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Chapter XXXV. After All.

St. Denys fell back into its old quiet life, as it was before Dick Northcote came home from New Zealand to wake it up, before there was the exciting interest of the little heiress living with General Hawke at Pensand. St. Denys, in its ignorance, was now rather inclined to be sorry for Mrs. Lancaster, for whom it had formerly felt a jealous dislike, and to think that young Northcote had behaved badly to her again. Certainly, when he first came home, he had been devoted to her; they were hardly ever to he seen apart; and now to go and marry Miss Ashley! No wonder Mrs. Lancaster looked ill and unhappy, poor thing! The good women of St. Denys found it a pleasant new sensation to pity Mrs. Lancaster, especially as her mother, when inquired of, looked so mysterious that they felt sure the affair had been a serious one. Mrs. Cardew in her inmost soul would have dearly loved to tell them the whole story, but her loyalty to her daughter prevented this.

After Dick and Mabel had sailed, Flora’s parents again became anxious about her. She was so nervous and irritable sometimes as to seem almost feverish, a sad change from the gentle Flora of old days. At other times she was depressed and dismal; her mother would come into the room and find her crying. But this was better than the impatience, for she would lay her head on her mother’s shoulder and submit to be caressed and comforted, a proceeding which soothed poor Mrs. Cardew, if it had not any lasting effect on Flora. Mrs. Cardew page 325 did not know what to make of it, for Flora had been much better, and this was a relapse. She was inclined to trace it to a certain wet day, when Flora had insisted on going to Morebay for some shopping, and had come back in a dripping state and dreadfully tired—so tired, that with her father’s arm she could hardly get up the hill.

One foggy afternoon in November, the two women were sitting by the drawing-room fire at Rose Cottage. Mrs. Cardew was working; Flora was leaning back with her hands folded, thinking just then of Mabel, and wondering when she would be able to write to her.

‘I’m sorry I promised to write, mother,’ she said, in a low weary voice. ‘What have I to tell her? Good news about myself, she said. She will have a long time to wait for that, I think.’

‘O, I don’t know, Flora,’ said Mrs. Cardew cheerfully. ‘Try to look on the bright side of things. So young and pretty as you are still, my dear—’

‘Young and pretty !’ said, Flora, smiling. ‘Old and ugly, mother, when I look in the glass. No; that part of my life has most certainly come to an end. I’m Cross-patch, as you see her in the picture-books, fit for nothing but to sit by the fire and spin. Old and ugly and cross! The wonder is, how you and father manage to put up with me.’

‘But, don’t you see, we love you, dear,’ said Mrs. Cardew.

‘That is more wonderful still. I’m worse than Cross-. patch, for I don’t even spin. She was of some use in the house; but I sit with my hands before me, and grumble, and do nothing. O mother, mother, when Dick Northcote was rowing me round that afternoon, I very nearly threw myself into the river. I think I should have done it, if it had not been for him. I never once thought of you. What would you have done?’

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‘We should have gone to our graves very soon. Our hearts would have been broken,’ said Mrs. Cardew.

‘I don’t wish to do it now,’ said Flora. ‘I’m not so bad as I was then. Look here; I’m going to tell you a secret.’

‘Yes, dear?’ said Mrs. Cardew, laying down her work.

‘You remember that wet afternoon when I came up from Morebay by the boat, and was so tired.’

‘Of course. Didn’t I say so!’ exclaimed Mrs. Cardew.

‘Didn’t you say what?’ said Flora, staring at her.

‘That you had been worse ever since. Well, go on.’

‘That day was too much for me,’ said Flora. ‘because I met somebody on board, and had a long talk with him. I hope I behaved properly. O, it was trying!’

‘Gracious! Not him!’ said Mrs. Cardew.

Flora nodded.

‘You spoke to him! You, let him speak to you! A long talk!’ said Mrs. Cardew rather breathlessly. ‘Mercy on me, Flora, how could you!’

The flush of colour in her mother’s face brought a much deeper one into Flora’s. Mrs. Cardew’s tone and look of angry, astonishment were hard to bear. Flora drew herself up a little, and was silent. Her mother’s manner softened directly.

‘There, dear, I beg your pardon, I’m sure. Only I was astonished. But no doubt you couldn’t help it.’

‘Not very well,’ said Flora.

That little check had given her back the composure that was almost failing. She told her mother in a few words what had happened, the scene in the cabin, Sandal’s sudden appearance, the attempted indifference of their talk, and then his expressions of regret, and the coldness with which she had received them.

‘He thinks I am just as angry as ever,’ said Flora, I would hardly let Mm say anything.’

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‘And what he did say you didn’t believe, I suppose,’ said Mrs. Cardew.

‘Well, mother, as you may imagine, I have been thinking of it ever since. I cannot quite say that, you know.’

‘Dear me! I shouldn’t have had any doubt myself.’

‘I think you would if you had been in my place, and had considered. Why should he have said it if he didn’t mean it? What I thought of him could not possibly matter to him. Our opinion can never affect his friends, his society. If he was not sorry, what object could he gain by telling me that he was?’

‘What object does he mean to gain now?’ said Mrs. Cardew.

Flora blushed deeply.

‘None, probably,’ she said, after a pause. ‘I think he only’ wished to make some little amends for the past.’

