In her then state of mind it needed but the assurance of Jarner that Dan loved Meg to change Miss Linisfarne's passive dislike of the girl into active hatred. She had long been aware that Meg was her rival, but this confirmation by a third party showed her how easily she might lose her prize. At the same time, she was sufficiently clever to see that Meg was quite unconscious of Dan's devotion, and hoped, by taking advantage of this fact, to draw him away from one presumably indifferent to his regard. It was a difficult and delicate task, but Miss Linisfarne deemed herself capable of carrying it through. Come what may, she was resolved that Meg should not triumph.
To forward her schemes, it was necessary that she should have an interview with Dan, and therefore sent a note to the dell requesting him to call. The young man duly received the invitation, and, though reluctant to visit a lady with whom his name was connected by gossip, could not find sufficient grounds for refusal, and so sent back to say that he would call at noon as desired. Had he known of Jarner's interview, he might have been placed on his guard, and so refused a meeting which could only end in disaster; but Jarner was away on parochial business, and Dan was quite ignorant of his danger.
Much as he distrusted Miss Linisfarne--for by her own acts she had caused the gossip which had connected their names,--he did not think she was so passionately in love with him as to overstep all bounds of womanly modesty. He had laughed to scorn the notion of marriage put forward by Tim and Dr. Merle, deeming it beyond all probability that a gentlewoman would be so rash as to desire to link her fortunes with those of a nameless vagrant. Although Tinker Tim and the vicar knew his name, he was well assured that Miss Linisfarne was ignorant of it, and so could see no reason to believe the rumour of marriage. Dan was a cautious and astute young man, but in this case he had to measure his wits against a woman. As a natural consequence, he failed. The cleverest man is but a fool in some matters, when compared with even a silly woman. Yet Dan came through the ordeal more creditably than he might have expected.
Miss Linisfarne was by no means silly, and had all her plans prepared for the subjugation of Dan. She intended to tell him that Meg's indifference was caused by the fact of her having another lover whom she wished to marry. There not being a representative of this mythical lover in the parish of Farbis, Miss Linisfarne decided to locate him at a safe distance, where he could not be easily found. All this was very clever, but she quite forgot that Dan's insight into human nature was as keen as her own, and that he would find it difficult to believe that a mere child like Meg could keep secret so important a factor in her life as a future marriage. Dan was honest and straightforward, and, notwithstanding Miss Linisfarne's fine-spun webs of sophistry, contrived in the end to break through them, though not without difficulty and pain. He failed in one respect, as his antagonist was a woman and unscrupulous; but he was successful in the end, as his strong love for Meg proved his safeguard against the wiles of this enchantress.
Miss Linisfarne received him in her own particular corner of the drawing-room. Knowing her ill health, Dan quite expected to find her stretched languidly on the couch, but was astonished, as Jarner had been, to find himself welcomed by a bright-eyed lady, alert and merry. She presided over the tea-table and invited him to be seated. Nothing loth--for his walk had given him an appetite--Dan drank tea and devoured cakes, while Miss Linisfarne chatted to him on unimportant subjects. She was too clever to introduce Meg's name into the conversation, lest his suspicions might be aroused, and left him to make the first mention of the girl. This he did while talking of Mr. Jarner, and discussing matters incidental to his sojourn at Farbis.
"I have enjoyed my stay here very very much, thank you, Miss Linisfarne," said Dan, in answer to a question. "You can judge of that by the months I have been encamped in the dell."
"And what have you most delighted in?" asked Miss Linisfarne, hoping by this artful remark to lead him to talk of Meg.
"In Mr. Jarner. I have never met a character like him before."
"No; a sporting parson is rather rare nowadays."
"It's not exactly his love of sport, but his whole character I admire. He is a cross between Dr. Johnson and Squire Western. A bluff, honest, hearty old man, who would put to shame many of our mincing, scented clergy. I can well understand him doing what he told me he did the other day."
"What is that?"
"Why, he found his congregation was not large enough, and was in danger of beginning the service, like Dean Swift, with 'Dearly beloved Roger,' so he doffed his surplice and went out with his hunting crop to thrash in a few listeners. Ay, and he succeeded too! He thrashed the whole village. I can fancy how attentive that congregation must have been."
"He is very amusing," said Miss Linisfarne, laughing at this anecdote; "and has a good heart."
"That he has," assented Dan, heartily. "Look how kind he has been to Meg. I do not know what she would have done without yourself and Mr. Jarner."
"Ob, I have done very little," said Miss Linisfarne, carelessly. "It was a great pleasure to me to help the poor child. I am afraid you find her very rough and countrified?"
"Indeed, no. I think her perfection as she is. It would be a sin to turn her into a fine London lady."
"What do you know about London ladies?"
"What indeed!" said Dan, laughing to hide his confusion. "I am only a vagabond."
