New Grub Street (73 page)

With Amy's sorrow was mingled a suggestion of tenderness which
came of her knowledge that the dead man had worshipped her.
Perchance his death was in part attributable to that hopeless
love.

'He sent me a copy of his novel,' she said, 'and I saw him once
or twice after that. But he was much better dressed than in former
days, and I thought—'

Having this subject to converse upon put the two more quickly at
ease than could otherwise have been the case. Jasper was closely
observant of the young widow; her finished graces made a strong
appeal to his admiration, and even in some degree awed him. He saw
that her beauty had matured, and it was more distinctly than ever
of the type to which he paid reverence. Amy might take a foremost
place among brilliant women. At a dinner-table, in grand toilet,
she would be superb; at polite receptions people would whisper:
'Who is that?'

Biffen fell out of the dialogue.

'It grieved me very much,' said Amy, 'to hear of the misfortune
that befell my cousin.'

'The legacy affair? Why, yes, it was a pity. Especially now that
her father is threatened with blindness.'

'Is it so serious? I heard indirectly that he had something the
matter with his eyes, but I didn't know—'

'They may be able to operate before long, and perhaps it will be
successful. But in the meantime Marian has to do his work.'

'This explains the—the delay?' fell from Amy's lips, as she
smiled.

Jasper moved uncomfortably. It was a voluntary gesture.

'The whole situation explains it,' he replied, with some show of
impulsiveness. 'I am very much afraid Marian is tied during her
father's life.'

'Indeed? But there is her mother.'

'No companion for her father, as I think you know. Even if Mr
Yule recovers his sight, it is not at all likely that he will be
able to work as before. Our difficulties are so grave that—'

He paused, and let his hand fail despondently.

'I hope it isn't affecting your work—your progress?'

'To some extent, necessarily. I have a good deal of will, you
remember, and what I have set my mind upon, no doubt, I shall some
day achieve. But—one makes mistakes.'

There was silence.

'The last three years,' he continued, 'have made no slight
difference in my position. Recall where I stood when you first knew
me. I have done something since then, I think, and by my own steady
effort.'

'Indeed, you have.'

'Just now I am in need of a little encouragement. You don't
notice any falling off in my work recently?'

'No, indeed.'

'Do you see my things in The Current and so on, generally?'

'I don't think I miss many of your articles. Sometimes I believe
I have detected you when there was no signature.'

'And Dora has been doing well. Her story in that girls' paper
has attracted attention. It's a great deal to have my mind at rest
about both the girls. But I can't pretend to be in very good
spirits.' He rose. 'Well, I must try to find out something more
about poor Biffen.'

'Oh, you are not going yet, Mr Milvain?'

'Not, assuredly, because I wish to. But I have work to do.' He
stepped aside, but came back as if on an impulse. 'May I ask you
for your advice in a very delicate matter?'

Amy was a little disturbed, but she collected herself and smiled
in a way that reminded Jasper of his walk with her along Gower
Street.

'Let me hear what it is.'

He sat down again, and bent forward.

'If Marian insists that it is her duty to remain with her
father, am I justified or not in freely consenting to that?'

'I scarcely understand. Has Marian expressed a wish to devote
herself in that way?'

'Not distinctly. But I suspect that her conscience points to it.
I am in serious doubt. On the one hand,' he explained in a tone of
candour, 'who will not blame me if our engagement terminates in
circumstances such as these? On the other—you are aware, by-the-by,
that her father objects in the strongest way to this marriage?'

'No, I didn't know that.'

'He will neither see me nor hear of me. Merely because of my
connection with Fadge. Think of that poor girl thus situated. And I
could so easily put her at rest by renouncing all claim upon
her.'

'I surmise that—that you yourself would also be put at rest by
such a decision?'

'Don't look at me with that ironical smile,' he pleaded. 'What
you have said is true. And really, why should I not be glad of it?
I couldn't go about declaring that I was heartbroken, in any event;
I must be content for people to judge me according to their
disposition, and judgments are pretty sure to be unfavourable. What
can I do? In either case I must to a certain extent be in the
wrong. To tell the truth, I was wrong from the first.'

