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Henry Ancrum: A Tale of the Last War in New Zealand, Volume 2

Chapter XII

page 154

Chapter XII.

After the letter mentioned in the last chapter had been received by Malcolm Butler from his uncle, a considerable change took place in his manner towards Edith Mandeville: he took every opportunity of being in her society, he used all the arts of which he was master to try and ingratiate himself with her; he joined in all her favourite pursuits, he read the authors whom he knew she admired, and he tried to persuade her that their tastes and feelings were the same on all subjects. If he could find out that there were any books or music or drawings that she would like to page 155have, he procured them for her at his next visit to Auckland; he bribed her maid to speak in his favour—in fact be made every effort that a clever and unscrupulous man could do to gain her affections.

Edith Mandeville saw all this with intense dismay; the poor girl's heart was sore and weary. She now believed that Henry Ancrum was dead, that he was lost to her for ever; but the idea of placing the image of any other man in the place he had so long occupied appeared to her to be impossible—it appeared like profanation: the very name of love, as connected with another man, seemed unholy. Besides, she had a dim shadowy dread of Malcolm Butler, which she did not herself understand, but which nevertheless rendered any idea of union with him too dreadful to be thought of. But this was not all she had to bear. Malcolm Butler, having obtained the consent page 156of his uncle to his marriage with Edith, had spoken to Mr. Mandeville on the subject, pointing out to him his future prospects, which he by no means understated, and requesting leave to pay his addresses to his daughter; at the same time hinting that as Miss Mandeville's feelings had received so great a shock by his cousin's untimely death, it was not his intention to press his suit too rapidly, but that he trusted in time to gain her affections.

Malcolm Butler's object in taking this course was to give time for Mr. and Mrs. Mandeville to bring their influence to bear on their daughter, as he was pretty sure they would do before he himself proposed to her.

Mr. Mandeville, as may be supposed, received Malcolm Butler's overtures most graciously. He was a man of business, whose whole life had been occupied in making page 157money, or trying to do so, and who therefore thought more of his daughter making what he considered a good and wealthy marriage than of any feeling she might have on the subject. He told Malcolm Butler that he had refused his consent to his daughter's marriage with Henry Ancrum, as he had no belief in what he called "love in a cottage," or that any two human beings could possibly be happy who were not well enough off to provide themselves with what they had been brought up to consider the necessaries of life, but that in his case, he was happy to allow him to become a suitor for his daughter's hand, and that he should be glad to hail him as a son-in-law should he obtain her consent.

Mr. Mandeville immediately informed Mrs. Mandeville of what had passed between Malcolm Butler and himself, and page 158also of the large fortune that that gentleman would inherit, and of the immense advantage which such a match would be to their daughter, and they had long and frequent conversations on this important subject.

Poor Mrs. Mandeville had been very fond of Henry Ancrum, and still mourned his loss. With a woman's instinct she felt that he would have been a more suitable husband in mind and feelings for her daughter than Malcolm Butler. But then poor Henry was dead—there was no doubt of that; and, on the other hand, here was this new suitor, who was so rich, who was considered so clever, and who had been so successful in life. She could not be blind to the splendid position her daughter would occupy as his wife, when he succeeded to his uncle's large estates; and so she did all in her power to carry out her husband's wishes, and tried page 159hard to induce Edith to think favourably of a union between herself and Malcolm Butler.

And so time went on; to Edith everything was indifferent. She had loved, and her love was dead—all love was dead within her!

What was it to her that Malcolm Butler should try and make himself agreeable? What was it to her that her father and mother should talk of her future prospects? She cared for none of these things. What she wanted was, that it should all be over, and that she should be at peace.

Her calmness deceived even her parents, doubly did it deceive Malcolm Butler. She had not spoken of Henry Ancrum for a long time. He thought she had forgotten him. He spoke at last. He told her of his love!

She thanked him for his preference, but page 160told him all love with her was an impossibility—her love was buried in the grave. She could never be the wife of any man!

The quiet calmness with which this was said would have discouraged almost any person, but it was not so with Malcolm Butler. He was one of those who can hope against hope; so he concealed his vexation, and only trusted they "might always continue faithful friends."

To this Edith had no objection. Poor girl! she thought it was all over, and that now she would be left in peace! Friends?—of course she had no objection to be friends!