"I think we argued that question before, and disagreed upon it. You are no vagabond, though it pleases you to pass as one. By the way, you promised to tell me your name in a week or so. It is now two months since then, and I am still ignorant of it."
"I cannot tell you at present," muttered Dan, awkwardly; "on some future occasion I may."
Miss Linisfarne was disappointed at this denial, but did not see her way to press the matter. Nevertheless, she skilfully made use of the opportunity to reintroduce the topic of Meg.
"It pleases you to be mysterious," she said coldly, "and I trust your motives are straightforward."
"I think I can answer for them. With regard to whom?"
"Meg Merle! You are constantly with her, and I do not think that it is right that you should be."
"Why not?" asked Dan, with a frown. The significance of her tone annoyed him.
"Well, for one thing, it is not right for the girl herself; for another--her lover may take exception to your conduct."
"Miss Linisfarne!"
He had leaped to his feet, and was looking at her with angry eyes. She gazed at him with admiration, and thought she had never seen him look so handsome; yet, undeterred by his wrath, persisted in her line of conduct.
"Ah, you are astonished, I see. You did not know, then, that Meg was engaged to be married?"
"I cannot believe it."
"Nevertheless, it is true. That is why she is so indifferent to your suit."
"What do you mean?" said Dan, rather confused by the rapidity with which she pressed the attack.
"Oh, I am not blind! I know you are in love with her. Your devotion is quite useless, as you can see from her demeanour. She----"
"That is innocence," he interrupted roughly. "She does not know the meaning of love. She has never thought of marriage. I do not--I cannot believe that she is engaged. Her whole life gives the lie to such an assertion."
"You are discourteous."
"I beg your pardon, I did not mean to be so," he replied apologetically; "but it is impossible. You must be mistaken."
"Ask Mr. Byrne of Silkstone if I am mistaken. Meg may deny it, but he----"
"Why should she deny it? If she is engaged to be married to this Silkstone man of whom you speak, there is no necessity to keep it secret. But I tell you it cannot be. If it were so she would have told me. She is an innocent child, who cannot keep a secret."
"She kept this one, however."
"Moreover, Mr. Jarner would have told me," said Dan, not heeding the taunt.
Miss Linisfarne lost her temper. She had counted on resistance, but not on such a stubborn defence of Meg. Rising with flashing eyes, she stepped up to Dan, and, throwing aside all restraint, burst out into rapid speech. It was not wise for her to do so, but her love and jealousy carried her away, and she spoke wildly, madly--as she never would have spoken had she reflected for a moment.
"Are you blind, sir, that you so believe in this girl? I tell you, she is engaged to be married. She does not love you--she will never love you. Why should you lay your heart at her feet only to find it spurned? Give it to me--I say, give it to me."
"To you!" cried Dan, scarcely believing his ears.
"Yes. You now know my secret. I love you! I love you! I wish to make you my husband. You are poor, but I am rich. Take me--take my money--only leave that wretched girl and come to me, who truly loves you."
Dan stepped back a pace, and looked at her in amazement. Her face was flushed, her eyes were unnaturally bright, and her whole body trembled with emotion as she stretched out appealing hands to him. He was so utterly astonished, that for the moment he did not know what to say--what to do.
"I love you. Come to me," she cried passionately. "You must see how I am prepared to give up all for you."
"But I--I am not--not worthy," he stammered.
"You are in my eyes."
"I am poor--nameless--unknown."
"What is that to me? I am rich--take my money. I have a name--take it as your own. With my name and my money you can make yourself known. Only love me."
It was an extremely awkward situation. Here was Dan, standing helplessly before this impassionate woman, unable to move, almost unable to speak. He faltered, stammered, hesitated, while she with outstretched arms drew nearer. It was impossible to say how he would have extricated himself from the dilemma, had not a memory of his conversation with Merle flashed across his brain. He acted on the impulse of the moment, and flung out a hand to keep her back.
"No. It is impossible. You are mad. Think of Mallard."
"Mallard!"
"Of Richard Mallard, whom you deceived, and deserted, and ruined!"
Before the last words left his mouth, she had fallen fainting on the floor. The name evidently recalled some painful memory, as Dan, on remembering the anguish of Merle, guessed it would. He was sorry that he had mentioned it, but, so awkwardly was he placed, that he saw no way out of the position but to act in what he considered a brutal fashion. It proved efficacious, for Miss Linisfarne lay at his feet in a swoon, and he was free to go.
Ringing the bell hastily he committed the insensible woman to the care of the astonished housekeeper, and rushed away with his brain on fire.
"She is mad! mad!" he said, as he ran down the avenue. "But what else could I do? Mallard! Mallard and Merle! What does it all mean? Only one person can solve the mystery of Miss Linisfarne, and that is Tinker Tim."
