if she weren't a fool or old enough to be his mother."

"I wonder," said Stella, after a reflective pause, "why Mr Wardley--you say he is good-looking?"

"He's _handsome_, my dear."

"I wonder why he didn't try and like some girl out here, instead of letting them pick one out for him at home; especially as he has last choice, or rather has to take the one neither of the others want."

"All pique, my dear. Young Wardley _did_ like a girl, a nasty little cat, who flirted with him and threw him over, and has been sorry enough for it ever since. Just after they quarrelled he met old Bloxam and Winterton, who could not get out wives until a third minister wanted one. They persuaded him to put his name to a paper asking to have one sent out to him as well, and he foolishly did so without considering. I _know_ he has regretted it ever since. I told him he was a fool just after he had done it."

"Does he a--care for the other girl still?"

"Not he; he never really cared for her a bit. Dear me! when I think of his being tied to one of those stiff, proper old tabbies I feel quite wretched. I know who it will be; just see if it isn't Lavinia, with the lip and the spectacles. Winterton is by no means a fool, and you may be sure he will leave _her_ alone. I don't say there's much choice between them, because, my dear, leaving you to one side, this is just the commonest lot they have ever sent out; but I'm sure no man would marry that old thing unless he had to. Now, Matilda--what's her name?

Whitmore, eh?--she'd not be so bad if you could fatten her up and shake her a bit, and get her right away from that Lavinia, whom I simply can't bear."

"How will they--when will they tell us--I mean, how will it all be arranged?"

"Oh, quite simply; there won't be much beating about the bush, I can a.s.sure you. You and Lavinia and Matilda will all sit in the drawing-room, and the three will be brought in and introduced to you.

Then you will be left to look at each other like a lot of stuffed parrots; none of you--not even old Bloxam--will be able to talk a bit.

Then to-morrow night an extra long prayer will be given that Providence may guide you all to choose wisely. Stuff and nonsense! as I've often told Joe. As if Providence would always give the youngest and prettiest wives to the old men and the old and ugly ones to young fellows like Wardley!"

"What is Mr Bloxam like? I suppose I ought to know, as it appears I am going to marry him," said Stella, losing the drift of her previous question.

"Fat, fussy, and over forty-five, my dear; that is what I should call him. He doesn't pray for quite as long as Winterton, but he eats a lot, and I'm sure he'd be fussy in the house. But I don't want you to hate me by-and-by in case you should happen to get fond of him, which isn't likely; so I shan't tell you another word. You'll see him quite soon enough, in all conscience."

Mrs Wiseman bade the girl an affectionate "Good-night," and then retired to her room. She found, however, that she could not sleep; she was weighted by the burthen of painful antic.i.p.ation. She had long been fond of Mr Wardley in a motherly way, and during the past week she had learned to love Stella. She seemed to live once more through her bitter experience of long ago, and a like blight had now to fall upon these two in the morning of their life. She felt certain that the hearts of Stella and Wardley would rush to each other, impelled by strong forces of both attraction and repulsion, and be damaged in the collision.

When she retired for the night her husband was fast asleep, and as he was a very heavy sleeper she had no fear of disturbing him. The sight of him serenely slumbering irritated her so that she longed to shake him. She blew out the candle, but visions of the sanguine face and the stout figure of Mr Bloxam--the former wearing an expression of smug satisfaction and proprietorship; and the frightened, half-desperate, and wholly disgusted look of Stella, as she submitted to the caresses of her elderly lover, haunted her with a persistence that became agonising; so she lit the candle once more. Then another aspect of the case flashed balefully across her mind, and she sat up in bed, clasping her hands convulsively to her face. What had she not been doing, wicked woman that she was? Had she not taken the very course calculated to make the burthen of the poor girl unbearable? Had she not set the girl's wandering thoughts flowing in the very direction which should have been avoided--namely, those of dislike to Mr Bloxam and love for Mr Wardley; and would not the torrents of emotion to which she would be the prey during the next two days cut channels so deep that the stream of her life would never again flow out of them? What could she now do to repair the mischief wrought by her thoughtlessness? She sat for a long time with her hands pressed to her face and the hot tears streaming through her trembling fingers. What could she do--what--what? She got up from her bed and began pacing the room with quick, nervous steps.

Her tears had now ceased, and her brow was contracted in a deep travail of thought. All at once she turned sharply round, hurried to the side of the bed, and began violently shaking her sleeping husband.

"Wake up! Wake up, Joe," she said in a loud voice.

Mr Wiseman was not easy to waken, but the energy of his wife's attack brought him to a sitting posture on the side of the bed in a very few seconds.

"Goodness gracious, my dear! what has happened? Is the house on fire?"

He was now wide awake and really startled.

"The house isn't on fire, Joe; don't be a fool, but wake up. I want to talk to you about something very important."

"Yes, my dear; I'm wide awake, but a--won't the subject keep until to-morrow?"

"No, it won't keep two minutes. Now, mind, I'm in earnest, so don't aggravate me."

"Very well, my dear, what do you want to talk to me about?" said he, trying to suppress a yawn.

"I just want to talk to you about Providence."

Mr Wiseman turned his eyes sharply to his wife's face. "I think, my dear, that if you were to lie down, perhaps, you might feel better.

Shall I get you a few drops of sal volatile?"

"Look here, Joe. If you want to make me just mad you will go on like that. I'm not sick, and I'm not dreaming, and you'll hear what I have to say if I have to make you sit here all night. I want you to tell me, on your word as a man and a minister, whether you think that Providence made old Mr Lobbins choose me as his wife and selected Miss Perkins for you to marry?"

"Well, my dear, it's rather an important--"

"Now, Joe, I'll have a direct answer, or else you don't get to sleep again to-night. Did Providence specially ordain it?"

"Well, my dear, Providence at least permitted it, that is quite certain."

"Permitted fiddlesticks! Doesn't Providence in the same way permit of getting drunk, and stealing, and--and--doing all sorts of wicked things?"

"Quite true, my dear; it is all very mysterious. We can never hope to understand why evil is permitted, but we must not forget that, together with permitting evil, Providence provides the remedy. Even I, in my humble sphere of ministration, must look upon myself as an instrument provided by Providence to correct the evil I see around me. That is the great mercy, that next to the evil lies the means by which it may be counteracted."

"Joe, you are a dear old man, and you have made it _quite_ clear to me about Providence. Now, look here, I want you to make me one promise, and when you have done so you may go to sleep as soon as ever you like."

"Well, my dear, you know that as an honest man I cannot make a promise blindly; it might bind me to something which my conscience--"

"It is not to do anything, but just to do nothing at all, that I want you to promise," interrupted his wife. "For the next two days I want you simply to take no notice of anything out of the common that happens, and in any case not to interfere without coming to see me first."

"Well, my dear, I think I can safely promise that. But look here, can you not tell me what this means?"

"It means just this--and you can go and call it out in the streets to-morrow if you like--that I am not going to let old Bloxam snap up Stella Mason, nor am I going to see young Wardley hooked by Lavinia.

Now, it's no use looking at me like that or saying another word, for I've _quite_ made up my mind about it. I cannot tell you how I am going to manage, and if I could I would not, because you would 'look' it out even if you did not tell it. All you have to do is to keep quite quiet, take no notice of anything that happens, and come to me if you feel uneasy. Now you may kiss me, and then go to sleep."

After a few seconds she said in a softer voice. "Joe."

"Yes, my dear."