Miss Mackenzie Part 46

She spoke almost in a whisper, but, nevertheless, he heard her very clearly, and at once turned towards her room.

"Come in, John," she said, opening the door wider. "I wish to speak to you. I have been waiting till you should come up."

She had taken off her dress, and had put on in place of it a white dressing-gown; but of this she had not thought till he was already within the room. "I hope you won't mind finding me like this, but I did so want to speak to you to-night."

He, as he looked at her, felt that he had no objection to make to her appearance. If that had been his only trouble concerning her he would have been well satisfied. When he was within the room, she closed the lock of the door very softly, and then began to question him.

"Tell me," she said, "what my aunt has been saying to you about that man that came here to-day."

He did not answer her at once, but stood leaning against the bed.

"I know she has been telling you," continued Margaret. "I know she would not let you go to bed without accusing me. Tell me, John, what she has told you."

He was very slow to speak. As he had sat listening to his mother's energetic accusation against the woman he had promised to marry, hearing her bring up argument after argument to prove that Margaret had, in fact, been engaged to that clergyman,--that she had intended to marry that man while she had money, and had not, up to that day, made him fully understand that she would not do so,--he had himself said little or nothing, claiming to himself the use of that night for consideration. The circ.u.mstances against Margaret he owned to be very strong. He felt angry with her for having had any lover at Littlebath. It was but the other day, during her winter visit to the Cedars, that he had himself proposed to her, and that she had rejected him. He had now renewed his proposal, and he did not like to think that there had been any one else between his overtures. And he could not deny the strength of his mother's argument when she averred that Mr Maguire would not have come down there unless he had had, as she said, every encouragement. Indeed, throughout the whole affair, Lady Ball believed Mr Maguire, and disbelieved her niece; and something of her belief, and something also of her disbelief, communicated itself to her son. But, still, he reserved to himself the right of postponing his own opinion till the morrow; and as he was coming upstairs, when Margaret saw him through the c.h.i.n.k of the door, he was thinking of her smiles, of her graciousness, and her goodness. He was remembering the touch of her hand when they were together in the square, and the feminine sweetness with which she had yielded to him every point regarding her fortune. When he did not speak to her at once, she questioned him again.

"I know she has told you that Mr Maguire has been here, and that she has accused me of deceiving you."

"Yes, Margaret, she has."

"And what have you said in return; or rather, what have you thought?"

He had been leaning, or half sitting, on the bed, and she had placed herself beside him. How was it that she had again taken him by the coat, and again looked up into his face with those soft, trusting eyes? Was it a trick with her? Had she ever taken that other man by the coat in the same way, and smitten him also with the battery of her eyes? The loose sleeve of her dressing-gown had fallen back, and he could see that her arm was round and white, and very fair. Was she conversant with such tricks as these? His mother had called her clever and cunning as a serpent. Was it so? Had his mother seen with eyes clearer than his own, and was he now being surrounded by the meshes of a false woman's web? He moved away from her quickly, and stood upon the hearth-rug with his back to the empty fire grate.

Then she stood up also.

"John," she said, "if you have condemned me, say so. I shall defend myself for the sake of my character, but I shall not ask you to come back to me."

But he had not condemned her. He had not condemned her altogether, neither had he acquitted her. He was willing enough to hear her defence, as he had heard his mother's accusation; but he was desirous of hearing it without committing himself to any opinion.

"I have been much surprised," he said, "by what my mother has now told me,--very much surprised indeed. If Mr Maguire had any claim upon your hand, should you not have told me?"

"He had no claim; but no doubt it was right that I should tell you. I was bound by my duty to tell you everything that had occurred."

"Of course you were--and yet you did not do it."

"But I was not so bound before what you said to me in the shrubbery last night? Remember, John, it was but last night. Have I had a moment to speak to you?"

"If there was any question of engagement between you and him, you should have told it me then, on the instant."

"But there was no question. He came to me one day and made me an offer. I will tell you everything, and I think you will believe me.

I found him holding a position of respect, at Littlebath, and I was all alone in the world. Why should I not listen to him? I gave him no answer, but told him to speak to me again after a while. Then came my poor brother's illness and death; and after that came, as you know, the loss of all my money. In the meantime Mr Maguire had written, but as I knew that my brother's family must trust to me for their support--that, at least, John was my hope then--I answered him that my means were not the same as before, and that everything must be over. Then he wrote to me again after I had lost my money, and once I answered him. I wrote to him so that he should know that nothing could come of it. Here are all his letters, and I have a copy of the last I wrote to him." So saying, she pulled the papers out of her desk,--the desk in which still lay the torn shreds of her poetry,--and handed them to him. "After that, what right had he to come here and make such a statement as he did to my aunt? How can he be a gentleman, and say what was so false?"

"No one says that he is a gentleman," replied John Ball, as he took the proffered papers.

"I have told you all now," said she; and as she spoke, a gleam of anger flashed from her eyes, for she was not in all respects a Griselda such as she of old. "I have told you all now, and if further excuse be wanting, I have none further to make."