Miss Linisfarne recovered from her swoon to find that her machinations had proved unsuccessful. She had lied in saying that Meg was engaged to be married, and she had humiliated herself at the feet of a man who scorned her. These things were sufficient in themselves to cause her to repent of her folly, but, in place of learning a lesson from such rebuffs, she became still more inflamed against the girl whom she professed to love. Enraged by her failure and humiliation, she cast about for some means whereby to punish Meg, whom she unjustly regarded as the cause of her sufferings. No one was more prone than Miss Linisfarne to lay the burden of her follies on others.
The reference by Dan to her lover of twenty years before, led her to fancy that he knew more about her life than was actually the case. She began to believe that this unknown man was well acquainted with the shameful history which had led to her retirement, and had come down to Farbis for the express purpose of recalling it to her mind. Ignorant of the identity of Dr. Merle with Mallard, she could not conceive how Dan had learned her secret, since she had confided it to no one in Farbis. Yet it was known to him, as was apparent from his utterance of the name, and he had used it in order to humiliate her to the dust. Her mad love for him gave place to rage and resentment, and she longed to find an opportunity to punish him for his disdain and knowledge.
On calm reflection, she saw that, by parting him from Meg, she could render him miserable, and so resolved to see the girl, and, by lying to her as she had to Dan, to effectually prevent their marriage. Well aware that by her own acts she had prevented Meg from visiting at the Court, she resolved to go in person to Dr. Merle's house and see her rival. Her plan of action was not clear in her mind, but all she wanted was to achieve a lifelong separation between the pair. With this amiable object she repaired that same afternoon, alone and on foot, to the house of the doctor.
It had been Dan's intention to speak personally to Meg; to demand from her own lips a refutation of the lies uttered by Miss Linisfarne. But on arriving at his camp he found a messenger from the vicar, requesting him to come down to the village on that evening, and this invitation Dan readily obeyed, as he was anxious to make a confidant of the vicar, and to ask his advice with regard to the revelations made by Tinker Tim, by Dr. Merle, and by Miss Linisfarne. He, therefore, deemed it politic to postpone his visit to Meg until he had seen the vicar, as in his future course he thought it would be wise to be guided by the strong common sense of Jarner. Had he suspected Miss Linisfarne's intention of poisoning the mind of Meg, he might have altered his plans; but, as it was, he was ignorant of her schemes and quite unprepared to counteract her wiles. So far Fortune declared itself in favour of the enemy.
When Miss Linisfarne was announced as waiting for an interview, Meg was in the dark room with her father. She was astonished at the visit, as she could not think what reason her benefactress could have for calling on her. Dr. Merle was also surprised and very much alarmed, as he thought that this unexpected appearance of the woman he loved was due to a use made of his indiscreet revelations to Dan. With much agitation he implored Meg not to let Miss Linisfarne see him, though, with characteristic feebleness, he assigned merely selfish reasons for this strange request.
"I am ill--very ill; she will only disturb me," he reiterated peevishly. "Why does she come here?"
"It is impossible to say, father," said Meg, reflectively. "Perhaps she is sorry she has treated me so ill, and wants me to return to the Court."
"Go, if she asks you, Meg; consent to anything, but do not let her see me."
"Don't trouble yourself, father! I shall not let her enter this room."
"She may force her way in," replied Merle, in a terrified whisper; "keep her away. Go and stop her."
Meg departed as desired, not without some wonderment at the anxiety displayed by her father. She put it down to his retiring disposition; for, strange as it may appear, she knew nothing of Merle's indulgence in laudanum-drinking. He was ashamed to exhibit this vice before his only child, and always locked himself in his room when indulging in a debauch. Meg only knew these frequent retirements as caused by a mysterious illness, and never for a moment suspected that they were due to his own vices. Indeed, had she been told she would have been none the wiser, as she was unacquainted with even the name of laudanum. Merle's refusal to see Miss Linisfarne was quite in keeping with his usual habits; so, after a momentary wonder at his agitation, Meg dismissed the subject from her mind, and went into the next room to see her visitor.
Miss Linisfarne, arrayed in black, and thickly veiled, arose to meet her, but did not come forward with any greeting. On the contrary, she stood still as any statue, and looked steadily at the splendid beauty of the young girl. It was so undeniable that she recognized the inferiority of her faded charms at once, and sank back in her chair with a sigh. This Meg interpreted as a sign of sorrow that they had been parted, and with great tenderness took the hand of--as she deemed her to be--her friend. The situation was not without a suspicion of irony.
"I am so glad to see you, Miss Linisfarne," she said, kissing the elder woman. "I was afraid you were angry with me, and so kept away from the Court."
"It was for your own good, Meg, that I was angry."
"For my own good!" repeated Meg, rather astounded at this assertion. "What do you mean, Miss Linisfarne? Did I disobey you in anyway, that you banished me from Farbis Court? Was my conduct distasteful to you, that you so reproved me? What do you mean by saying your anger was for my own good?"
