CHAPTER VII.

JOHN GORDON AND MR WHITTLESTAFF.

Mr Gordon had gone out to South Africa with the settled intention of

doing something that might enable him to marry Mary Lawrie, and he

had carried his purpose through with a manly resolution. He had not

found Kimberley much to his taste, and had not made many dear friends

among the settled inhabitants he had found there. But he had worked

on, buying and selling shares in mines, owning a quarter of an eighth

there, and half a tenth here, and then advancing till he was the

possessor of many complete shares in many various adventures which

were quite intelligible to him, though to the ordinary stay-at-home

Englishman they seem to be so full of peril as not to be worth

possessing. As in other mines, the profit is shared monthly, and the

system has the advantage of thus possessing twelve quarter-days in

the year. The result is, that time is more spread out, and the man

expects to accomplish much more in twelve months than he can at home.

In two years a man may have made a fortune and lost it, and be on his

way to make it again. John Gordon had suffered no reverses, and with

twenty-four quarter-days, at each of which he had received ten or

twenty per cent, he had had time to become rich. He had by no means

abandoned all his shares in the diamond-mines; but having wealth

at command, he had determined to carry out the first purpose for

which he had come to South Africa. Therefore he returned to Norwich,

and having there learned Mary's address, now found himself in her

presence at Croker's Hall.

Mr Whittlestaff, when he heard John Gordon's name, was as much

astonished as had been Mary herself. Here was Mary's lover,--the very

man whom Mary had named to him. It had all occurred on this very

morning, so that even the look of her eyes and the tone of her voice,

as those few words of hers had been spoken, were fresh in his memory.

"He used to come to our house at Norwich,--and I loved him." Then she

had told him that this lover had been poor, and had gone away. He

had, since that, argued it out with himself, and with her too, on

the theory, though not expressed, that a lover who had gone away now

nearly three years ago, and had not been heard of, and had been poor

when he went, was of no use, and should be forgotten. "Let there

be no mention of him between us," he had intended to say, "and the

memory of him will fade away." But now on this very day he was back

among them, and there was Mary hardly able to open her mouth in his

presence.

He had bowed twice very stiffly when Gordon had spoken of all that

he had done on Mary's behalf. "Arrangements have been made," he said,

"which may, I trust, tend to Miss Lawrie's advantage. Perhaps I ought

not to say so myself, but there is no reason why I should trouble a

stranger with them."

"I hope I may never be considered a stranger by Miss Lawrie," said

Gordon, turning round to the young lady.

"No, not a stranger," said Mary; "certainly not a stranger."

But this did not satisfy John Gordon, who felt that there was

something in her manner other than he would have it. And yet even to

him it seemed to be impossible now, at this first moment, to declare

his love before this man, who had usurped the place of her guardian.

In fact he could not speak to her at all before Mr Whittlestaff. He

had hurried back from the diamond-fields, in order that he might lay

all his surprisingly gotten wealth at Mary's feet, and now he felt

himself unable to say a word to Mary of his wealth, unless in this

man's presence. He told himself as he had hurried home that there

might be difficulties in his way. He might find her married,--or

promised in marriage. He had been sure of her love when he started.

He had been quite confident that, though no absolute promise had been

made from her to him, or from him to her, there had then been no

reason for him to doubt. In spite of that, she might have married

now, or been promised in marriage. He knew that she must have been

poor and left in want when her stepmother had died. She had told him

of the intentions for her life, and he had answered that perhaps in

the course of events something better might come up for her. Then he

had been called a pauper, and had gone away to remedy that evil if

it might be possible. He had heard while working among the diamonds

that Mr Whittlestaff had taken her to his own home. He had heard of

Mr Whittlestaff as the friend of her father, and nothing better he

thought could have happened. But Mary might have been weak during his

absence, and have given herself up to some other man who had asked

for her hand. She was still, at heart, Mary Lawrie. So much had been

made known to him. But from the words which had fallen from her own

lips, and from the statement which had fallen from Mr Whittlestaff,

he feared that it must be so. Mr Whittlestaff had said that he need

not trouble a stranger with Mary's affairs; and Mary, in answer

to his appeal, had declared that he could not be considered as a

stranger to her.

He thought a moment how he would act, and then he spoke boldly to

both of them. "I have hurried home from Kimberley, Mr Whittlestaff,

on purpose to find Mary Lawrie."

Mary, when she heard this, seated herself on the chair that was

nearest to her. For any service that it might be to her, his coming

was too late. As she thought of this, her voice left her, so that she

could not speak to him.

