Part 5 (1/2)
”That's how I love him! He's the blackest of the black--a liar, a smuggler, a cheat to his wife and to me, too fond of his gla.s.s, cruel to the poor, mad for money, pretending to be pious of a Sunday; and yet, yet, I love him, because it's him, and because I was made to love him, once and for ever.”
”My G.o.d! how you hurt me!” cried poor Perrin, clasping her hand closer in his.
She cried quietly for a little while, and Corbet did not try to check her tears. His tender love made him wise and gentle as his own mother. At last she was quite still, and presently she said,
”Perrin, if you love me, I'll be your wife some day.”
”Do you really mean it? It seems too good to be true. I can't take it in, as you see. And yet if it does come to pa.s.s, there'll be no man prouder than me in the whole of Guernsey!”
”But, if I am to be your wife, there'll be a condition.”
”Condition! You can make a hundred, dear Ellenor.”
”I don't know if you'll agree to this one, however!”
”Of course I will! I promise you beforehand.”
”Promise! Promise! Quickly!”
He laughed gaily, wild with joy at her sweet mood and at the fair prospect the future held for him.
”I promise I'll agree gladly to your condition, whatever it is.”
”Then listen to it. You have promised you'll never give up Monsieur Le Mierre to the constables.”
Perrin was silent for a long time; then he said, in a voice hoa.r.s.e with emotion,
”It seems I am a very stupid chap, and it takes me a little while to see what a woman is driving at. But though you are too clever for me, Ellenor, and caught me in a fine trap, I can make out the reason, the only reason, why you will be my wife. It is to save Le Mierre from disgrace.”
”Yes,” she replied, ”it is; and there is yet one more reason. I can't live to Les Casquets any longer. I'm too unhappy. Mother is always telling me what people say about me; no other tune do I hear all day long.”
”Well, it's quite plain you don't care a _double_ for me; but, still, I can take care of you, give you a home and thus stop the wagging of all the tongues in the parish. But, Ellenor, there is one thing I must speak about. I am willing to know you don't love me; willing to know you've given your heart to another man, and him a scoundrel. But, I couldn't stand it if you had meetings with him when you will be my wife, the daughter of my dear old mother. I'd kill you, I believe. G.o.d forgive me, if such a thing happened.”
”You needn't be afraid,” she said in a dreary, colourless voice, ”since now I am always getting out of his way. There is left a little pride in me yet. I can't bring such disgrace on my father.
But every day I cry because I can't see him.”
”Well, I am satisfied! After all we know what each other means. And now, when will it be, this wedding of ours?”
He tried to speak gaily, poor Perrin, but it was sad work. He succeeded at last in persuading her to agree to be married on Christmas Day: and then, fearful that she would change her mind, he said he would take her home at once, for it was getting late.
As they descended the hill and crossed the bay, Perrin pointed out the gleaming of a light on Lihou, an islet within a stone's throw of Guernsey.
”It seems that Le Mierre is living there just now to work at the iodine. His wife is with him. She is very delicate, it would appear, and not very happy, poor pretty Blaisette!”
”Does he beat her?”
”So people say. I can believe anything bad of Le Mierre.”
”It is not surprising. How bad I must be to love such a man! Perrin, why didn't G.o.d let me--_make_ me, love you instead?”