Miss Linisfarne smiled under her veil at the indignation of the girl, and uttered only one word in reply. It had not the effect she anticipated.
"Dan!" she said, with much significance.
"What about Dan?" demanded Meg, in a puzzled tone.
"It was on his account I wished you to keep away from the Court."
"I don't understand!"
"No, poor child!" said Miss Linisfarne, in a pitying tone. "How can you, with your youth and innocence and provincial education, be expected to understand the baseness of man?"
"If you mean that Dan is base," replied Meg, bluntly, "I don't believe it. He is as good a man as Mr. Jarner."
"I am afraid not, Meg."
"You need not be afraid, Miss Linisfarne. I have seen Dan daily for the last three months, and every day I have grown to like him better."
"Are you in love with him?" sneered Miss Linisfarne.
Meg laughed heartily. Such an idea had never entered her mind, and she thought Miss Linisfarne was joking.
"Of course I am not in love with him," she said, smiling; "why, we are like brother and sister."
"You think so, but he does not. I tell you, Meg, he is a dishonourable man."
"And I tell you he is not!"
"He has a brave defender, I see! But what do you say of a man who professes to love two women at the same time?"
"I should call him a scoundrel. But such a thing is impossible. No one can love two women at once."
"Dan can," retorted Miss Linisfarne, in a taunting manner; "he loves you, and professes to love me."
"Stop, stop!" cried Meg, with a bewildered expression of countenance. "What do you say? Dan loves me?"
"Yes!"
"That is impossible! He has never, in any way, hinted at such a thing."
"No! Because he was afraid of my anger."
"Of your anger!"
"Yes! He came to Farbis Court yesterday and declared that he loved me--that he wished to make me his wife."
"Oh, I cannot believe it," said Meg, jealously.
"Nevertheless, it is true! He proposed to marry me; but I refused his offer with scorn."
"Why did you do that?"
Miss Linisfarne raised her veil, and showed a face inflamed with anger. Having once committed herself, she did not measure her words, and raged on without considering the harm she was doing. The belief Meg had in Dan enraged her, and she was determined to blacken his character in the girl's eyes, so that any tenderness Meg might have towards him should be crushed in its infancy.
"Why did I do that?" she cried, with rapid speech. "Because his offer was an insult. He said that he loved you; in every action he has shown that he loved you. Fool that you are, do you think a man would stay in this place for weeks and weeks had he not been influenced by your presence? He was in love with me also--the base, dishonourable villain!"
"If so, why did he ask you to be his wife?" said Meg, calmly, though her heart was beating wildly.
"Because he is a base and dishonourable man. He loved you for your looks, child, but he wished to marry me for my money."
"No, no!"
"I tell you it is true," resumed Miss Linisfarne, vehemently. "Why should I, who have been a mother to you, tell a falsehood? This man has insulted us both. Now that I have repelled him he will come to you with loving words, and you--what will you say?"
"If he has done what you say, I shall treat him with scorn."
"Do you not believe me?"
"No, Miss Linisfarne, I do not," replied Meg, facing round with great indignation. "I do not believe your story. If Dan proposed to you he does not love me. If he loves me as you say, he did not propose to you. I shall know the truth from his own lips."
"Will you ask him?" demanded Miss Linisfarne, rather alarmed at the turn affairs had taken.
"Of course I shall ask him. And, what is more, I shall believe his answer."
"You love him, girl--you love him!"
"I do. Until you spoke I only felt like a sister to him, but now you have put his conduct in a new light, and I feel what I never felt before. I do love him, and on his answer shall depend the happiness or the misery of my life."
Thus Miss Linisfarne, by her jealousy, had brought about the very catastrophe she desired to avoid. She recognized that her wiles were worse than useless before the honest character of the girl, and silently admitted that she was again beaten. She had failed with Dan, now she failed with Meg. Only retreat remained.
"You fool!" she said cruelly. "Ask him, and believe his lies. Your misery dates from that moment."
She swept from the room with a haughty carriage, and left Meg bewildered and afraid.
When Dan explained to Jarner the equivocal position in which he was placed by the folly of Miss Linisfarne, the vicar urged him to end all mysteries by declaring his name and rank. Also to ask Meg to be his wife, and thus ascertain, beyond all question, the state of her feelings. Miss Linisfarne's story of an engagement to Byrne of Silkstone was scouted by Jarner with much wrath.
"What can the woman be thinking of?" he said. "The whole story is false--there is not even a man in Silkstone called Byrne. She must have known that you would tell me this, and that I would be able to deny it."
"No doubt she thought that, in the revulsion of feeling caused by her false word, I would ask her to marry me."
"Very probably. I do not so much blame as pity her. The poor woman suffers from hysteria. When she comes to her senses she will be sorry enough for her behaviour."
"I don't know so much about that, sir. Remember, she is a woman with a past. A woman with a past is capable of anything in the present."
