Part 16 (1/2)
”Oh! don't you?” said Alison.
”Really, Ally, you will drive me mad if you go on talking in that unreasonable way. Of course I don't care for anyone but you, and you always gave me to understand that you returned my love. Come, darlin', what is it? You must know that after all you have said to me in the past, I can't believe that letter of yours; it is all against common sense. People can't love and then unlove in that sort o' fas.h.i.+on.
Tell me the truth, Ally. Something made you angry; and you love me as much as ever, don't you, darlin'? Come, let us make it up. There is something at the bottom of this, and you ought to tell me. As to your not loving me, that is all fudge, you know.”
Alison's heart, which had lain so dead in her breast, began suddenly to stir and dance with a queer excitement. After all, had she made a mistake? Was Jim really faithful to her after all? But, no; how could she mistake? She had heard the words herself. Oh, yes, of course, Jim was false; and for all he had such an honest voice, and the truest eyes in all the world, Alison must turn her back on him, for she could not doubt the hearing of her own ears and the seeing of her own eyes.
”I am sorry,” she said, in a cold voice, when Jim had paused and looked eagerly for her answer. ”I am sorry, but after all it is a pity that we met to-day, for my letter really told you everything. I don't love you. You wouldn't marry a girl what didn't love you; would you, Jim?”
”No, no,” said Jim; ”no marriage could be happy, it would be a cruel mistake, without love. It seems to me that marriage is a sin, an awful sin, if there aint love to make it beautiful.”
”Well, then, it would be a sin for us to marry,” said Alison. ”You can see that for yourself. You need have no scruples, Jim; you can do what you wish.”
”Well, that is to marry you,” said Jim. ”Come, Ally, there is a strange thing over you, my dearie, but show me your true self once again. Come, darlin'. Why, you are going nigh to break my heart, the way you are going on.”
For a moment Alison's belief in what she had herself seen was staggered by Jim's words and the ring of pain in his voice, but only for a moment. The thought of Louisa and the tender way he had looked at her, and her bold words of pa.s.sion, were too vivid to be long suppressed.
Alison's voice took a note of added scorn as she replied:
”It's real shabby o' you to worry me when I have given you a straight answer. I don't love you, not a bit, but there's another girl what does. Go to her--go and be happy with her.”
”What do you mean?” said Jim, turning pale.
Alison's eyes were fixed angrily on him.
”Oh, I see, I can move you at last,” she Said. ”You didn't think that I could guess, but I can. Go to Louisa--she loves you well, and I don't--I never did--it was all a big mistake. Girls like me often fancy they love, and then when the thing comes near they see that they don't; marriage is an awful thing without love--it is a sin. Go and marry Louisa; she'll make you a good wife.”
”Alison,” said Jim, ”there can be only one explanation to the way you are going on to-day.”
”And what is that?” she asked.
”There must be someone you like better than me.”
”Of course there is,” said Alison, with a shrill laugh.
”I love Grannie better than him. I love Dave better,” whispered the excited girl wildly, under her breath.
”Of course there is,” she repeated. ”There is nothing for opening the eyes like seeing your true love at last.”
”Then you _have_ explained matters, and I haven't a word to say,”
answered Jim, in a haughty voice.
He drew himself up,--his eyes looked straight into hers,--she s.h.i.+vered, but did not flinch; the next moment he had turned on his heels and walked away.
He walked quickly, leaving the miserable, distracted girl alone. He thought he understood at last; Alison had another lover. Who could he be? Jim had certainly never heard of anybody else. Still, this was the true explanation--she had admitted as much herself.
”Go to Louisa Clay--she loves you well,” the angry girl had said to him.
Well, why should not he go to Louisa? Louisa was not his style, but she was handsome, and she had a good bit of money, and he had guessed long ago that she loved him. He did not want to hear of Alison's new lover, and of Alison's engagement, and of Alison's marriage without putting some s.h.i.+eld between himself and the bitter words that would be spoken, and the laugh that would be all against him. He was proud as well as steadfast; he was daring as well as true. If Alison could give him up as she had done, why should he not take the lesser good? It was true that Louisa had admitted, or almost admitted, her engagement to Sampson, which was really the wedding poor Jim had alluded to on Christmas Eve; but Jim knew that matters were not settled in that direction yet, and he was too angry just now not to feel a keen desire to cut Sampson out. He went straight, therefore, to the Clays' house.
His heart was just in that sort of tempest of feeling when men so often take a rash step and lay up misery for themselves for the whole of their remaining days.