Part 34 (2/2)
Can you not guess that there are things that even for a mother, a dying mother, a girl ought not to do?”
”I do not see that,” answered Jane deliberately; ”no, I do not, not from your point of view. You can do what is required, and you can bear it.”
I knew quite well what she meant. She did not call me back this time when I left the room. I heard her mutter to herself--her words startled me--putting a new sort of sudden light on all our miserable affairs.
”My little home gone too,” I heard her mutter, ”ruin for me too, for me too.”
I stood for a moment in the dark pa.s.sage outside Jane's room. There was no one there, and I could think. I did not want to go into the big hall, nor to run up the staircase. I might meet some of those smiling, well satisfied, delighted and delightful paying guests, those paying guests who were ruining us all the time. Yes, I knew at last what Jane meant, what Mrs. Fanning meant, what Albert Fanning meant.
We would be relieved from our embarra.s.sments, mother would receive no shock _if I promised to marry Albert Fanning_. Albert Fanning would save the position, he would pay the necessary debts; he was rich, and for love of me he would not mind what he did. Yes, I supposed it was love for me. I did not know, of course. I could not fancy for a moment that a girl like myself could excite any feeling of wors.h.i.+p in a man like Albert Fanning, but anyhow, for whatever reason, he wanted me (and he did want me), he was willing to pay this big price for me. My heart trembled, my spirit quaked. I stood in the luxury of the dark pa.s.sage, clasped my hands to my brow, and then determined not to give way, to be brave to the very end.
I ran upstairs and entered the drawing-room. It was tidy, in perfect order. I was glad to find no one there. I went and stood under father's picture. I gazed full up at the resolute, brave, handsome face.
”You died to win your V.C.,” I said to myself, and then I turned to leave the room. I met Mrs. Furlong coming in.
”Ah, dear child,” she said, ”I am so glad to see you. But what is the matter? You don't look well.”
”I am anxious,” I answered; ”mother had a very serious attack last night.”
”We are all full of concern about her,” replied Mrs. Furlong. ”Won't you sit down for a moment? I wish to talk to you. Ah, here comes my husband. Philip, we have bad news about dear Mrs. Wickham, she was very ill last night.”
”Your mother, Miss Wickham, is very far from strong,” said Captain Furlong. He came and stood near me; he looked full of sympathy. He was very nice and kind and gentlemanly. He had been kind and courteous, and unselfish, ever since he came to the house.
”You are very good, both of you,” I said. ”I am going to mother now; please, don't keep me.”
”But is there anything we can do? Would change be of service to her?”
said Mrs. Furlong. ”I know it is a little early in the year, but the spring is coming on nicely, and she must weary so of London, particularly this part of London; she has been accustomed to such a different life.”
”I do not think our present life has injured her,” I said. ”She has not had any of the roughing. Things have been made smooth and pleasant and bright for her.”
”All the same, it has been a very, very great change for her,” said Mrs. Furlong. ”It has been good neither for her nor for you. Yes, Philip,” she continued, noticing a warning expression on her husband's face, ”I have got my opportunity, and I will speak out. I am quite certain the sooner Westenra Wickham, and her dear mother, leave this boarding-house the better it will be for both of them. What has a young, innocent girl, like Westenra, to do with paying guests?
Oh, if they were all like you and me, dear, it would be different; but they are not all like us, and there's that”--she dropped her voice.
Captain Furlong shook his head.
”Miss Wickham has accepted the position, and I do not see how she can desert her post,” he said.
”Never fear, be sure I will not,” I answered; ”but please--please, kind friends, don't keep me now.”
”There is just one thing I should like to say before you go, Miss Wickham,” said Captain Furlong; ”if you find yourself in trouble of any sort whatever, pray command both my wife and myself. I have seen a good deal of life in my day. My wife and I are much interested, both in you and your mother. Now, for instance,” he added, dropping his voice, ”I know about tight times; we all of us get more or less into a tight corner, now and then--if a fifty pound note would----”
”Oh no, it would not do anything,” I cried. My face was crimson; my heart seemed cut in two.
”Oh! how can I thank you enough?” I added; and I ran up to the kind man and seized his hands. I could almost have kissed them in my pain and grat.i.tude. ”It would be useless, quite useless, but I shall never forget your kindness.”
I saw the good-natured pair look at one another, and Mrs. Furlong shook her head wisely; and I am sure a dewy moisture came to her eyes, but I did not wait to say anything more, but ran off in the direction of mother's room. A softened light filled that chamber, where all that refinement and love could give surrounded the most treasured possession of my life. Mother was lying in bed propped up by pillows.
She looked quite as well as usual, and almost sweeter than I had ever seen her look, and she smiled when I came in.
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