Joan Haste by H. Rider Haggard (cat reading book .TXT) 📖

my awkwardness. Do

you think that you could care enough for me to marry me? I know very

well that I have little to recommend me, and there are circumstances

connected with my financial position which make it almost presumptuous

that I should ask you.”

 

“I think, Sir Henry,” she answered, speaking for the first time, “that

we may leave money matters out of the question. I have heard something

of the state of affairs at Rosham, and I know that you are not

responsible for it, though you are expected by others to remedy it.”

 

“It is very generous of you to speak like that, Miss Levinger; and it

helps me out of a great difficulty, for I could not see how I was to

explain all this business to you.”

 

“I think that it is only just, Sir Henry, not generous. Provided that

there is enough on one side or the other, money is not the principal

question to be considered.”

 

“No, Miss Levinger, I agree with you, though I have known others who

thought differently. The main thing is whether you can care enough

about me.”

 

“That is one thing, Sir Henry,” she answered in a low voice; “also

there are others.”

 

“I suppose that you mean whether or no I am worthy of you, Miss

Levinger. Well, even though it should destroy my chances with you, I

will tell you frankly that, in my judgment, I am not. Listen, Miss

Levinger: till within a few months ago I had never cared about any

woman; then I saw you for the second time, and thought you the

sweetest lady that I had ever met, for I understood how good and true

you are, and in my heart I hoped that a day would come when I might

venture to ask you what I am asking you now. Afterwards trouble arose

through my own weakness and folly—trouble between myself and another

woman. I am sure that you will not press me for details, because, in

order to give them, I must betray another person’s secret. To be

brief, I should probably have married this woman, but she threw me

over and chose another man.”

 

“What!” said Emma, startled out of her self-control, “is Joan Haste

married?”

 

“I see that you know more about me than I thought. She is married—to

Mr. Samuel Rock.”

 

“I cannot understand it at all; it is almost incredible.”

 

“Nor can I, but the fact remains. She wrote to tell me of it herself,

and, what is more, her husband showed me the marriage certificate. And

now I have made a clean breast of it, for I will not sail under false

colours, and you must judge me. If you choose to take me, I promise

you that no woman shall ever have a better husband than I will be to

you, for your happiness and welfare shall be the first objects of my

life. The question is, after what I have told you, can you care for

me?”

 

Emma stopped, for all this while they had been walking slowly, and

looked him full in the eyes, a last red ray of the dying light falling

on her sweet face.

 

“Sir Henry,” she said, “you have been frank with me, and I honour you

for it, none the less because I happen to know something of the story.

And now I will be equally frank with you, though to do so is humbling

to me. When I stayed in the same house with you more than two years

ago, you took little notice of me, but I grew fond of you, and I have

never changed my mind. Still I do not think that, as things are, I

should marry you on this account alone, seeing that a woman looks for

love in her marriage; and, Sir Henry, in all that you have said to me

you have spoken no word of love.”

 

“How could I, knowing what I had to tell you?” he broke in.

 

“I cannot say, but it is so; and therefore, speaking for myself alone,

I should be inclined to answer you that we had best go our separate

ways in life, though I am sure that, as you promise, you would be a

good and kind husband to me. But there are other people to be

considered; there is my father, who is most anxious that I should make

a satisfactory marriage—such as I know this would be for me, for I am

nobody and scarcely recognised in society here—and who has the

greatest respect and affection for you, as he had for your father

before you. Then there is your family: if I refuse you it would mean

that you would all be ruined, and though it may hurt your pride to

hear me say so, I shrink from such a thought–-”

 

“Oh! pray do not let that weigh with you,” he interrupted. “You know

well that, although much of what you say is unhappily true, I am not

seeking you that you may mend my broken fortunes, but because you are

what you are, and I desire above all things to make you my wife.”

 

“I am sorry, Sir Henry, but, though I believe every word you say, I

must let it weigh with me, for I wish to be a blessing to those about

me, and not a curse. Well, for all these reasons, and chiefly perhaps,

to be honest, because I am fond of you though you do not care very

much for me, I will be your wife, Sir Henry, as you are good enough to

wish it,” and she gave him her hand.

 

He took it and kissed it, and they walked on in silence till they were

near to the house. Then Henry spoke, and his voice betrayed more

emotion than he cared to show.

 

“How can I thank you, Emma!” he said; “and what am I to say to you? It

is useless to make protestations which you would not believe, though

perhaps they might have more truth in them than you imagine. But I am

sure of this, that if we live, a time will come soon when you will not

doubt me if I tell you that I love you.” And, drawing her to him, he

kissed her upon the forehead.

 

“I hope so, Henry,” she said, disengaging herself from his arms, and

they went together into the house.

 

Within ten weeks of this date Henry and Emma were spending a long

honeymoon among the ruined temples of the Nile.