Margaret Capel Volume Ii Part 20

Margaret held up her hand as if to stop him, he seized it, and pressed it to his lips.

"I tell you what, Mr. Hubert Gage, this will not do," said Margaret gravely, regaining possession of her hand; "there is a great want of consideration in your conduct. I am sure you pay very little regard to my tranquillity in coming here. My uncle is very ill, and all my time and thoughts are occupied in attending upon him. I have no time, and I must say no patience for these scenes."

Land came down at this moment with Mr. Grey's compliments, and "hearing Mr. Hubert was below, hoped he would stop to dinner."

He accepted the invitation, then turning to Margaret, as Land disappeared, said: "I will retract. I will go back instantly if you will make me one promise--I have a right to claim it; a right from all you have made me suffer. Give me the means of seeing you. I have not had fair play--you have not allowed me to address you--to seek to gain your confidence, your love. Cruel! to make your refusal so absolute; to leave me no hope; but I will not be so repulsed: you know nothing of me as yet. Why deny me--"

"Mr. Hubert, you will not listen to me," said Margaret, anxious to bring the dialogue to a conclusion.

"You are so charming! You look a thousand-fold more beautiful than when I saw you last. But what of your beauty? Nothing to that angelic disposition which animates all you do. You thought me so trifling that I could not comprehend your heart. Margaret, it was that which made me seek you."

"I am very sorry that I wronged you so far," said Margaret. "I did not think it was your nature to care much--to love much,--I mean to be much in earnest about anything. If, indeed," said she, marking the distressed expression of his countenance, "your happiness is disturbed, I am still more sorry; but I can do nothing. I cannot tell you falsely that I shall ever change."

"You will not! See what you do! You have made my whole life wretched--worse than that, useless. I can settle to nothing. I cannot leave the country where you are. But I will not despair. You shall see more of me--you shall love me yet."

"There is one thing," said Margaret with a little air of triumph, "we leave this place on Thursday."

"So much the better," said Hubert, "for I shall be very near you at Chirke Weston."

Margaret looked vexed and undecided. She thought there was but one way to put a stop to his a.s.siduities; and although with great reluctance, she resolved to adopt it.

"You compel me to be very plain with you, Mr. Hubert," she said; "but I cannot see any other means of convincing you that we can be no more than friends to one another. I am engaged to another person."

"Engaged! How is it possible? How can I believe it? You so young--and living so retired. May I ask if Mr. Grey is aware of this engagement?"

"He is," said Margaret.

"Why then it is Claude Haveloc!" said Hubert, leaning against the side of the porch.

Margaret was silent. He remained standing, apparently much disturbed.

"And you are engaged to Claude Haveloc?" said he, throwing himself on the seat beside her.

Her colour mounted; but she made a gesture of a.s.sent. He remained for some moments apparently undecided as to what he should say or do; and then looking up suddenly, took her hand.

"Forget me if you will," he said; "but never give a thought to him again."

"Mr. Hubert!" said Margaret, colouring with anger.

"He is entirely unworthy of you; it is the talk of the village beyond you there; he is paying his addresses to a young lady who is dying of a consumption. But his attentions for weeks have been too marked to admit of a doubt. He is pitied and praised by every one. He is daily and all day at the house."

"Well that can be explained. I will ask him," said Margaret, trying to speak calmly.

"You can do better than ask him. You can see and judge for yourself.

Walk past the house at any hour, and find him, as I saw him, at the feet of your rival."

A thought for one moment crossed the mind of Margaret: she would revenge herself for this neglect--she would accept the hand of Hubert Gage. But she felt at once the unworthiness of such an idea, and remained trembling and silent, looking on the ground.

"Where is this house?" said she after a short pause.

"I can show it to you better than I could describe it," he replied. "It was in searching for you that I lighted upon this history."

"I am much indebted to you," said she with a strange smile.

Her manner, usually so soft, seemed suddenly to change. There was something cold and bitter in her voice.

"And what will you do?" he asked.

"After dinner, when my uncle sleeps, I walk out," said Margaret; "you can then show me this house."

Her seeming calmness quite deceived him; he thought that she was not suffering much. That once convinced her lover had wronged her, she might be wooed and won again.

"I am going to my uncle now," said she. "I shall see you at dinner;" and taking up her work-basket she left him.

Hubert did not see her again until dinner was announced; she was then standing by her uncle's chair, and seemed to take no notice of his presence. Mr. Grey welcomed him very kindly; he thought Hubert's visit so amiable, so well-meant. It showed that he did not resent what had happened.

He asked a number of questions about Captain Gage, and the d'Eyncourt's, about his own plans and proceedings; and about their neighbours at Ashdale. Hubert with his eyes fixed on Margaret answered at cross purposes.

Margaret was perfectly silent. She helped the dishes before her with the mechanical accuracy of a person in a dream. She ate nothing herself, and seemed hardly to know that any one was at table. As soon as the cloth was removed, she rose. Hubert who had watched in vain for some word or sign which might tell him that she held to her intention of the morning, followed her to the door.

She turned as she left the room, and, in a whisper almost inaudible, uttered the word "wait." Mr. Grey soon afterwards apologised for leaving his guest; he was obliged to retire early. Margaret would be in the drawing-room; he hoped Hubert would stay and drink tea.

Hubert took leave of Mr. Grey, and waited until the twilight came, and was succeeded by the broad moonlight, and still Margaret did not appear.

At last, when he thought of going into the house to seek her, for he was sauntering up and down the small garden, he saw her standing in the doorway, wrapped in a large shawl.

"Am I too late?" she said, as he approached her.

"Are you ready?" he returned.

"I am," said she, s.h.i.+vering, and hurrying into the garden, "my uncle sleeps. Heaven knows whether I shall ever sleep again! There have been treasures paid for knowledge that might have bought a world of peace twice told. You know that some knowledge brings death in its train. Lead me on; if you dare."

Her eyes flashed, even through the twilight; she drew herself up and a.s.sumed an air of defiance that he could not have believed possible to her soft and exquisite beauty. He had yet to learn what it was to rouse a gentle nature.

Hubert paused beneath the shrubs in the small garden.

"Choose;" he said, "I do not say that knowledge is not pain; and ignorance, the grossest ignorance, content. You have not now to learn that I love you. You can give what faith you please to my accusation."

"I cannot doubt you," said Margaret, "let us make haste; I shall never go if I do not go soon. I am sick--sick."

They pa.s.sed down the shady lane, where the moonlight traced a fair trellis-work of boughs and leaves upon the rocky path; and at every step, as the road grew more uneven, and as Hubert supported her over the rugged stones, she cried to him to make haste. She went like one who walked in her sleep, still struggling for swiftness, and more and more unable to stir as her wish to move grew more pressing. Hubert almost carried her the few last steps of the way; and there stood the cottage by the side of the hill, where it broke gently away down to the sea sh.o.r.e. The waves rippled and sank down upon the beach to a low sweet music that seemed almost charged with words, so clear and measured was the sound in that still night.

Margaret stopped for breath, and hung heavily upon his arm. Then the thought crossed her mind that if Mr. Haveloc was innocent, and came there by chance, finding her walking alone with Hubert Gage, what would he think?

"Oh, Heaven!" she said, clasping her hands in agony, "forget that you love me--speak to me as a sister. Is this true?"

"I never pressed you to believe me," answered her companion.

"Oh, true, true!" said Margaret, hastening on.