There was a slight movement about Amy's lips as these words were
uttered: she kept her eyes down, and waited before replying.

'The case is too delicate, I fear, for my advice.'

'Yes, I feel it; and perhaps I oughtn't to have spoken of it at
all. Well, I'll go back to my scribbling. I am so very glad to have
seen you again.'

'It was good of you to take the trouble to come—whilst you have
so much on your mind.'

Again Jasper held the white, soft hand for a superfluous
moment.

The next morning it was he who had to wait at the rendezvous; he
was pacing the pathway at least ten minutes before the appointed
time. When Marian joined him, she was panting from a hurried walk,
and this affected Jasper disagreeably; he thought of Amy Reardon's
air of repose, and how impossible it would be for that refined
person to fall into such disorder. He observed, too, with more
disgust than usual, the signs in Marian's attire of encroaching
poverty—her unsatisfactory gloves, her mantle out of fashion. Yet
for such feelings he reproached himself, and the reproach made him
angry.

They walked together in the same direction as when they met here
before. Marian could not mistake the air of restless trouble on her
companion's smooth countenance. She had divined that there was some
grave reason for this summons, and the panting with which she had
approached was half caused by the anxious beats of her heart.
Jasper's long silence again was ominous. He began abruptly:

'You've heard that Harold Biffen has committed suicide?'

'No!' she replied, looking shocked.

'Poisoned himself. You'll find something about it in today's
Telegraph.'

He gave her such details as he had obtained, then added:

'There are two of my companions fallen in the battle. I ought to
think myself a lucky fellow, Marian. What?'

'You are better fitted to fight your way, Jasper.'

'More of a brute, you mean.'

'You know very well I don't. You have more energy and more
intellect.'

'Well, it remains to be seen how I shall come out when I am
weighted with graver cares than I have yet known.'

She looked at him inquiringly, but said nothing.

'I have made up my mind about our affairs,' he went on
presently. 'Marian, if ever we are to be married, it must be
now.'

The words were so unexpected that they brought a flush to her
cheeks and neck.

'Now?'

'Yes. Will you marry me, and let us take our chance?'

Her heart throbbed violently.

'You don't mean at once, Jasper? You would wait until I know
what father's fate is to be?'

'Well, now, there's the point. You feel yourself indispensable
to your father at present?'

'Not indispensable, but—wouldn't it seem very unkind? I should
be so afraid of the effect upon his health, Jasper. So much
depends, we are told, upon his general state of mind and body. It
would be dreadful if I were the cause of—'

She paused, and looked up at him touchingly.

'I understand that. But let us face our position. Suppose the
operation is successful; your father will certainly not be able to
use his eyes much for a long time, if ever; and perhaps he would
miss you as much then as now. Suppose he does not regain his sight;
could you then leave him?'

'Dear, I can't feel it would be my duty to renounce you because
my father had become blind. And if he can see pretty well, I don't
think I need remain with him.'

'Has one thing occurred to you? Will he consent to receive an
allowance from a person whose name is Mrs Milvain?'

'I can't be sure,' she replied, much troubled.

'And if he obstinately refuses—what then? What is before
him?'

Marian's head sank, and she stood still.

'Why have you changed your mind so, Jasper?' she inquired at
length.

'Because I have decided that the indefinitely long engagement
would be unjust to you—and to myself. Such engagements are always
dangerous; sometimes they deprave the character of the man or
woman.'

She listened anxiously and reflected.

'Everything,' he went on, 'would be simple enough but for your
domestic difficulties. As I have said, there is the very serious
doubt whether your father would accept money from you when you are
my wife. Then again, shall we be able to afford such an
allowance?'

'I thought you felt sure of that?'

'I'm not very sure of anything, to tell the truth. I am
harassed.

I can't get on with my work.'

'I am very, very sorry.'

'It isn't your fault, Marian, and—Well, then, there's only one
thing to do. Let us wait, at all events, till your father has
undergone the operation. Whichever the result, you say your own
position will be the same.'