"Ay, but we know nothing of her past. She may be more sinned against than sinning."
"Merle--or, to use his real name, Mallard--does not seem to think so."
"A poor creature that, my lord. A man who would sink, as he has done, because a woman chose to jilt him, is a miserable specimen of humanity. I should like to know his story."
"So should I, and the story of Miss Linisfarne and of Tinker Tim."
"The last-named person can gratify your curiosity," said Jarner. "Take my advice, and declare yourself. Then ask Meg to be your wife, and, when all is accomplished, Tim will tell his story. I agree with you that there is a mystery, but Tim holds the key thereto."
"Perhaps Meg won't accept me as her husband."
"Try," said the vicar, significantly, and pushed the young man out of the room.
This action sounds inhospitable; but the hour was late and the vicar weary, so he thus hinted strongly his wish to be alone. Dan, in nowise offended, for he was used to the vicar's blunt speech and blunt ways, accepted the hint in its true spirit, and returned to his camp.
There was but little sleep for him that night. His thoughts were principally taken up with the curious fulfilment of the prophecy of Mother Jericho. Much as he despised superstition and ridiculed palmistry, he could not but admit that the sibyl had forecast the future with remarkable accuracy. She had predicted that he would meet his fate at the Gates of Dawn, and there he had seen Meg, whom he now designed to make his wife. The assertion that he would love one woman, and be loved by another whom he would dislike, had been fulfilled to the letter by the declaration of Miss Linisfarne. She had yellow hair streaked with grey, and hence Mother Jericho's warning to beware of gold and silver. So far all had occurred exactly as she foretold; but there was more to come. Miss Linisfarne was to seek to hurt him through Meg, and there was fire and flame and brave deeds. Also a false father, and a false mother. These yet unfulfilled events were a source of great perplexity to him, and he determined to nullify at least the first by at once declaring his passion to Meg. When they understood one another, he hoped that Miss Linisfarne would be powerless to harm him through his promised wife. But all this depended on the acceptance or refusal of his suit by Meg.
After a restless night he walked down to the beach for a swim, and left Simon and Peter to guard the dell. As he passed through the Gates of Dawn, at the hour of sunrise, he beheld Meg coming up from the seashore. Again the golden glory of the day burned behind her, but she no longer sang, nor did she dance before the sun like Aurora. On the contrary, her eyes were downcast, her face sorrowful, and she attempted to pass Dan without a greeting. The omission vexed him, and he blocked her path by standing before her. Courtesy forbade her to force her way past him, so she paused irresolutely, and looked at him reproachfully. Astonished at this unusual behaviour, and rightly ascribing it to the influence of Miss Linisfarne, Dan was the first to speak. He wasted no time in idle talk, but went straight to the point.
"Meg!" he said, looking at her anxiously, "what is the matter? Have I offended you, that you would pass me by as a stranger?"
"I have nothing to say," she murmured. "Let me pass, please."
"Not till you tell me how I have been so unfortunate as to offend you."
"You have not offended me. I have no right to control your actions."
"Then Miss Linisfarne has poisoned your mind against me."
Meg lifted her eyes, and looked at him sorrowfully. Boldly as she had defended him when absent, she could not help believing that there was some truth in the assertions of Miss Linisfarne. Dan she had only known for a few months, while Miss Linisfarne was the close friend of years, therefore it was only natural she should attach more weight to the assertions of the latter than to those of the former. Experience only can instruct as to the proper estimate of a friendship.
"Miss Linisfarne told me all," she said, with great dignity.
"All what?"
"Can you ask me?" replied Meg, reproachfully. "Does not your memory recall your words and acts?"
"I really do not understand you," said Dan, much bewildered by this speech. "What have I said or done to you that you should thus reproach me?"
"It is not what you said to me, Dan. I have no fault to find with you in any way, as I told Miss Linisfarne. But she says you called at Farbis Court, and----"
"Go on," said Dan, seeing she hesitated. "I admit I called at the Court."
"And there you asked Miss Linisfarne to be your wife."
"I!"
It was all he could say, being dumbfounded by the accusation, which he guessed was made by Miss Linisfarne.
With her face suffused with blushes, Meg continued to speak in a low, nervous tone. Since she had discovered that she loved Dan, she felt ill at ease in his presence, and the subject on which she was forced to speak was uncongenial. The situation was most trying to a modest girl like Meg; but her brave spirit did not falter in fulfilling what she considered to be her duty. Therefore, much as she disliked the task, she did not shrink from the performance. Dan guessed all this, and admired her nerve.
"Yes. Miss Linisfarne told me how you wished to marry her for the sake of her fortune. She said you were poor and nameless, and that you wished to improve your condition by marriage. Oh, Dan, I never thought you were so base!"
"Nor am I," he replied, frankly. "It is quite untrue that I wish to marry Miss Linisfarne. On the contrary---- But that is neither here nor there. Though she has attempted to blacken my character in your eyes, I shall say nothing against her. Do you believe this story, Meg?"