‘Then why do you trouble your head so much about it?’ said Mrs. Cardew, gifted for the moment with preternatural sharpness.

Flora did not answer. She made a sort of hopeless little movement with her head, and stared into the fire. They were both silent for a few minutes, Mrs. Cardew looking very grave. Then there was a sharp ring at the bell, and recognising the voice that asked whether she was at home, Flora lifted her eyes and looked almost wildly at her mother.

‘There he is,’ she said, under her breath.

‘I won’t let him come in,’ said Mrs. Cardew hastily.

She started up, but did not succeed in stopping the visitor in time. Randal was in the room before she reached the door.

She made him a slight stiff bow. Flora stood like a page 328 statue, and let him take her hand, but neither of them spoke. It was about as awkward a situation as a man could find himself in; but Randal was seldom affected by a situation, or by want of words.

The fire was blazing up brightly; it was the only light in the little room, for the world outside was almost dark. Mrs. Cardew, poor woman, stood in the middle of the floor, without the faintest idea what to say or do. Flora stood with one hand on the chimneypiece, looking at Randal; the firelight was becoming to her, and to him also; there was nothing in his pale quiet face that could offend any one.

‘I thought of writing to you,’ he said to Flora, ‘but I knew you would be more likely to listen to me, if I came and spoke for myself. Have you thought it over at all, and will you forgive me?’

‘That is a good deal to ask of my daughter, Mr. Hawke,’ said Mrs. Cardew.

‘I know it is,’ said Randal,’ and I should not venture to ask it if I did not know how generous she is.’

‘I do–I have forgiven you,’ said Flora, turning away from him.

He looked at her silently for a moment. Then he turned to Mrs. Cardew.

‘I want to apologise to you and your husband for a great deal. I have loved your daughter for years, as I love her now; but I ought never to have persuaded her to keep our engagement secret. I am very sorry for it. As to this summer, I was half driven out of my mind by money scrapes—but I will make no excuses for myself. I was very miserable all the time, and I knew that to make myself straight in one way I was losing all I really cared for. Flora, will you listen to me?’ he went on, walking up to Her. ‘I came down on purpose to say this—no matter whether I found you alone or not. I never really loved any one but you. I can’t bear life page 329 without you. I’m not good for much, but you might make something of me, if you would. Flora, will you forget what has passed, and many me now, after all?’

Randal was out of himself for the moment. All his indifference was gone, and with something between pain and joy Flora remembered the looks, the tones of voice, that used to be so familiar. She sat down, and rested her head on her hand for a moment, trying to think, and to speak quietly.

‘You forget,’ she said; ‘if one had no memory, there are all the old objections—General Hawke would never consent.’

‘If that is all,’ said Randal, ‘I have been talking to him for the last week, and he knows it would be the best thing that could happen. If that is your only objection, dearest Flora?’

‘Indeed it is not,’ said Flora. ‘I am only trying—to make you see how inconsistent you are. But do you suppose my father will ever consent now?’

‘No, I don’t believe he would,’ muttered Mrs. Cardew.

‘Of course he would not,’ said Randal. ‘Very well. Yes, I am inconsistent; you need hardly have told me that. In fact, I don’t know how I mustered up courage to ask you, except that a drowning man catches at a straw, and the other day you did not seem to hate me quite. You are right to punish me, though, for if ever a fellow deserved it, I do; but it is a very heavy punishment, to last for one’s whole life long. Well, I let my treasure go, fool that I was, and now I may stretch out my hands and pray for it for ever—I shall not have it back again.’

All this, said in a low voice, and with great earnestness, affected Mrs. Cardew so much that she was almost crying. She looked at Flora, but Flora did not move or page 330 speak, but still sat leaning her head on her hand, half turned away from Randal. There is no knowing how long he might have gone on with this pleading of his; but just then things were brought to a crisis by Captain Cardew’s step on the gravel outside. Flora suddenly raised her head, and looked round at her mother,

‘Don’t let him come in here,’ she said.

‘No, dear, I won’t,’ said Mrs. Cardew, with determination, and she went away to keep guard over the Captain.

Randal now had the field to himself, and Flora was not long able to maintain her indifference. His prayers and protestations soon came to this:

‘Don’t you pity me, Flora? You do! You care for me still!’

And this time Flora had not the strength to say no.

Poor Mrs. Lancaster is not to be envied, I think, in her elevation from Rose Cottage, to the gloomy halls of Pensand. When I told her story to my friends, some of them were surprised that she should have accepted Randal Hawke after all. Others, with deeper insight, said that she had only acted according to her nature.

She was happy in her renewed engagement, and Randal seemed devoted to her; but every one else looked at the affair with doubtful eyes, and Captain Cardew was so angry, when he found it was no use reasoning with an obstinate woman, that he declared he would never speak to either of them again. But it seemed not unlikely that his fondness for Flora and the influence of his wife—who of course, though with an anxious mind, took her daughter’s side—would soften him in time.

So Flora had her will; but whether in days to come, the slave of a capricious man, instead of the idolised darling of unselfish parents, she will find it in her heart to regret her final choice, is perhaps an open question.

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Flora sent this wonderful news of hers in her first letter to New Zealand. Neither Dick nor Mabel was very much surprised at this strange turn in her affairs. Mabel mused over many recollections, smiled a little, and did not say much. Dick did not know when he had felt more heartily sorry.