CHAPTER XXXVII

A profound belief in the efficacy of his eloquence, when he chose to

expend it, was one of the principal supports of Edward's sense of

mastery; a secret sense belonging to certain men in every station of

life, and which is the staff of many an otherwise impressible and

fluctuating intellect. With this gift, if he trifled, or slid downward in

any direction, he could right himself easily, as he satisfactorily

conceived. It is a gift that may now and then be the ruin of promising

youths, though as a rule they find it helpful enough. Edward had exerted

it upon his father, and upon Robert. Seeing Rhoda's approach, he thought

of it as a victorious swordsman thinks of his weapon, and aimed his

observation over her possible weak and strong points, studying her

curiously even when she was close up to him. With Robert, the

representative of force, to aid her, she could no longer be regarded in

the light of a despicable hindrance to his wishes. Though inclined

strongly to detest, he respected her. She had decision, and a worthy

bearing, and a marvellously blooming aspect, and a brain that worked

withal. When she spoke, desiring him to walk on by her side, he was

pleased by her voice, and recognition of the laws of propriety, and

thought it a thousand pities that she likewise should not become the wife

of a gentleman. By degrees, after tentative beginnings, he put his spell

upon her ears, for she was attentive, and walked with a demure forward

look upon the pavement; in reality taking small note of what things he

said, until he quoted, as against himself, sentences from Dahlia's

letters; and then she fixed her eyes on him, astonished that he should

thus heap condemnation on his own head. They were most pathetic scraps

quoted by him, showing the wrestle of love with a petrifying conviction

of its hopelessness, and with the stealing on of a malady of the blood.

They gave such a picture of Dahlia's reverent love for this man, her long

torture, her chastity of soul and simple innocence, and her gathering

delirium of anguish, as Rhoda had never taken at all distinctly to her

mind. She tried to look out on him from a mist of tears.

"How could you bear to read the letters?" she sobbed.

"Could any human being read them and not break his heart for her?" said

he.

"How could you bear to read them and leave her to perish!"

His voice deepened to an impressive hollow: "I read them for the first

time yesterday morning, in France, and I am here!"

It was undeniably, in its effect on Rhoda, a fine piece of pleading

artifice. It partially excused or accounted for his behaviour, while it

filled her with emotions which she felt to be his likewise, and therefore

she could not remain as an unsympathetic stranger by his side.

With this, he flung all artifice away. He told her the whole story,

saving the one black episode of it--the one incomprehensible act of a

desperate baseness that, blindly to get free, he had deliberately

permitted, blinked at, and had so been guilty of. He made a mental pause

as he was speaking, to consider in amazement how and by what agency he

had been reduced to shame his manhood, and he left it a marvel.

Otherwise, he in no degree exonerated himself. He dwelt sharply on his

vice of ambition, and scorned it as a misleading light. "Yet I have done

little since I have been without her!" And then, with a persuasive

sincerity, he assured her that he could neither study nor live apart from

Dahlia. "She is the dearest soul to me on earth; she is the purest woman.

I have lived with her, I have lived apart from her, and I cannot live

without her. I love her with a husband's love. Now, do you suppose I will

consent to be separated from her? I know that while her heart beats, it's

mine. Try to keep her from me--you kill her."

"She did not die," said Rhoda. It confounded his menaces.

"This time she might," he could not refrain from murmuring.

"Ah!" Rhoda drew off from him.

"But I say," cried he, "that I will see her."

"We say, that she shall do what is for her good."

"You have a project? Let me hear it. You are mad, if you have."

"It is not our doing, Mr. Blancove. It was--it was by her own choice. She

will not always be ashamed to look her father in the face. She dare not

see him before she is made worthy to see him. I believe her to have been

directed right."

"And what is her choice?"

"She has chosen for herself to marry a good and worthy man."

Edward called out, "Have you seen him--the man?"

Rhoda, thinking he wished to have the certainty of the stated fact

established, replied, "I have."

"A good and worthy man," muttered Edward. "Illness, weakness, misery,

have bewildered her senses. She thinks him a good and worthy man?"

"I think him so."

"And you have seen him?"

"I have."

"Why, what monstrous delusion is this? It can't be! My good creature,

you're oddly deceived, I imagine. What is the man's name? I can

understand that she has lost her will and distinct sight; but you are

clear-sighted, and can estimate. What is the man's name?"

"I can tell you," said Rhoda; "his name is Mr. Sedgett."

"Mister--!" Edward gave one hollow stave of laughter. "And you have seen

him, and think him--"

"I know he is not a gentleman," said Rhoda. "He has been deeply good to

my sister, and I thank him, and do respect him."

"Deeply!" Edward echoed. He was prompted to betray and confess himself:

courage failed.

They looked around simultaneously on hearing an advancing footstep.

The very man appeared--in holiday attire, flushed, smiling, and with a

nosegay of roses in his hand. He studied the art of pleasing women. His

eye struck on Edward, and his smile vanished. Rhoda gave him no word of

recognition. As he passed on, he was led to speculate from his having

seen Mr. Edward instead of Mr. Algernon, and from the look of the former,

that changes were in the air, possibly chicanery, and the proclaiming of

himself as neatly diddled by the pair whom, with another, he heartily

hoped to dupe.

After he had gone by, Edward and Rhoda changed looks. Both knew the

destination of that lovely nosegay. The common knowledge almost kindled

an illuminating spark in her brain; but she was left in the dark, and

thought him strangely divining, or only strange. For him, a horror

cramped his limbs. He felt that he had raised a devil in that abominable

smirking ruffian. It may not, perhaps, be said that he had distinctly

known Sedgett to be the man. He had certainly suspected the possibility

of his being the man. It is out of the power of most wilful and selfish

natures to imagine, so as to see accurately, the deeds they prompt or

permit to be done. They do not comprehend them until these black

realities stand up before their eyes.

Ejaculating "Great heaven!" Edward strode some steps away, and returned.

"It's folly, Rhoda!--the uttermost madness ever conceived! I do not

believe--I know that Dahlia would never consent--first, to marry any man

but myself; secondly, to marry a man who is not a perfect gentleman. Her

delicacy distinguishes her among women."

"Mr. Blancove, my sister is nearly dead, only that she is so strong. The

disgrace has overwhelmed her, it has. When she is married, she will thank

and honour him, and see nothing but his love and kindness. I will leave

you now."

"I am going to her," said Edward.

"Do not."

"There's an end of talking. I trust no one will come in my path. Where am

I?"

He looked up at the name of the street, and shot away from her. Rhoda

departed in another direction, firm, since she had seen Sedgett pass,

that his nobleness should not meet with an ill reward. She endowed him

with fair moral qualities, which she contrasted against Edward Blancove's

evil ones; and it was with a democratic fervour of contempt that she

dismissed the superior outward attractions of the gentleman.