"I told her I did not; but----" She faltered, and looked away.
Angered at the opinion she held of him, which was so galling to his proud nature, Dan caught her hands.
"Look me in the eyes, Meg, and say if you believe me to be so base."
"I don't think you are base; but you might be tempted----"
"True; but not by Miss Linisfarne. You know better than that, Meg, I'll swear. Look me in the eyes, and tell me if you believe this story."
In the steady eyes which met hers, Meg read the truth. All the lies of Miss Linisfarne faded from her memory. With the instinct of a true and loving heart, she recognized that Dan spoke the truth.
"I believe you, Dan," she said, frankly. "Miss Linisfarne made a mistake."
"Miss Linisfarne is---- Well, well! never mind her at present. No, you need not try to get away, Meg. I have to ask you a question. Can you not guess what it is?"
"No. I--that is----"
"I see you can. Yes, Meg. Poor and friendless and nameless and homeless as I am, I wish you to be my wife."
"Your wife!"
"My loved and honoured wife. It is you that have kept me so long at Farbis. I care nothing for Miss Linisfarne or her money, and a great deal for you. Dearest, can you accept my love?"
"But I am poor, and----"
"Well! Am I not poor also? I can only offer you a caravan! Come, Meg, will you be a poor man's wife? You do not speak. They say that silence gives consent. Meg, dearest wife!"
He drew her unresistingly towards him, and with flushed cheeks and bright eyes she lay passively in his arms. He bent down to whisper--
"Will you be my wife, Meg?"
She looked up into his face, but uttered no word. Nor was speech needed, for he saw in her eyes the answer he desired. There, in the lonely Gates of Dawn, where he had first met her, did he touch her lips with his own. A great joy filled the hearts of both. Emotion rendered them dumb, and they could only look silently into one another's eyes.
"Meg, my darling wife!"
"Dan!"
"Remember, I am a poor wanderer, and you will have a hard life!"
"Not if it is passed with you," she whispered.
"I haven't even a name!"
"Take mine. I love you, Dan! I did not know it till Miss Linisfarne spoke. Then, when I thought you were to be hers, I felt angered. I knew then that you were everything to me. In a single moment the whole of my life seemed to change, and all because I love you."
"My darling!"
He kissed her again. But why strive to describe the indescribable? To relate a love episode is foolish. Words are too poor to tell all. It were better to let the reader imagine the looks, and words, and joy of these two. They felt in that moment the perfect happiness which comes but once in a lifetime to man or woman. Earth was heaven, and they the angels who dwelt therein. After a sacred silence, which lasted it seemed ages, Dan was the first to speak. Having gained his end, he was now ready to make confession.
"Meg, I have told you a falsehood."
She drew away quickly with a startled look in her eyes, and faltered out the first thought in her mind.
"Miss Linisfarne?"
"No, no; it has nothing to do with Miss Linisfarne. Do not look so shocked. It is not a very dreadful story. Do you know who I am, Meg?"
"Yes; you are Dan."
"No; I am not Dan. Nor am I poor; nor am I a vagrant. I wooed you as a poor man because I wanted a wife who loved me for myself. You have done so, my dearest, and now I can confess my deception. My name is--can you not guess?"
"No. How strangely you speak! Tell me! Who are you?"
"Meg, Meg! whom do I resemble?"
"Sir Alurde," said she, quickly. Then, with a sudden light breaking in on her mind, "Then he was your ancestor?"
"Ah, you have guessed my secret. Yes, Meg, my real name is Francis Breel."
"Lord Ardleigh!"
"Precisely. And you, my dearest, who took poor Dan for his own worth, will be Lady Ardleigh of Farbis Court."
Dear Jack,
If this letter is wild, and incoherent, and rhapsodical, be sparing of your astonishment and blame. A scribe in my state of mind is not responsible for his epistles. Therefore be patient and read this letter carefully, for herein you will find a reason for these excuses. If you do not find my explanation all-sufficient, then you are not the sympathetic friend I took you for. What, indeed, is the use of friendship if it does not encourage and sympathize and congratulate? Were you in love--which you are not, judging from your cynical letters--I would patiently listen to your maunderings, so hearken to mine. If you wonder at this preamble learn the reason in three sentences. I love her! She loves me! We are engaged. Here I consider you have an ample explanation.
Now, do not repeat that time-honoured sneer, "I told you so," and chuckle cynically over my capture by Cupid. It is true that he has chained me, but I glory in such bonds. Did you but see her face and hear her voice you would no longer wonder at my surrender. Who conquers Mars may be beaten by Venus. There is a classical nut for your cracking.