'Except, Jasper, that if father is helpless, I must find means
of assuring his support.'

'In other words, if you can't do that as my wife, you must
remain Marian Yule.'

After a silence, Marian regarded him steadily.

'You see only the difficulties in our way,' she said, in a
colder voice. 'They are many, I know. Do you think them
insurmountable?'

'Upon my word, they almost seem so,' Jasper exclaimed,
distractedly.

'They were not so great when we spoke of marriage a few years
hence.'

'A few years!' he echoed, in a cheerless voice. 'That is just
what I have decided is impossible. Marian, you shall have the plain
truth. I can trust your faith, but I can't trust my own. I will
marry you now, but—years hence—how can I tell what may happen? I
don't trust myself.'

'You say you "will" marry me now; that sounds as if you had made
up your mind to a sacrifice.'

'I didn't mean that. To face difficulties, yes.'

Whilst they spoke, the sky had grown dark with a heavy cloud,
and now spots of rain began to fall. Jasper looked about him in
annoyance as he felt the moisture, but Marian did not seem aware of
it.

'But shall you face them willingly?'

'I am not a man to repine and grumble. Put up your umbrella,
Marian.'

'What do I care for a drop of rain,' she exclaimed with
passionate sadness, 'when all my life is at stake! How am I to
understand you? Every word you speak seems intended to dishearten
me. Do you no longer love me? Why need you conceal it, if that is
the truth? Is that what you mean by saying you distrust
yourself?

If you do so, there must be reason for it in the present. Could
I distrust myself? Can I force myself in any manner to believe that
I shall ever cease to love you?'

Jasper opened his umbrella.

'We must see each other again, Marian. We can't stand and talk
in the rain—confound it! Cursed climate, where you can never be
sure of a clear sky for five minutes!'

'I can't go till you have spoken more plainly, Jasper! How am I
to live an hour in such uncertainty as this? Do you love me or not?
Do you wish me to be your wife, or are you sacrificing
yourself?'

'I do wish it!' Her emotion had an effect upon him, and his
voice trembled. 'But I can't answer for myself—no, not for a year.
And how are we to marry now, in face of all these—'

'What can I do? What can I do?' she sobbed. 'Oh, if I were but
heartless to everyone but to you! If I could give you my money, and
leave my father and mother to their fate! Perhaps some could do
that. There is no natural law that a child should surrender
everything for her parents. You know so much more of the world than
I do; can't you advise me? Is there no way of providing for my
father?'

'Good God! This is frightful, Marian. I can't stand it. Live as
you are doing. Let us wait and see.'

'At the cost of losing you?'

'I will be faithful to you!'

'And your voice says you promise it out of pity.'

He had made a pretence of holding his umbrella over her, but
Marian turned away and walked to a little distance, and stood
beneath the shelter of a great tree, her face averted from him.
Moving to follow, he saw that her frame was shaken by soundless
sobbing. When his footsteps came close to her, she again looked at
him.

'I know now,' she said, 'how foolish it is when they talk of
love being unselfish. In what can there be more selfishness? I feel
as if I could hold you to your promise at any cost, though you have
made me understand that you regard our engagement as your great
misfortune. I have felt it for weeks—oh, for months! But I couldn't
say a word that would seem to invite such misery as this. You don't
love me, Jasper, and that's an end of everything.

I should be shamed if I married you.'

'Whether I love you or not, I feel as if no sacrifice would be
too great that would bring you the happiness you deserve.'

'Deserve!' she repeated bitterly. 'Why do I deserve it? Because
I long for it with all my heart and soul? There's no such thing as
deserving. Happiness or misery come to us by fate.'

'Is it in my power to make you happy?'

'No; because it isn't in your power to call dead love to life
again. I think perhaps you never loved me. Jasper, I could give my
right hand if you had said you loved me before—I can't put it into
words; it sounds too base, and I don't wish to imply that you
behaved basely. But if you had said you loved me before that, I
should have it always to remember.'