The Belton Estate Part 49

"She says that you are her brother. Whose leave should she ask?"

"He knows that I should ask his rather than that of any living person," said Clara.

"There, Mr. Belton. Now you must say that she may come;--or that she may not."

"I will say nothing. She knows what to do much better than I can tell her."

Mrs. Askerton was still kneeling, and again appealed to Clara.

"You hear what he says. What do you say yourself? Will you come to us?--that is, if such a visit will suit you,--in point of convenience?"

"I will make no promise; but I know no reason why I should not."

"And I must be content with that? Well: I will be content." Then she got up. "For such a one as I am, that is a great deal. And, Mr.

Belton, let me tell you this;--I can be grateful to you, though you cannot be gracious to me."

"I hope I have not been ungracious," said he.

"Upon my word, I cannot compliment you. But there is something so much better than grace, that I can forgive you. You know, at any rate, how thoroughly I wish you well."

Upon this Clara got up to take her leave, and the demonstrative affection of an embrace between the two women afforded a remedy for the awkwardness of the previous conversation.

"G.o.d bless you, dearest," said Mrs. Askerton. "May I write to you?"

"Certainly," said Clara.

"And you will answer my letters?"

"Of course I will. You must tell me everything about the place;--and especially as to Bessy. Bessy is never to be sold;--is she, Will?"

Bessy was the cow which Belton had given her.

"Not if you choose to keep her."

"I will go down and see to her myself," said Mrs. Askerton, "and will utter little prayers of my own over her horns,--that certain events that I desire may come to pa.s.s. Good-bye, Mr. Belton. You may be as ungracious as you please, but it will not make any difference."

When Clara and her cousin left the cottage they did not return to the house immediately, but took a last walk round the park, and through the shrubbery, and up to the rocks on which a remarkable scene had once taken place between them. Few words were spoken as they were walking, and there had been no agreement as to the path they would take. Each seemed to understand that there was much of melancholy in their present mood, and that silence was more fitting than speech.

But when they reached the rocks Belton sat himself down, asking Clara's leave to stop there for a moment. "I don't suppose I shall ever come to this place again," said he.

"You are as bad as Mrs. Askerton," said Clara.

"I do not think I shall ever come to this place again," said he, repeating his words very solemnly. "At any rate, I will never do so willingly, unless--"

"Unless what?"

"Unless you are either my wife, or have promised to become so."

"Oh, Will; you know that that is impossible."

"Then it is impossible that I should come here again."

"You know that I am engaged to another man."

"Of course I do. I am not asking you to break your engagement. I am simply telling you that in spite of that engagement I love you as well as I did love you before you had made it. I have a right to let you know the truth." As if she had not known it without his telling it to her now! "It was here that I told you that I loved you. I now repeat it here; and will never come here again unless I may say the same thing over and over and over. That is all. We might as well go on now." But when he got up she sat down, as though unwilling to leave the spot. It was still winter, and the rock was damp with cold drippings from the trees, and the moss around was wet, and little pools of water had formed themselves in the shallow holes upon the surface. She did not speak as she seated herself; but he was of course obliged to wait till she should be ready to accompany him. "It is too cold for you to sit there," he said. "Come, Clara; I will not have you loiter here. It is cold and wet."

"It is not colder for me than for you."

"You are not used to that sort of thing as I am."

"Will," she said, "you must never speak to me again as you spoke just now. Promise me that you will not."

"Promises will do no good in such a matter."

"It is almost a repet.i.tion of what you did before;--though of course it is not so bad as that."

"Everything I do is bad."

"No, Will:--dear Will! Almost everything you do is good. But of what use can it be to either of us for you to be thinking of that which can never be? Cannot you think of me as your sister,--and only as your sister?"

"No; I cannot."

"Then it is not right that we should be together."

"I know nothing of right. You ask me a question, and I suppose you don't wish that I should tell you a lie."

"Of course I do not wish that."

"Therefore I tell you the truth. I love you,--as any other man loves the girl that he does love; and, as far as I know myself now, I never can be happy unless you are my own."

"Oh, Will, how can that be when I am engaged to marry another man?"

"As to your engagement I should care nothing. Does he love you as I love you? If he loves you, why is he not here? If he loves you, why does he let his mother ill-use you, and treat you with scorn? If he loves you as I love you, how could he write to you as he does write?

Would I write to you such a letter as that? Would I let you be here without coming to you,--to be looked after by any one else? If you had said that you would be my wife, would I leave you in solitude and sorrow, and then send you seventy-five pounds to console you? If you think he loves you, Clara--"

"He thought he was doing right when he sent me the money."

"But he shouldn't have thought it right. Never mind. I don't want to accuse him; but this I know,--and you know; he does not love you as I love you."

"What can I say to answer you?"

"Say that you will wait till you have seen him. Say that I may have a hope,--a chance; that if he is cold, and hard, and,--and,--and, just what we know he is, then I may have a chance."

"How can I say that when I am engaged to him? Cannot you understand that I am wrong to let you speak of him as you do?"

"How else am I to speak of him? Tell me this. Do you love him?"

"Yes;--I do."

"I don't believe it!"

"Will!"