Doubtless you consider events have moved speedily, seeing I have thus wooed and won my future wife in so short a space of time. You are perfectly right in such supposition. The events of a year have been crammed into seven days. Every hour has brought forth a surprise, and the result is--as above. My position has been anything but pleasant of late; but now I trust my troubles are over, though, according to the unfulfilled portion of Mother Jericho's prophecy, the worst are still to come. A pleasant prospect, truly! but one rendered endurable by my present happiness.
Miss Linisfarne is the parent of my troubles and happiness. I told you about her in my last letters. A faded beauty in ill-health, who is my tenant at the Court. Ignorant of my identity, she thought I was simply a decayed gentleman, reduced to poverty and to the shelter of a caravan. With that inconsistency which is so noticeable a feature of the sex, she ignored my vagabondage, and, in the character of a broken-down gentleman, invited me to the Court. For some inexplicable reason she took a violent fancy to me, and ultimately proposed to marry me. You look surprised, and frown,--the first, at the information; the second, that I should impart it to you, and thus betray a woman's folly.
As a matter of fact, unless I tell you all I can tell you nothing, and so must be content to accept your censure. I would not speak of such a thing to others; but to you, who are my second self, and have been the receptacle of my confidences since we were at Eton, I am surely justified in making the revelation. And, after all, my friend, you can put away those wire-drawn notions of honour, as Miss Linisfarne is not worthy of being considered in any way. She is a base and designing woman. You must agree with this estimate of her character--harsh though it seems--when I tell you that she tried to lower Meg in my eyes, and almost succeeded in blackening my character to Meg. Such uncalled-for malignancy is, to my mind, worthy of blame. She must be beaten with her own weapons, punished for her spiteful behaviour, and generally condemned--at all events in this letter, which is strictly confidential.
It is useless for me to attempt to fathom her character. Originally it may have been a noble one, but twenty years of solitude have warped it strangely. Dr. Merle, who is the father of Meg, made a confession to me the other day. He heard a rumour that I was to marry Miss Linisfarne, and thereupon came to tell me that I was not to do so. He justified this declaration by the confession that his real name was Mallard--that he had been engaged to Miss Linisfarne twenty years ago, and that she had ruined his life. More than this he refused to tell me, but said Tinker Tim could reveal all. The gipsy declined confession until I married Meg; so, as I intend to do so shortly, I hope to be fully informed of all these mysteries. As I surmised, there is a connection between Tim and Dr. Merle and Miss Linisfarne; but what it is I cannot guess, so must possess my soul in patience until the gipsy chooses to open his mouth.
After my interview with Merle--or Mallard, as that is his real name--I received a message from Miss Linisfarne asking me to call and see her. I went unwillingly, as I was by no means prepossessed in her favour by the revelation of the doctor. The interview was of the most painful character. She said that Meg was engaged to a certain Byrne of Silkstone, and finally offered me her hand, her name, and her wealth. I refused all three, and, not knowing how to extricate myself from so awkward a position, uttered the name of Mallard. Its effect was magical. She fainted, and I, having committed her to the care of her housekeeper, hastened away. I need hardly say that nothing will induce me to set foot again in her house.
Much perplexed at my position, I consulted Mr. Jarner, as he is gifted with good common sense, and is remarkably shrewd in giving advice. He ascribed her strange conduct to hysteria, and said there was no truth in her assertion that Meg was engaged--nay, more, that Byrne of Silkstone was a myth. Why Miss Linisfarne should tell such falsehoods and offer to marry me I cannot say; but, as I remarked before, it is useless to attempt to fathom her character. My own opinion is, that seclusion has tended to unhinge her mind and destroy her self-control. No sane person would have acted as she has done. From charity, therefore, let us give her the benefit of the doubt, and say that she is mad.
Yet there is a method in her madness which is hurtful to those whom she designs to injure. I am one of those unfortunates. When she found that I refused to marry, her love changed to hate, and she is a living example of the truth of Congreve's couplet--
"Heav'n has no rage like love to hatred turned,Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned."
With a view, therefore, to blast my happiness, she sought Meg, and lied to her as she did to me. Declared that I wished to marry her for the sake of her wealth, that I was a base villain, an escaped criminal, a nameless outcast, and made me out to be the most abandoned of mankind. Meg retorted with spirit, and defended me, but could not help thinking that there might be some truth in these accusations. I can hardly blame her for such belief. She knew nothing, or comparatively nothing of me, whereas Miss Linisfarne has been her friend and benefactress for years.
Unfortunately for Miss Linisfarne and fortunately for myself, I chanced to meet Meg at the Gates of Dawn, and speedily disabused her mind of all those malignant accusations. I denied that I had asked Miss Linisfarne to marry me because I wanted her money, and, in proof of the absurdity of such an idea, confessed my name and rank. Before doing so, however, I asked Meg to be my wife, and she, believing my bare word, accepted my offer. Can you wonder, then, that I should love and honour and esteem a woman who was prepared to marry a nameless outcast for his own worth? She is as simple and loving as a child, and I consider myself the most fortunate of men in winning her golden heart. What is rank, or title, or wealth compared with such pure love! She loves me, not my worldly advantages. Confess now, cynic as you are, that I have chosen wisely. Ah, Jack, the noblest gift that God can bestow on a man is the gift of a pure good woman's heart. I have gained this pearl without price, and henceforth have nothing better to gain from heaven.
