CHAPTER XXX.

IN ANOTHER LIGHT.

Mr. Raymount went now and then to London, but never stayed long. In the autumn he had his books removed to Yrndale, saying in London he could always get what books he wanted, but must have his own about him in the country. When they were accommodated and arranged to his mind, all on the same floor, and partly in the same room with the old library of the house, he began, for the first time in his life, to feel he had an abiding place and talked of selling the house in Addison Square. It would have been greater progress to feel that there is no abiding in place or among things.

In the month of October, when the forsaken spider-webs were filled no more with flies, but in the morning now with the dew-drops, now with hoarfrost, and the fine stimulus and gentle challenge of the cold roused the vital spirit in every fibre to meet it; when the sun shone a little sadly, and the wraith of the coming winter might be felt hovering in the air, major Marvel again made his appearance at Yrndale, but not quite the man he was; he had a troubled manner, and an expression on his face such as Mrs. Raymount had never before seen there: it was the look of one who had an unpleasant duty to discharge—a thing to do he would rather not do, but which it would cost him far more to leave undone. He had brought the things he promised, every one, and at sight of them Mark had brightened up amazingly. At table he tried to be merry as before, but failed rather conspicuously, drank more wine than was his custom, and laid the blame on the climate. His chamber was over that of his host and hostess, and they heard him walking about for hours in the night. There was something on his mind that would not let him sleep! In the morning he appeared at the usual hour, but showed plain marks of a sleepless night. When condoled with he answered he must seek a warmer climate, for if it was like this already, what would it be in January?

It was in reality a perfect autumn morning, of which every one except the major felt the enlivening influence—the morning of all mornings for a walk! Just as Hester was leaving the room to get ready to go with Saffy—Mark was not able for a long walk—the major rose, and overtaking her in the anteroom, humbly whispered the request that she would walk with him alone, as he much wished a private conversation with her. Hester, though with a little surprise, also a little undefined anxiety, at once consented, but ran first to her mother.

"What can he want to talk to me about, mamma?" she concluded.

"How can I tell, my dear?" answered her mother with a smile. "Perhaps he will dare the daughter's refusal too."

"Oh, mamma! how can you joke about such a thing!"

"I am not quite joking, my child. There is no knowing what altogether unsuitable things men will do!—Who can blame them when they see how women consent to many unsuitable things!"

"But, mamma, he is old enough to be my father!"

"Of course he is! Poor man! it would be a hard fate to have fallen in love with both mother and daughter in vain!"

"I won't go with him, mamma!"

"You had better go, my dear. You need not be much afraid. He is really a gentleman, however easily mistaken for something else. You must not forget how much we owe him for Mark!"

"Do you mean, mamma," said Hester, with a strange look out of her eyes, "that I ought to marry him if he asks me?" Hester was sometimes oddly stupid for a moment as to the intent of those she knew best.

Her mother laughed heartily.

"What a goose you are, my darling! Don't you know your mother from a miscreant yet?"

But in truth her mother so rarely jested that there was some excuse for her. Relieved from the passing pang of a sudden dread, Hester went without more words and put on her bonnet to go with the cause of it. She did not like the things at all, for no one could be certain what absurd thing he might not do.

They set out together, but until they were some distance from the house walked in absolute silence, which seemed to Hester to bode no good. But how changed the poor man was, she thought. It would be pitiful to have to make him still more miserable! Steadily the major marched along, his stick under his arm like a sword, and his eyes looking straight before him.

"Cousin Hester," he said at length, "I am about to talk to you very strangely—to conduct myself indeed in a very peculiar manner. Can you imagine a man rendering himself intensely, unpardonably disagreeable, from the very best of motives?"

It was a speech very different from any to be expected of him. That he should behave oddly seemed natural—not that he should knowingly intend to do so!

"I think I could," answered Hester, wishing neither to lead him on nor to deter him: whatever he had to say, the sooner it was said the better!

"Tell me," he said suddenly after a pause just beginning to be awkward—then paused again. "—Let me ask you first," he resumed, "whether you are able to trust me a little. I am old enough to be your father—let me say your grandfather;—fancy I am your grandfather: in my soul I believe neither could wish you well more truly than myself. Tell me—trust me and tell me: what is there between you and Mr. Vavasor?"

Hester was silent. The silence would have lasted but a moment had Hester to ask herself, not what answer she should give to his question, but what answer there was to give to it. Whether bound, whether pleased to answer it or not, might have come presently, but it did not; every question has its answer, known or unknown: what was the answer to this one? Before she knew it, the major resumed.

"I know," he said, "ladies think such things are not to be talked about with gentlemen; but there are exceptions to every rule: David ate the show-bread because there was a good reason for breaking a good rule.—Are you engaged to Mr. Vavasor?"

