Joan Haste by H. Rider Haggard (cat reading book .TXT) 📖
- Author: H. Rider Haggard
- Performer: -
Book online «Joan Haste by H. Rider Haggard (cat reading book .TXT) 📖». Author H. Rider Haggard
shop.”
“If you mean by ‘shutting up the shop’ that our engagement is at an
end, Mr. Milward, so be it. But unfortunately, as you must understand,
questions will be asked, and I shall be glad to know what explanation
you propose to furnish.”
“Oh! you can settle that.”
“Very well; I presume you admit that I am not to blame, therefore we
must fall back upon the cause which you have given: that you insulted
my brother, who—notwithstanding his crippled condition—inflicted a
physical punishment upon you. Indeed, unless I can succeed in stopping
it, thanks to your own indiscretion, the story will be all over the
place before to-morrow, and I must leave you to judge what will be
thought of it in the county, or let us say at the militia mess, which
I believe you join next Wednesday.”
Edward heard and quailed. He was excessively sensitive to public
opinion, and more especially to the chaff of his brother officers in
the militia, among whom he was something of a butt. If it became known
there that Sir Henry Graves, a man with a broken leg, had driven him
out of the room by throwing crutches at his head, he felt that his
life would speedily become a burden to him.
“You wouldn’t be so mean as that, Ellen,” he said.
“So mean as what? To some people it might seem that the meanness is on
the other side. There are difficulties here, and you have quarrelled
with my brother; therefore, as I understand, you wish to desert me
after being publicly engaged to me for some months, and to leave me in
an utterly false position. Do so if you will, but you must not be
surprised if you find your conduct called by strong names. For my part
I am indifferent, but for your own sake I think that you would do well
to pause. Do not suppose that I shall sit still under such an affront.
You know that I can be a good friend; you have yet to learn that I can
be a good enemy. Possibly, though I do not like to think it of you,
you believe that we are ruined and of no account. You will find your
mistake. There are troubles here, but they can be overcome, and very
soon you will live to regret that you dared to put such a deadly
affront upon me and my family. You foolish man!” she went on, with
gathering vehemence, “have you not yet realized the difference between
us? Have you not learned that with all your wealth you are nobody and
I am somebody—that though I can stand without you, without me you
will fall? Now I am tired of talking: choose, Edward Milward, choose
whether you will jilt me and incur an enmity that shall follow you to
your death, or whether you will bide by me and be placed where of late
it has been the object of my life to set you.”
If Edward had quailed before, now he positively trembled, for he knew
that Ellen spoke truth. Hers was the master mind, and to a great
extent he had become dependent on her. Moreover he had ambitions, for
the most part of a social and personal nature—which included,
however, his entry into Parliament, where he hoped that his power of
the purse would ultimately earn him some sort of title—and these
ambitions he felt sure would never be gratified without the help of
Ellen. Lastly, he was in his own way sincerely attached to her, and
quite appreciated the force of her threats to make of him an object of
ridicule among his neighbours and brother-officers. Smarting though he
was under a sense of moral and physical injury, the sum of these
considerations turned the balance in favour of the continuance of his
engagement. Perhaps Ellen was right, and her family would ride out
this trouble; but whether they did so or not, he was convinced that
without Ellen he should sink below his present level, and what was
more, that she would help him on his downward career. So Edward gave
in; indeed, it would not be too much to say that he collapsed.
“You shouldn’t speak so harshly, dear,” he said, “for you know that I
did not really mean what I told you about breaking off our engagement.
The fact is that, what between one thing and another, I scarcely knew
what I was saying.”
“Indeed!” answered Ellen. “Well, I hope that you know what you are
saying now. If our engagement is to be continued, there must be no
further talk of breaking it off on the next occasion that you happen
to have a quarrel with my brother, or to be angry about the mortgages
on this property.”
“The only thing that I bargain about your brother is, that I shall not
be asked to see him, or have anything to do with him. He can go to the
deuce in his own way so far as I am concerned, and we can cut him when
we are married—that is, if he becomes bankrupt and the rest of it. I
am sorry if I have behaved badly, Ellen; but really and truly I do
mean what I say about our engagement, and I tell you what, I will go
home and put it on paper if you like, and bring you the letter this
afternoon.”
“That is as you like, Edward,” she answered, with a perceptible
softening of her manner. “But after what has happened, you may think
yourself fortunate that I ever consent to see you again.”
