Part 14 (1/2)
”A pious daughter always respects her parent, Dutton,” said the wife, trembling from head to foot; ”but love must come willingly, or, it will not come at all.”
”We'll see as to that, Mrs. Martha Dutton; we'll see as to that. Come hither, Mildred; I have a word to say to you, which may as well be said at once.”
Mildred, trembling like her mother, drew near; but with a feeling of filial piety, that no harshness could entirely smother, she felt anxious to prevent the father from further exposing himself, in the presence of Admiral Bluewater. With this view, then, and with this view only, she summoned firmness enough to speak.
”Father,” she said, ”had we not better defer our family matters, until we are alone?”
Under ordinary circ.u.mstances, Bluewater would not have waited for so palpable a hint, for he would have retired on the first appearance of any thing so disagreeable as a misunderstanding between man and wife.
But, an ungovernable interest in the lovely girl, who stood trembling at her father's knee, caused him to forget his habitual delicacy of feeling, and to overlook what might perhaps be termed almost a law of society. Instead of moving, therefore, as Mildred had both hoped and expected, he remained motionless in his seat. Dutton's mind was too obtuse to comprehend his daughter's allusions, in the absence, of ocular evidence of a stranger's presence, and his wrath was too much excited to permit him to think much of any thing but his own causes of indignation.
”Stand more in front of me, Mildred,” he answered, angrily. ”More before my face, as becomes one who don't know her duty to her parent, and needs be taught it.”
”Oh! Dutton,” exclaimed the afflicted wife; ”do not--do not--accuse Mildred of being undutiful! You know not what you say--know not her obliga--you cannot know her _heart_, or you would not use these cruel imputations!”
”Silence, Mrs. Martha Dutton--my business is not with _you_, at present, but with this young lady, to whom, I hope, I may presume to speak a little plainly, as she is my own child. Silence, then, Mrs. Martha Dutton. If my memory is not treacherous, you once stood up before G.o.d's altar with me, and there vow'd to love, honour, and _obey_. Yes, that was the word; _obey_, Mrs. Martha Dutton.”
”And what did _you_ promise, at the same time, Frank?” exclaimed the wife, from whose bruised spirit this implied accusation was torn in an agony of mental suffering.
”Nothing but what I have honestly and manfully performed. I promised to provide for you; to give you food and raiment; to let you hear my name, and stand before the world in the honourable character of honest Frank Dutton's wife.”
”Honourable!” murmured the wife, loud enough to be heard by both the Admiral and Mildred, and yet in a tone so smothered, as to elude the obtuse sense of hearing, that long excess had left her husband. When this expressive word had broken out of her very heart, however, she succeeded in suppressing her voice, and sinking into a chair, concealed her face in her hands, in silence.
”Mildred, come hither,” resumed the brutalized parent. ”_You_ are my daughter, and whatever others have promised at the altar, and forgotten, a law of nature teaches you to obey me. You have two admirers, either of whom you ought to be glad to secure, though there is a great preference between them--”
”Father!” exclaimed Mildred, every feeling of her sensitive nature revolting at this coa.r.s.e allusion to a connection, and to sentiments, that she was accustomed to view as among the most sacred and private of her moral being. ”Surely, you cannot mean what you say!”
”Like mother, like child! Let but disobedience and disrespect get possession of a wife, and they are certain to run through a whole family, even though there were a dozen children! Harkee, Miss Mildred, it is _you_ who don't happen to know what you say, while I understand myself as well as most parents. Your mother would never acquaint you with what I feel it a duty to put plainly before your judgment; and, therefore, I expect you to listen as becomes a dutiful and affectionate child. You can secure either of these young Wychecombes, and either of them would be a good match for a poor, disgraced, sailing-master's daughter.”
”Father, I shall sink through the floor, if you say another word, in this cruel manner!”
”No, dear; you'll neither sink nor swim, unless it be by making a bad, or a good choice. Mr. Thomas Wychecombe is Sir Wycherly's heir, and must be the next baronet, and possessor of this estate. Of course he is much the best thing, and you ought to give him a preference.”
”Dutton, _can_ you, as a father and a Christian, give such heartless counsel to your own child!” exclaimed Mrs. Dutton, inexpressibly shocked at the want of principle, as well as at the want of feeling, discovered in her husband's advice.
”Mrs. Martha Dutton, I can; and believe the counsel to be any thing but heartless, too. Do you wish your daughter to be the wife of a miserable signal-station keeper, when she may become Lady Wychecombe, with a little prudent management, and the mistress of this capital old house, and n.o.ble estate?”
”Father--father,” interrupted Mildred, soothingly, though ready to sink with shame at the idea of Admiral Bluewater's being an auditor of such a conversation; ”you forget yourself, and overlook my wishes. There is little probability of Mr. Thomas Wychecombe's ever thinking of me as a wife--or, indeed of anyone else's entertaining such thoughts.”
”That will turn out, as you manage matters, Milly. Mr. Thomas Wychecombe does not think of you as a _wife_, quite likely, just at this moment; but the largest whales are taken by means of very small lines, when the last are properly handled. This young lieutenant would have you to-morrow; though a more silly thing than for you two to marry, could not well be hit upon. He is only a lieutenant; and though his name is so good a one, it does not appear that he has any particular right to it.”
”And yet, Dutton, you were only a lieutenant when _you_ married, and your name was _nothing_ in the way of interest, or preferment,” observed the mother, anxious to interpose some new feeling between her daughter, and the cruel inference left by the former part of her husband's speech.
”We _then_ thought all lay bright before us!”
”And so all would lie to this hour, Mrs. Dutton, but for that one silly act of mine. A man with the charges of a family on him, little pay, and no fortune, is driven to a thousand follies to hide his misery. You do not strengthen your case by reminding me of _that_ imprudence. But, Mildred, I do not tell you to cut adrift this young Virginian, for he may he of use in more ways than one. In the first place, you can play him off against Mr. Thomas Wychecombe; and, in the second place, a lieutenant is likely, one day, to be a captain; and the wife of a captain in His Majesty's navy, is no disreputable birth. I advise you, girl, to use this youngster as a bait to catch the heir with; and, failing a good bite, to take up with the lad himself.”
This was said dogmatically, but with a coa.r.s.eness of manner that fully corresponded with the looseness of the principles, and the utter want of delicacy of feeling that alone could prompt such advice. Mrs. Dutton fairly groaned, as she listened to her husband, for never before had he so completely thrown aside the thin mask of decency that he ordinarily wore; but Mildred, unable to control the burst of wild emotion that came over her, broke away from the place she occupied at her father's knee, and, as if blindly seeking protection in any asylum that she fancied safe, found herself sobbing, as if her heart would break, in Admiral Bluewater's arms.
Dutton followed the ungovernable, impulsive movement, with his eye, and for the first time he became aware in whose presence he had been exposing his native baseness. Wine had not so far the mastery of him, as to blind him to all the consequences, though it did stimulate him to a point that enabled him to face the momentary mortification of his situation.