"No," answered Hester promptly.

"What is it then? Are you going to be?"

"If I answered that in the affirmative," said Hester, "would it not be much the same as acknowledging myself already engaged?"

"No! no!" cried the major vehemently. "So long as your word is not passed you remain free. The two are as far asunder as the pole from the equator. I thank God you are not engaged to him!"

"But why?" asked Hester, with a pang of something like dread. "Why should you be so anxious about it?"

"Has he never said he loved you?" asked the major eagerly.

"No," said Hester hurriedly. She felt instinctively it was best to answer directly where there was no reason for silence. What he might be wrong to ask she was not therefore wrong to answer. But her No trembled a little, for the doubt came with it, whether though literally, it was strictly true. "We are friends," she added. "We trust each other a good deal."

"Trust him with nothing, least of all your heart, my dear," said the major earnestly. "Or if you must trust him, trust him with anything, with everything, except that. He is not worthy of you."

"Do you say so to flatter me or to disparage him?"

"Entirely to disparage him. I never flatter."

"You did not surely bring me out, major Marvel, to hear evil of one of my best friends?" said Hester, now angry.

"I certainly did—if the truth be evil—but only for your sake. The man
I do not feel interest enough in to abuse even. He is a nobody."

"That only proves you do not know him: you would not speak so if you did," said Hester, widening the space between her and the major, and ready to choke with what in utterance took such gentle form.

"I am confident I should have worse to say if I knew him better. It is you who do not know him. It astonishes me that sensible people like your father and mother should let a fellow like that come prowling after you!"

"Major Marvel, if you are going to abuse my father and mother as well as lord Gartley,—" cried Hester, but he interrupted her.

"Ah, there it is!" exclaimed he bitterly. "Lord Gartley!—I have no business to interfere—no more than your gardener or coachman! but to think of an angel like you in the arms of a——"

"Major Marvel!"

—"I beg ten thousand pardons, cousin Hester! but I am so damnably in earnest I can't pick and choose my phrases. Believe me the man is not worthy of you."

"What have you got against him?—I do hate backbiting! As his friend I ask you what you have against him."

"That's the pity of it! I can't tell you anything very bad of him. But a man of whom no one has anything good to say—one of whom never a warm word is uttered—"

"I have called him my friend!" said Hester.

"That's the worst of it! If it were not for that he might go to the devil for me!—I daresay you think it a fine thing he should have stuck to business so long!

"He was put to that before there was much chance of his succeeding; his aunt would not have him on her hands consuming the money she meant for the earldom. His elder brother would have had it, but he killed himself before it fell due: there are things that must not be spoken of to young ladies. I don't say your friend has disgraced himself; he has not: by George, it takes a good deal for that in his set! But not a soul out of his own family cares two-pence for him."

"There are some who are better liked everywhere than at home, and they're not the better sort," said Hester. "That goes for less than nothing. I know the part of him chance acquaintances cannot know. He does not bear his heart on his sleeve. I assure you, major Marvel, he is a man of uncommon gifts and—"

"Great attractions, no doubt—to me invisible," blurted the major.

Hester turned from him.

"I am going home," she said. "—Luncheon is at the usual hour."

"Just one word," cried he, hurrying after her. "I swear by the living God I have no purpose or hope in interfering but to save you from a miserable future. Promise me not to marry this man, and I will settle on you a thousand a year—safe. You shall have the principal down if you prefer."

Hester walked the faster.

"Hear me," he went on, in an agony of entreaty mingled with something like anger.

"I mean it," he continued. "Why should I not for Helen's child!"

He was a yard or two behind her. She turned on him with a glance of contempt. But the tears were in his eyes, and her heart smote her. He had abused her friend, but was plainly honest himself. Her countenance changed as she looked at him. He came up to her. She laid her hand on his arm, and said—

"Dear major Marvel, I will speak to you without anger. What would you think of one who took money to do the thing she ought to do? I will not ask you what you would think of one who took money to do the thing she ought not to do! I would not promise not to marry a beggar from the street. It might be disgraceful to marry the beggar; it must be disgraceful to promise not!"

"Yes, yes, my dear! you are quite right—absolutely right," said the major humbly. "I only wanted to make you independent. You don't think half enough of yourself.—But I will dare one more question before I give you up; is he going to ask you to marry him?"

"Perhaps. I do not know."

"One more question yet: can you secure any liberty? Will your father settle anything upon you?"

"I don't know. I have never thought about anything of the kind."

"How could they let you go about with him so much and never ask him what he meant by it?"

"They could easier have asked me what I meant by it!"

"If I had such a jewel I would look after it!"

"Have me shut up like an eastern lady, I suppose," said Hester, laughing; "make my life miserable to make it safe. If a woman has any sense, major Marvel, she can take care of herself; if she has not, she must learn the need of it."

