Part 18 (1/2)
”First at the Hay's in Belgrave Square, ten days ago. Then at a picnic up the river with Lady Strathconnell. We went from Windsor to Cookham.
Mar--Miss Trelawny was in my boat. I scull a little, and I had my own boat at Windsor. We had a good deal of conversation--naturally.”
”Naturally!” there was just a suspicion of something sardonic in the tone of acquiescence; but there was no other intimation of his feeling.
I began to think that as I was in the presence of a strong man, I should show something of my own strength. My friends, and sometimes my opponents, say that I am a strong man. In my present circ.u.mstances, not to be absolutely truthful would be to be weak. So I stood up to the difficulty before me; always bearing in mind, however, that my words might affect Margaret's happiness through her love for her father. I went on:
”In conversation at a place and time and amid surroundings so pleasing, and in a solitude inviting to confidence, I got a glimpse of her inner life. Such a glimpse as a man of my years and experience may get from a young girl!” The father's face grew graver as I went on; but he said nothing. I was committed now to a definite line of speech, and went on with such mastery of my mind as I could exercise. The occasion might be fraught with serious consequences to me too.
”I could not but see that there was over her spirit a sense of loneliness which was habitual to her. I thought I understood it; I am myself an only child. I ventured to encourage her to speak to me freely; and was happy enough to succeed. A sort of confidence became established between us.” There was something in the father's face which made me add hurriedly:
”Nothing was said by her, sir, as you can well imagine, which was not right and proper. She only told me in the impulsive way of one longing to give voice to thoughts long carefully concealed, of her yearning to be closer to the father whom she loved; more en rapport with him; more in his confidence; closer within the circle of his sympathies. Oh, believe me, sir, that it was all good! All that a father's heart could hope or wish for! It was all loyal! That she spoke it to me was perhaps because I was almost a stranger with whom there was no previous barrier to confidence.”
Here I paused. It was hard to go on; and I feared lest I might, in my zeal, do Margaret a disservice. The relief of the strain came from her father.
”And you?”
”Sir, Miss Trelawny is very sweet and beautiful! She is young; and her mind is like crystal! Her sympathy is a joy! I am not an old man, and my affections were not engaged. They never had been till then. I hope I may say as much, even to a father!” My eyes involuntarily dropped.
When I raised them again Mr. Trelawny was still gazing at me keenly.
All the kindliness of his nature seemed to wreath itself in a smile as he held out his hand and said:
”Malcolm Ross, I have always heard of you as a fearless and honourable gentleman. I am glad my girl has such a friend! Go on!”
My heart leaped. The first step to the winning of Margaret's father was gained. I dare say I was somewhat more effusive in my words and my manner as I went on. I certainly felt that way.
”One thing we gain as we grow older: to use our age judiciously! I have had much experience. I have fought for it and worked for it all my life; and I felt that I was justified in using it. I ventured to ask Miss Trelawny to count on me as a friend; to let me serve her should occasion arise. She promised me that she would. I had little idea that my chance of serving her should come so soon or in such a way; but that very night you were stricken down. In her desolation and anxiety she sent for me!” I paused. He continued to look at me as I went on:
”When your letter of instructions was found, I offered my services.
They were accepted, as you know.”
”And these days, how did they pa.s.s for you?” The question startled me.
There was in it something of Margaret's own voice and manner; something so greatly resembling her lighter moments that it brought out all the masculinity in me. I felt more sure of my ground now as I said:
”These days, sir, despite all their harrowing anxiety, despite all the pain they held for the girl whom I grew to love more and more with each pa.s.sing hour, have been the happiest of my life!” He kept silence for a long time; so long that, as I waited for him to speak, with my heart beating, I began to wonder if my frankness had been too effusive. At last he said:
”I suppose it is hard to say so much vicariously. Her poor mother should have heard you; it would have made her heart glad!” Then a shadow swept across his face; and he went on more hurriedly.
”But are you quite sure of all this?”
”I know my own heart, sir; or, at least, I think I do!”
”No! no!” he answered, ”I don't mean you. That is all right! But you spoke of my girl's affection for me ... and yet...! And yet she has been living here, in my house, a whole year... Still, she spoke to you of her loneliness--her desolation. I never--it grieves me to say it, but it is true--I never saw sign of such affection towards myself in all the year!...” His voice trembled away into sad, reminiscent introspection.
”Then, sir,” I said, ”I have been privileged to see more in a few days than you in her whole lifetime!” My words seemed to call him up from himself; and I thought that it was with pleasure as well as surprise that he said:
”I had no idea of it. I thought that she was indifferent to me. That what seemed like the neglect of her youth was revenging itself on me.
That she was cold of heart.... It is a joy unspeakable to me that her mother's daughter loves me too!” Unconsciously he sank back upon his pillow, lost in memories of the past.
How he must have loved her mother! It was the love of her mother's child, rather than the love of his own daughter, that appealed to him.
My heart went out to him in a great wave of sympathy and kindliness. I began to understand. To understand the pa.s.sion of these two great, silent, reserved natures, that successfully concealed the burning hunger for the other's love! It did not surprise me when presently he murmured to himself: