Part 65 (1/2)

'Now, really, papa, this is too absurd; If you have anything on your mind, will you say it?'

'Well--the fact is, Freda, that you--I mean that I, have made up my mind--you see you may marry, and leave me alone, and I should want a companion, and--and all that sort of thing, you know--so I have considered--for your--for our--for my, perhaps--happiness, that it might be well for me to--to--to--in short, my dear--to marry again; in fact, Freda, I have resolved to do so.'

'Lady Mary Nugent!' screamed Freda; 'not her! not her! not settled! oh papa!'

Mr Gwynne had called Freda impetuous, but he was not prepared for the sudden burst of uncontrollable grief that followed his announcement.

Often as Freda had jested over the proposal Lady Mary was to make her father, she had never believed that he would marry her. It came upon her like the news of an unexpected death, or great family misfortune. She covered her face with her hands, and sobbed till her father thought she must burst some blood vessel then and there before him. He got up, sat down; went to the bell, touched the rope, let it go; opened the window, put his hand on Freda's bowed head, called her by name, and, in return, was greeted by--

'Not Lady Mary! think of my mother! think of me! oh father! father!

cruel! this is too much! Say it is not true; only a jest. What have I done? I will be better, kinder, gentler--I will nurse you, tend you--never marry. I would rather not--I never shall. n.o.body loves you as well as I. Your only child. My mother's only child. Say it is not true--oh, say it is not true?'

This was impossible, for Mr Gwynne knew full well that he was pledged beyond recall. But now, as he looked on his daughter, heard her words, thought of her mother, he began to repent of what he had done. He, who hated scenes, dreaded tears, would not annoy Freda for the world, to have raised such emotion! He did not understand it. Lady Mary had a.s.sured him Freda would be so glad to be allowed to marry Rowland. And she was so discerning and clever! But he could not bear those sobs.

'Freda! my dear, don't, I beg, I entreat! You will make me so nervous.

You know I cannot bear--in short, I feel quite ill. The fact is, you will make yourself ill, and after all, it need make no difference to you. You will be just the same. Freda, I must beg you to desist. I must insist--I will ring for the housekeeper.'

'No, no, papa. Do not let us expose ourselves!' cried Freda, rising suddenly; 'I will go upstairs. Neither you nor I will ever be happy again!'

Freda was about to leave the room, when Mr Gwynne suddenly went up to her, and putting his arm round her neck, whispered, whilst the tears sprang into his eyes,--

'Freda, Freda! my child, forgive me! I didn't think it would vex you so.

I scarcely know how it has all happened.'

Poor Freda threw both her arms around her father, and sobbed again. As she leaned on his shoulder, his white hairs touched the brown glossy braids of her head, and his lips kissed them. At that moment he knew that he did not love Lady Mary Nugent as well as he loved his child, and that child was conscious for the first time how very dear her father was to her.

Again she roused herself, and as if ashamed of her emotion, hastened out of the room. She went upstairs, and locking herself in her room, threw herself on her bed. Here she gave way to feelings that were as new as strange to her, unaccustomed as she was to what some one calls 'the luxury of tears.' She scarcely knew whether sorrow or anger predominated, but she was wretched and indignant. Tumultuous thoughts rushed through her mind of the past, present, and probable future!

thoughts too numerous and changeable to be transcribed, but which may well be imagined.

At last her pride, that one grand feature of her character, got the better of her grief and anger. She rose from her bed, dried her eyes, arranged her hair, and with a carriage as erect as her soul was haughty, once more entered her father's library. The momentary emotion and pathos of their last embrace had been overpowered in both by stronger sensations; in him by the remembrance of Lady Mary Nugent's fascinations, in her by the sense of that lady's tact and duplicity.

Freda sat quietly down opposite her father, and said abruptly,--

'Papa, this odious subject must be begun and ended between us this day.

If you will be good enough to answer me a few questions and to listen to me, I will never mention it again. Are you really engaged to Lady Mary Nugent, or is it a horrible dream?'

'I--yes--I certainly am, my dear--engaged to be married to her ladys.h.i.+p.'

'And you mean to marry her? Impossible!'

'Do you consider me a man of honour? or am I one likely to break my word when pledged?'

'Oh! papa, when a woman proposes and makes love, and waits till the very moment when it suits her own convenience to marry, do you think she deserves consideration? You know that Lady Mary Nugent has done it all herself, and that you would never have taken the trouble, or had the courage to propose for any woman under the sun, if she had not asked you first. You know you do not want to marry. I would give the world to know how she managed to bring you to the point.'

'Really, Freda, this is too--too--personal, and rude, I may call it--and--'

'Forgive me, papa. Of course you are your own master, and are at liberty to be chosen by any woman, but she will not choose me, nor I her. I hate Lady Mary Nugent, despise her most intensely, and shall leave this house before she comes into it; never--'