"You have found her," said Mr Whittlestaff, very sternly.

"Is there any reason why I should go away again?" He had not at this

moment realised the idea that Mr Whittlestaff himself was the man to

whom Mary might be engaged. Mr Whittlestaff to his thinking had been

a paternal providence, a God-sent support in lieu of father, who had

come to Mary in her need. He was prepared to shower all kinds of

benefits on Mr Whittlestaff,--diamonds polished, and diamonds in the

rough, diamonds pure and white, and diamonds pink-tinted,--if only

Mr Whittlestaff would be less stern to him. But even yet he had no

fear of Mr Whittlestaff himself.

"I should be most happy to welcome you here as an old friend of

Mary's," said Mr Whittlestaff, "if you will come to her wedding."

Mr Whittlestaff also had seen the necessity for open speech; and

though he was a man generally reticent as to his own affairs, thought

it would be better to let the truth be known at once. Mary, when

the word had been spoken as to her wedding, "blushed black" as her

stepmother had said of her. A dark ruby tint covered her cheeks and

her forehead; but she turned away her face, and compressed her lips,

and clenched her two fists close together.

"Miss Lawrie's wedding!" said John Gordon. "Is Miss Lawrie to be

married?" And he purposely looked at her, as though asking her the

question. But she answered never a word.

"Yes. Miss Lawrie is to be married."

"It is sad tidings for me to hear," said John Gordon. "When last I

saw her I was rebuked by her step-mother because I was a pauper. It

was true. Misfortunes had come in my family, and I was not a fit

person to ask Miss Lawrie for her love. But I think she knew that I

loved her. I then went off to do the best within my power to remedy

that evil. I have come back with such money as might suffice, and now

I am told of Miss Lawrie's wedding!" This he said, again turning to

her as though for an answer. But from her there came not a word.

"I am sorry you should be disappointed, Mr Gordon," said Mr

Whittlestaff; "but it is so." Then there came over John Gordon's

face a dark frown, as though he intended evil. He was a man whose

displeasure, when he was displeased, those around him were apt to

fear. But Mr Whittlestaff himself was no coward. "Have you any

reason to allege why it should not be so?" John Gordon only answered

by looking again at poor Mary. "I think there has been no promise

made by Miss Lawrie. I think that I understand from her that there

has been no promise on either side; and indeed no word spoken

indicating such a promise." It was quite clear, at any rate, that

this guardian and his ward had fully discussed the question of any

possible understanding between her and John Gordon.

"No; there was none: it is true."

"Well?"

"It is true. I am left without an inch of ground on which to found a

complaint. There was no word; no promise. You know the whole story

only too well. There was nothing but unlimited love,--at any rate on

my part." Mr Whittlestaff knew well that there had been love on her

part also, and that the love still remained. But she had promised to

get over that passion, and there could be no reason why she should

not do so, simply because the man had returned. He said he had come

from Kimberley. Mr Whittlestaff had his own ideas about Kimberley.

Kimberley was to him a very rowdy place,--the last place in the world

from which a discreet young woman might hope to get a well-conducted

husband. Under no circumstances could he think well of a husband

who presented himself as having come direct from the diamond-fields,

though he only looked stern and held his peace. "If Miss Lawrie will

tell me that I may go away, I will go," said Gordon, looking again at

Mary; but how could Mary answer him?

"I am sure," said Mr Whittlestaff, "that Miss Lawrie will be very

sorry that there should be any ground for a quarrel. I am quite

well aware that there was some friendship between you two. Then you

went, as you say, and though the friendship need not be broken, the

intimacy was over. She had no special reason for remembering you, as

you yourself admit. She has been left to form any engagement that she

may please. Any other expectation on your part must be unreasonable.

I have said that, as an old friend of Miss Lawrie's, I should be

happy to welcome you here to her wedding. I cannot even name a day as

yet; but I trust that it may be fixed soon. You cannot say even to

yourself that Miss Lawrie has treated you badly."

But he could say it to himself. And though he would not say it to

Mr Whittlestaff, had she been there alone, he would have said it to

her. There had been no promise,--no word of promise. But he felt that

there had been that between them which should have been stronger than

any promise. And with every word which came from Mr Whittlestaff's

mouth, he disliked Mr Whittlestaff more and more. He could judge

from Mary's appearance that she was down-hearted, that she was

unhappy, that she did not glory in her coming marriage. No girl's

face ever told her heart's secret more plainly than did Mary's at

this moment. But Mr Whittlestaff seemed to glory in the marriage. To

him it seemed that the getting rid of John Gordon was the one thing

of importance. So it was, at least, that John Gordon interpreted his

manner. But the name of the suitor had not yet been told him, and he

did not in the least suspect it. "May I ask you when it is to be?" he

asked.

