Part 134 (1/2)

I think you are right in saying, with reference to our mutual regard for each other, that neither should be held as having any claim upon the other. Under present circ.u.mstances, any such claim would be very silly. Nothing would hamper you in your future career so much as a long marriage engagement; and for myself, I am aware that the sorrow and solicitude thence arising would be more than I could support. Apart from this, also, I feel certain that I should never obtain my father's sanction for such an engagement, nor could I make it, unless he sanctioned it.

I feel so satisfied that you will see the truth of this, that I need not trouble you, and hara.s.s my own heart by pursuing the subject any further.

My feelings of friends.h.i.+p for you--of affectionate friends.h.i.+p--will be as true as ever. I shall look to your future career with great hope, and shall hear of your success with the utmost satisfaction. And I trust that the time may come, at no very distant date, when we may all welcome your return to London, and show you that our regard for you has never been diminished.

May G.o.d bless and preserve you in the trials which are before you, and carry you through them with honour and safety. Wherever you may be I shall watch for tidings of you with anxiety, and always hear them with gratification.

I need hardly bid you remember that you have no more affectionate friend

Than yours always most sincerely,

SOPHIA FURNIVAL.

P.S.--I believe that a meeting between us at the present moment would only cause pain to both of us. It might drive you to speak of things which should be wrapped in silence.

At any rate, I am sure that you will not press it on me.

Lucius, when he received this letter, was living with his mother in lodgings near Finsbury Circus, and the letter had been redirected from Hamworth to a post-office in that neighbourhood. It was his intention to take his mother with him to a small town on one of the rivers that feed the Rhine, and there remain hidden till he could find some means by which he might earn his bread. He was sitting with her in the evening, with two dull tallow candles on the table between them, when his messenger brought the letter to him. He read it in silence very deliberately, then crushed it in his hand, and threw it from him with violence into the fire.

”I hope there is nothing further to distress you, Lucius,” said his mother, looking up into his face as though she were imploring his confidence.

”No, nothing; nothing that matters. It is an affair quite private to myself.”

Sir Peregrine had spoken with great truth when he declared that Lucius Mason was able to bear adversity. This last blow had now come upon him, but he made no wailings as to his misery, nor did he say a word further on the subject. His mother watched the paper as the flame caught it and reduced it to an ash; but she asked no further question. She knew that her position with him did not permit of her asking, or even hoping, for his confidence.

”I had no right to expect it would be otherwise,” he said to himself.

But even to himself he spoke no word of reproach against Miss Furnival. He had realised the circ.u.mstances by which he was surrounded, and had made up his mind to bear their result.

As for Miss Furnival, we may as well declare here that she did not become Mrs. Staveley. Our old friend Augustus conceived that he had received a sufficient answer on the occasion of his last visit to Harley Street, and did not repeat it immediately. Such little scenes as that which took place there had not been uncommon in his life; and when in after months he looked back upon the affair, he counted it up as one of those miraculous escapes which had marked his career.

CHAPTER LXXIX.

FAREWELL.

”That letter you got this morning, my dear, was it not from Lady Mason?”

”It was from Lady Mason, father; they go on Thursday.”

”On Thursday; so soon as that.” And then Sir Peregrine, who had asked the question, remained silent for a while. The letter, according to the family custom, had been handed to Mrs. Orme over the breakfast-table; but he had made no remark respecting it till they were alone together and free from the servants. It had been a farewell letter, full of love and grat.i.tude, and full also of repentance. Lady Mason had now been for three weeks in London, and once during that time Mrs. Orme had gone up to visit her. She had then remained with her friend for hours, greatly to Lady Mason's comfort, and now this letter had come, bringing a last adieu.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Farewell!]

”You may read it, sir, if you like,” said Mrs. Orme, handing him the letter. It was evident, by his face, that he was gratified by the privilege; and he read it, not once only, but over and over again. As he did so, he placed himself in the shade, and sat with his back to Mrs. Orme; but nevertheless she could see that from time to time he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, and gradually raised his handkerchief to his face.

”Thank you, dearest,” he said, as he gave the letter back to her.

”I think that we may forgive her now, even all that she has done,”

said Mrs. Orme.