"Ah!" said the major sadly, "but the thousand pangs and aches and heart-sickenings! I would sooner see my child on the funeral pyre of a husband she loved, than living a merry life with one she despised!"

Hester began to feel she had not been doing the major justice.

"So would I!" she said heartily. "You mean me well, and I shall not forget how kind you have been. Now let us go back."

"Just one thing more: if ever you think I can help you, you will let me know?"

"That I promise with all my heart," she answered.

"I mean," she added, "if it be a thing I count it right to trouble you about."

The major's face fell.

"I see!" he said; "you won't promise anything. Well, stick to that, and don't promise."

"You wouldn't have me come to you for a new bonnet, would you?"

"By George! shouldn't I be proud to fetch you the best in Regent street by the next train!"

"Or saddle the pony for me?"

"Try me.—But I won't have any more chaff. I throw myself on your generosity, and trust you to remember there is an old man that loves you, and has more money than he knows what to do with."

"I think," said Hester, "the day is sure to come when I shall ask your help. In the meantime, if it be any pleasure to you to know it, I trust you heartily. You are all wrong about lord Gartley though. He is not what you think him."

She gave him her hand. The major took it in his own soft small one—small enough almost for the hilt of an Indian tulwar—and pressed it devoutly to his lips. She did not draw it away, and he felt she trusted him.

Now that the hard duty was done, and if not much good yet no harm had resulted, he went home a different man. A pang of fear for Hester in the power of "that ape Gartley" would now and then pass through him; but he had now a right to look after her, and who can tell what might not turn up!

His host congratulated him on looking so much better for his walk, and
Hester recounted to her mother their strange conversation.

"Only think, mamma!" she said; "he offered me a thousand a year not to marry lord Gartley!"

"Hester!"

"He does not like the earl, and he does like me; so he wants me not to marry him. That is all!"

"I thought I could have believed anything of him, but this goes almost beyond belief!"

"Why should it, mamma? There is an odder thing still: instead of hating him for it, I like him better than before."

"Are you sure he has no notion of making room for himself?"

"Quite sure. He would have it he was old enough to be my grandfather.
But you know he is not that!"

"Perhaps you wouldn't mind if he were a little younger yet!" said her mother merrily, "as he is too young to be your grandfather."

"I suppose you had a presentiment I should like him, and left him for me, mamma!" returned Hester in like vein.

"But seriously, Hester, is it not time we knew what lord Gartley means?"

"Oh, mamma! please don't talk like that!"

"It does sound disagreeable—vulgar, if you like, my child; but I cannot help being anxious about you. If he does not love you he has no right to court your company so much."

"I encourage it, mamma. I like him."

"That is what makes me afraid."

"It will be time enough to think about it if he comes again now he has got the earldom."

"Should you like to be a countess, Hester?"

"I would rather not think about it, mother. It may never make any difference whether I should like it or not.

"I can't help thinking it strange he should be so much with you and never say a word!"

"Might you not just as well say it was strange of me to be so much with him, or of you, mother dear, to let him come so much to the house?"

"It was neither your part nor mine to say anything. Your father even has always said he would scorn to ask a man his intentions : either he was fit to be in his daughter's company, or he was not. Either he must get rid of him, or leave his daughter to manage her own affairs. He is quite American in his way of looking at those matters."

"Don't you think he is right, mother? If I let lord Gartley come, surely he is not to blame for coming!

"Only if you should have got fond of him, and it were to come to nothing?"

"It can't come to nothing, mother, and neither of us will be the worse for it, I trust. As to what I think about him, I don't feel as if I quite knew; and I don't think at present I need ask myself. I am afraid you think me very cool: and in truth I don't quite understand myself; but perhaps if one tries to do right as things come up, one may get on without understanding oneself. I don't think, so far as I can make out, St. Paul understood himself always. Miss Dasomma says a great part of music is the agony of the musician after the understanding of himself. I will try to do what is right—you may be sure of that, mother."

"I am sure of that, my dear—quite sure; and I won't trouble you more about it. You may imagine I should not like to see my Hester a love-sick maiden, pining and wasting away!"

"Depend upon It, mamma, if I found myself in that state no one else should discover it," said Hester, partly in play, but thoroughly in earnest.

"That only reveals how little you know about such things, my love! You could no more hide it from the eyes of your mother than you could a husband."

"Such things have been hid before now, mamma! And yet why should a woman ever hide anything? I must think about that! From one's own mother? No; when I am dying of love, you shall know, mamma. But it won't be to-morrow or the next day." fhmGcaLhqAvtAstfGfellQZDsnzbkba668R45X0VSiTx0Z8/RGgrRP1fg15UEC9o