Meg was somewhat alarmed at finding I was King Cophetua in disguise. The title frightens her, and she is afraid she will not be worthy of such high rank. Not worthy, indeed! Could I place a crown instead of a coronet on her brow, it would be far below her deserts. She is a noble brave pure woman, who will enable me to fight the battle of life, and do what good lies in my power. I have no fear of her sinking under the burden of nobility, as did that puling minx who married the Lord of Burleigh. When Meg becomes more accustomed to the idea, when she is my wife, you will see that she will bear her honours nobly. Her beauty, her heart, her talents, her charms all fit her for such a station. Even you, Jack, fastidious as you are, will confess that I have the fairest and most loyal wife in the three kingdoms--ay, in the world.
But enough of these rhapsodies, of which you must be tired. Let me descend from heaven to earth, and talk of meaner things. Dr. Merle gave his consent in a scared sort of way, and did not seem to know what to make of it. He is a poor feeble creature, with a brain sodden with the drug he takes. Notwithstanding my offer to provide for him, he declared his intention of remaining at Farbis, which, after all, I think is the best place for him. He is more fitted for a hermitage than for the world, as his vice has overmastered his brain and mind and has ruined his will and self-control. Every time I see him, I wonder how such a puny creature ever became the father of Meg. The late Mrs. Merle, or rather Mrs. Mallard, must have been a fine creature. I asked Meg about her, but she does not remember her mother, who died during her infancy. As Meg is close on twenty, this remark proves to me that Merle was not so inconsolable over the treachery of Miss Linisfarne as he pretends to be, for he must have married very soon after she jilted him. I can only suppose that he was disappointed in his wife, and, when she died, came to Farbis with his child to be in the neighbourhood of his first love. Yet he never attempted to see her, nor does Miss Linisfarne know that Dr. Merle is the lover of her youth. From his speedy marriage and subsequent retirement to Farbis you can see how feeble is his character. There is not a drop of his blood in the veins of Meg. That true fearless nature must be inherited from her mother. But how could a woman like Meg have married a rat like Merle! This thing puzzles me greatly.
Mr. Jarner was delighted with my success, and congratulated me on gaining the heart of Meg. He considers me the most fortunate of men, and insisted on my drinking the best half of a bottle of port, in honour of the event. He is a splendid old man, and quite a character. With all his love of horses and dogs and sporting, he is deeply religious, and holds a fairer creed than many of those who use their outward holiness to cloak a mean soul. None other than he shall marry Meg and I. If you like to come down and be best man, just say so. I assure you Jarner is a parson worth meeting.
I don't know if Miss Linisfarne has learned of our engagement. She must be greatly angered at the downfall of her scheme to part us. At all events, she gives no sign, but remains shut up at the Court. Meg is sorry for her, as is only natural; but I cannot feel it in my heart to pity so malignant a creature. Unless, indeed, she is mad, which puts a different complexion on the affair.
As soon as my engagement was an accomplished fact, I went in search of Tinker Tim to tell him of it, and ask for an explanation of the mysteries. Unfortunately he has gone away on business connected with his fighting propensities, and will not be back for a week. However, I saw Mother Jericho, and told her of the accomplishment of her prophecy. She chuckled and leered like a wicked old fairy godmother, then damped my joy by hinting that my troubles were not yet over.
"A false father, a false mother. Fire and flame, and brave deeds," she croaked,--"all these must be before you take your dearie to church. But you'll win through it all, and be happy. Your children and grandchildren shall sit on your knee, and she shall be by your side for forty years and more."
Can you conceive anything more perplexing? Having seen the first part of her prophecy fulfilled, I am bound to believe the second. Evil is coming, but it can only come through Miss Linisfarne. She is malignant enough for anything, but at present gives no sign of her intentions. What do you make of the prophecy, Jack? "False father, false mother, fire and flame, and brave deeds." It is a riddle of the Sphinx. I can only leave its solution to Tim; but, at all events, I am happy to think that peace will come in the end. One does not appreciate joy without sorrow, so I am willing to undergo the troubles prophesied by the sibyl for the sake of being blessed with the last part of the prediction. All these ills are to take place before marriage, and, as I propose to be wedded in the autumn, there is not much time for their fulfilment. "False father, false mother, fire, flame, and brave deeds"--I leave the solution to your quick wits, my friend.
Here I must close this long letter. Write and congratulate me, and say if you will come down to assist at the termination of my strange wooing. I am so happy, Jack, that I can write no more, so must leave you to guess the joy of your attached friend--
ARDLEIGH.