Slowly he read the letters, still standing up on the hearth-rug, and then he folded them again into their shapes, and slowly gave them back to her.

"There is no doubt," said he, "as to his being a blackguard. He was hunting for your money, and now that he knows you have got none, he will trouble you no further." Then he made a move from the place on which he stood, as if he were going.

"And is that to be all, John?" she said.

"I shall see you to-morrow," he replied. "I am not going to town."

"But is that to be all to-night?"

"It is very late," and he looked at his watch. "I do not see that any good can come of talking more about it now. Good-night to you."

"Good-night," she said. Then she waited till the door was closed, and when he was gone she threw herself upon the bed. Alas! alas! Now once more was she ruined, and her present ruin was ruin indeed.

She threw herself on the bed, and sobbed as though she would have broken her heart in the bitterness of her spirit. She had told him the plainest, simplest truest story, and he had received it without one word of comment in her favour,--without one sign to show that her truthfulness had been acknowledged by him! He had told her that this man, who had done her so great an injury, was a blackguard; but of her own conduct he had not allowed himself to speak. She knew that his judgment had gone against her, and though she felt it to be hard,--very hard,--she resolved that she would make no protest against it. Of course she would leave the Cedars. Only a few hours since she had a.s.sured herself that it was her duty henceforward to obey him in everything. But that was now all changed. Whatever he might say to the contrary, she would go. If he chose to follow her whither she went, and again ask her to be his wife she would receive him with open arms. Oh, yes; let him only once again own that she was worthy of him, and then she would sit at his feet and confess her folly, and ask his pardon a thousand times for the trouble she had given him. But unless he were to do this she would never again beg for favour. She had made her defence, and had, as she felt, made it in vain. She would not condescend to say one other word in excuse of her conduct.

As for her aunt, all terms between Lady Ball and herself must be at an end. Lady Ball had pa.s.sed a day with her in the house without speaking to her, except when that man had come, and then she had taken part with him! Her aunt, she thought, had been untrue to hospitality in not defending the guest within her own walls; she had been untrue to her own blood, in not defending her husband's niece; but, worse than all that, ten times worse, she had been untrue as from one woman to another! Margaret, as she thought of this, rose from the bed and walked wildly through the room unlike any Griselda.

No; she would have no terms with Lady Ball. Lady Ball had understood it all, though John had not done so! She had known how it all was, and had pretended not to know. Because she had an object of her own to gain, she had allowed these calumnies to be believed! Let come what might, they should all know that Margaret Mackenzie, poor, wretched, dest.i.tute as she was, had still spirit enough to resent such injuries as these.

In the morning she sent down word by one of her young cousins that she would not come to breakfast, and she asked that some tea might be sent up to her.

"Is she in bed, my dear?" asked Lady Ball.

"No, she is not in bed," said Jane Ball. "She is sitting up, and has got all her things about the room as though she were packing."

"What nonsense!" said Lady Ball; "why does she not come down?"

Then Isabella, the eldest girl, was sent up to her, but Margaret refused to show herself.

"She says she would rather not; but she wants to know if papa will walk out with her at ten."

Lady Ball again said that this was nonsense, but tea and toast were at last supplied to her, and her cousin promised to be ready at the hour named. Exactly at ten o'clock, Margaret opened the schoolroom door, and asked one of the girls to tell her father that she would be found on the walk leading to the long shrubbery.

There on the walk she remained, walking slowly backwards and forwards over a s.p.a.ce of twenty yards, till he joined her. She gave him her hand, and then turned towards the long shrubbery, and he, following her direction, walked at her side.

"John," she said, "you will not be surprised at my telling you that, after what has occurred, I shall leave this place to-day."

"You must not do that," he said.

"Ah, but I must do it. There are some things John, which no woman should bear or need bear. After what has occurred it is not right that I should incur your mother's displeasure any longer. All my things are ready. I want you to have them taken down to the one o'clock train."

"No, Margaret; I will not consent to that."

"But, John, I cannot consent to anything else. Yesterday was a terrible day for me. I don't think you can know how terrible. What I endured then no one has a right to expect that I should endure any longer. It was necessary that I should say something to you of what had occurred, and that I said last night. I have no further call to remain here, and, most positively, I shall go to-day."

He looked into her face and saw that she was resolved, but yet he was not minded to give way. He did not like to think that all authority over her was pa.s.sing out of his hands. During the night he had not made up his mind to pardon her at once. Nay, he had not yet told himself that he would pardon her at all. But he was prepared to receive her tears and excuses, and we may say that, in all probability, he would have pardoned her had she wept before him and excused herself. But though she could shed tears on this matter,--though, doubtless, there were many tears to be shed by her,--she would shed no more before him in token of submission. If he would first submit, then, indeed, she might weep on his shoulder or laugh on his breast, as his mood might dictate.

"Margaret," he said, "we have very much to talk over before you can go."

"There will be time for that between this and one. Look here, John; I have made up my mind to go. After what took place yesterday, it will be better for us all that we should be apart."

"I don't see that, unless, indeed, you are determined to quarrel with us altogether. I suppose my wishes in the matter will count for something."