"That is a question which the lady generally must answer," said Mr

Whittlestaff, turning on his part also to Mary.

"I do not know," said Mary.

"And who is the happy man?" said John Gordon. He expected an answer

to the question also from Mary, but Mary was still unable to answer

him. "You at any rate will tell me, sir, the name of the gentleman."

"I am the gentleman," said Mr Whittlestaff, holding himself somewhat

more erect as he spoke. The position, it must be acknowledged, was

difficult. He could see that this strange man, this John Gordon,

looked upon him, William Whittlestaff, to be altogether an unfit

person to take Mary Lawrie for his wife. By the tone in which he

asked the question, and by the look of surprise which he put on

when he received the answer, Gordon showed plainly that he had not

expected such a reply. "What! an old man like you to become the

husband of such a girl as Mary Lawrie! Is this the purpose for which

you have taken her into your house, and given her those good things

of which you have boasted?" It was thus that Mr Whittlestaff had

read the look and interpreted the speech conveyed in Gordon's eye.

Not that Mr Whittlestaff had boasted, but it was thus that he read

the look. He knew that he had gathered himself up and assumed a

special dignity as he made his answer.

"Oh, indeed!" said John Gordon. And now he turned himself altogether

round, and gazed with his full frowning eyes fixed upon poor Mary.

"If you knew it all, you would feel that I could not help myself." It

was thus that Mary would have spoken if she could have given vent to

the thoughts within her bosom.

"Yes, sir. It is I who think myself so happy as to have gained the

affections of the young lady. She is to be my wife, and it is she

herself who must name the day when she shall become so. I repeat the

invitation which I gave you before. I shall be most happy to see

you at my wedding. If, as may be the case, you shall not be in the

country when that time comes; and if, now that you are here, you will

give Miss Lawrie and myself some token of your renewed friendship,

we shall be happy to see you if you will come at once to the house,

during such time as it may suit you to remain in the neighbourhood."

Considering the extreme difficulty of the position, Mr Whittlestaff

carried himself quite as well as might have been expected.

"Under such circumstances," said Gordon, "I cannot be a guest in your

house." Thereupon Mr Whittlestaff bowed. "But I hope that I may be

allowed to speak a few words to the young lady not in your presence."

"Certainly, if the young lady wishes it."

"I had better not," said Mary.

"Are you afraid of me?"

"I am afraid of myself. It had better not be so. Mr Whittlestaff has

told you only the truth. I am to be his wife; and in offering me

his hand, he has added much to the infinite kindnesses which he has

bestowed upon me."

"Oh, if you think so!"

"I do think so. If you only knew it all, you would think so too."

"How long has this engagement existed?" asked Gordon. But to this

question Mary Lawrie could not bring herself to give an answer.

"If you are not afraid of what he may say to you--?" said Mr

Whittlestaff.

"I am certainly afraid of nothing that Mr Gordon may say."

"Then I would accede to his wishes. It may be painful, but it will

be better to have it over." Mr Whittlestaff, in giving this advice,

had thought much as to what the world would say of him. He had done

nothing of which he was ashamed,--nor had Mary. She had given him her

promise, and he was sure that she would not depart from it. It would,

he thought, be infinitely better for her, for many reasons, that she

should be married to him than to this wild young man, who had just

now returned to England from the diamond-mines, and would soon, he

imagined, go back there again. But the young man had asked to see the

girl whom he was about to marry alone, and it would not suit him to

be afraid to allow her so much liberty.

"I shall not hurt you, Mary," said John Gordon.

"I am sure you would not hurt me."

"Nor say an unkind word."

"Oh no! You could do nothing unkind to me, I know. But you might

spare me and yourself some pain."

"I cannot do it," he said. "I cannot bring myself to go back at once

after this long voyage, instantly, as I should do, without having

spoken one word to you. I have come here to England on purpose to see

you. Nothing shall induce me to abandon my intention of doing so, but

your refusal. I have received a blow,--a great blow,--and it is you

who must tell me that there is certainly no cure for the wound."

"There is certainly none," said Mary.

"Perhaps I had better leave you together," said Mr Whittlestaff, as

he got up and left the room.