Edward attempted no reply, at least in words, for he was crushed; but,
bending down, he imprinted a chaste salute upon Ellen’s smooth
forehead, which she acknowledged by touching him frostily on the cheek
with her lips.
This, then, is the history of the great quarrel between these lovers,
and of their reconciliation.
“Upon my word,” said Ellen to herself, as she watched him depart, “I
am by no means certain that Henry’s obstinacy and violence have not
done be a good turn for once. They have brought things to a crisis,
there has been a struggle, and I have won the day. Whatever happens, I
do not think it likely that Edward will try to match himself against
me again, and I am quite certain that he will never talk any more of
breaking off our engagement.”
BETWEEN DUTY AND DUTY
For a while Ellen stood silent, enjoying the luxury of a well-earned
victory; then she turned and went upstairs to Henry’s room. The first
thing that she saw was the crutch which her brother had used as a
missile of war with such effect, still lying where it had fallen on
the carpet. She picked it up and placed it by his chair.
“How do you do, Henry?” she said blandly. “I hear that you have
surpassed yourself this morning.”
“Now, look here, Ellen,” he answered, in a voice that was almost
savage in its energy, “if you have come to bait me, I advise you to
give it up, for I am in no mood to stand much more. You sent Mr.
Milward up here to insult me, and I treated him as he deserved; though
now I regret that under intolerable provocation I forgot myself so far
as to condescend to violence. I am very sorry if I have interfered
with your matrimonial projects, though there is a certain justice
about it, seeing how constantly you attempt to interfere with mine;
but I could not help it. No man of honour could have borne the things
that fellow thought fit to say, and it is your own fault for
encouraging him to say them.”
“Oh, pray, my dear Henry, let us leave this cant about ‘men of honour’
out of the question. It really seems to me that after all that has
happened and is happening, the less said of honour the better. It is
quite useless for you to look angry, since I presume that you will not
try to silence me by throwing things in my face. And now let me tell
you that, although you have done your best, you have not succeeded in
‘interfering with my matrimonial projects,’ which, in fact, were never
so firmly established as they are at this moment.”
“Do you mean to say,” asked Henry in astonishment, “that the man has
put up with—well, with what I was obliged to inflict upon him, and
that you still contemplate marrying him after the way in which he has
threatened to jilt you?”
“Certainly I mean to say it. We have set the one thing against the
other and cried quits, though of course he has bargained that he shall
have nothing more to do with you, and also that, should you persist in
your present conduct, he shall not be forced to receive you at his
house after our marriage.”
“Really he need not have troubled to make that stipulation.”
“We are not all fools, Henry,” Ellen went on; “and I did not feel
called upon to break an engagement that in many ways suits me very
well because you have chosen to quarrel with Edward and to use
violence towards him. Do not be afraid, Henry: I have not come here to
lecture you; I come to say that I wash my hands of you. In the
interests of the family, of which you are the head, I still venture to
hope that you will repent of the past and that better counsels may
prevail as to the future. I hope, for instance, that you will come to
see that your own prosperity and good name should not be sacrificed in
order to gratify a low passion. But this is merely a pious wish and by
the way. You are a middle-aged man, and must take your own course in
life; only I decline to be involved in your ruin. If in the future I
should however be able to do anything to mitigate its consequences so
far as this property is concerned, I will do it; for I at least think
more of my family than of myself, and most of all of the dying wishes
of our father. And now, Henry, as a sister to a brother I say good-bye
to you for so long as you persist in your present courses. Henceforth
when we meet it will be as acquaintances and no more. Good-bye,
Henry.” And she left the room.
“That is a pleasant speech to have to listen to,” reflected Henry as
the door closed behind her. “Of the two I really think that I prefer
Mr. Milward’s mode of address, for he can be answered, or at any rate
dealt with; but it is difficult to answer Ellen, seeing that to a
great extent she has the right on her side. What a position for a man!
If I had tried, I could not have invented a worse one. I shall never
laugh again at the agonies of a heroine placed between love and duty,
for it is my own case. Or rather let us leave the love out of it, and
say that I stand between duty and duty, the delicate problem to
deceive being: Which is the higher of these duties and who shall be
sacrificed?”
As he thought thus, sadly enough, there was a knock upon his door, and
Lady Graves entered the room, looking very sorrowful and dignified in
her widow’s robe.
“So I haven’t seen the worst of it,” Henry muttered. “Well, I may as
well
Comments (0)