CHAPTER XIII.
Lord Barkley being thus relieved from his engagement to Miss Molyneux, felt like a prisoner just set free, who rejoices in his newly-recovered freedom, although the remembrance of the acts which riveted the chains of bondage round his neck still fills his heart with shame and sorrow; and he set to work in earnest to try and make amends for all past self-indulgence and extravagance.
For the three first months which followed his father's death, he applied himself with energy to the examination of his affairs. He found them in a dreadful state of confusion, and, totally unaccustomed as he was to business, it seemed to him almost impossible that he could ever get through the masses of ill-kept accounts which lay before him, and his evil genius—indolence—more than once suggested to him that it would have been unnecessary to do so had he married Miss Molyneux; but at such moments he had only to look back and recall his misery during the time of his engagement to her, in order to feel that anything—even breaking his head over accounts—was better than that; and then with renewed vigour he would pore over the long lines of figures, thinking to himself, "I would willingly go through all this if I could only hope that Marie was not lost to me for ever; yet even on chance I will labour on, and endeavour to show that I am somewhat less unworthy of her than I was."
Lord Barkley was naturally clever; all he had ever wanted was application and energy, and these were now lent to him by sorrow for the past, and hope, however faint it might be, for the future. Notwithstanding many a weary hour, when his courage wavered, and he felt half inclined to abandon the task which he had set himself to do, he did at last succeed in making himself completely master of his position. He then saw that it was possible to retrieve the property without selling himself for a large fortune in marriage, but it could only be done by—what appeared to him—strict economy and attention to business.
"I will do it," he exclaimed one evening, as he locked up the papers which he had been studying. "If Colonel de St. Severan can be induced to give me Marie, we could live abroad for some years, and everything would go swimmingly. But how can I dare to address him? I suppose he would neither see me nor receive a letter from me. And Marie—ah! she would not be too hard on me if I could only plead my own cause to her. But again, how am I to see her? I have it! Flora Adair can help me if she will; she can intercede for me with the de St. Severans; and the old colonel likes her particularly, Marie has often told me so. But will she help me? God knows! However, she will not refuse to see me, and perhaps when she hears all she may be persuaded to aid me when I am doing my utmost to repair the past. Without Marie I have no motive for exertion, and if she is really lost to me, then I am indeed lost. But I will try whether Flora Adair cannot be moved to help and save me. I will go to Dublin to-morrow, and see if she is like so many others, who sternly refuse to assist the fallen when they try to rise to better things."
The next day, before the usual visiting hour, Flora Adair was much surprised when Lord Barkley's card was handed to her, and the servant said that the gentleman earnestly begged Miss Adair would see him, even though she did not generally receive visitors when Mrs. Adair was out. Flora hesitated a little, but finally said, "Well then, show him up."
When Lord Barkley entered the room, he was startled by the brilliant delicacy of her complexion, and exclaimed, "Miss Adair, have you been ill?"
"I am not very well, Lord Barkley, and am scarcely able to receive any but my most intimate friends; however, I did not like to refuse you, as you asked so particularly to see me," she answered coldly, for she had never forgiven his lordship for his conduct to Marie.
"I am truly sorry to hear that you are not well, Miss Adair, and I am most grateful to you for not refusing to see me, for you, if any one, can help to restore me to happiness and peace of mind. Will you listen to the confession of my sins against one who is dear to you, but dearer far to me; and then, if you deem me worthy of forgiveness, will you try to obtain it for me?"
"I will hear whatever your lordship wishes to tell me, but I can make no promise for my after conduct."
Lord Barkley then gave her a clear and full account of all that he had done from the time he went to Paris until the present; in no way did he extenuate or gloss over any of his faults, or dwell upon his courageous determination during the last three months to battle with the difficulties of his position and conquer them. Never had he appeared to Flora in so favourable a light as now, when he humbly exposed all his past weakness, but showed by his conduct since his father's death that he did possess energy and strength of mind sufficient to repent and begin quite a new life; and he had gained her as an intercessor even before he concluded by saying, "If Marie would trust me again with the blessing of her love, the work of amendment which has been begun in me would be perfected: for then I should have the strongest of motives to repair the past, and she, I do believe, would be angelic enough to forgive me all my weakness and infidelity to her. But I dare not venture to address Colonel de St. Severan,—I could not expect from him any of that indulgence which she, in the plenitude of her goodness, might grant me. If I wrote to him I suppose he would send me back my letter unread, but if you, Miss Adair, would deign to help me—if you would write to Colonel de St. Severan and Marie in my favour, and enclose to each of them a letter from me, it would at least enable me to plead my own cause. I know how great was your contempt for my weakness even in Florence, and then I had not behaved half so badly as I did afterwards; but what more can I do than mourn over my great faults, and try to rise to better things? Will you, then, aid me in that attempt to rise, for without Marie I have no hope?"
"I will help you as far as I can, Lord Barkley," answered Flora cordially, as she looked fixedly at him, and marked the worn, anxious expression of his countenance; "and now for the first time do I think you worthy of Marie. There is no fault so great that true repentance cannot efface it, and I know that dear, gentle Marie will not be too hard upon you, although you well-nigh broke her heart. Your engagement to Miss Molyneux was a cruel wound to her confiding nature; but 'let the dead past bury its dead.' I will spare no exertion to induce Colonel de St. Severan to relent towards you; and Marie, I dare say, will be a still warmer and a more powerful advocate for you than any one else. So send me the letters, and I will write at once; and now I must ask you to leave me, for I am very tired; yet you have done me good. To try to make Marie happy is something pleasant to do and to think about."
"I know no words strong enough to express my gratitude to you, Miss Adair. You have been to me like a good angel, bidding me hope that my repentance may win my pardon, even while suffering yourself, for your voice, everything, tells me that you, too, are suffering. May Heaven reward you for your goodness to me!" He took her hand, raised it to his lips, and left her, promising to send her the letters that evening.
As soon as Flora received them she lost no time in forwarding them to the de St. Severans, accompanied by a few lines from herself, both to Marie and Colonel de St. Severan. And while these important letters are passing through the post, we shall precede them to the chateau, and learn how their contents are likely to be received by its occupants....
Colonel de St. Severan's mother was English, and from her he had learned a somewhat less matter-of-fact idea of marriage than the generality of French people entertain, and therefore he was wonderfully indulgent towards Marie's grief when her love match was broken off; nevertheless he was a Frenchman by birth and education, and he considered that the best cure for that grief would be to find her a handsome young husband, endowed with all the desirable advantages of position and fortune—"enfin un établissement convenable sous tous les rapports."
Shortly after their return to the country, which took place in Easter week, Colonel de St. Severan was overjoyed at receiving a visit from an old friend and neighbour, the Comte de Morlaix, who came to propose an alliance between his eldest son, le Comte Charles de Morlaix, and Marie.
He cordially assured his friend that nothing would make him happier than to see his dear Marie united to so excellent and charming a young man as le Comte Charles, adding that he would let him know his adopted daughter's sentiments on the subject in a day or two, but that doubtless she would feel only too deeply gratified by the honour which the Comte and Comtesse de Morlaix conferred upon her by thus desiring to welcome her into the family as their daughter-in-law.
The Comte de Morlaix then took his leave, after having made a profusion of complimentary speeches, well satisfied in thinking that he had obtained for his son a pretty, an amiable, and a wealthy bride.
Colonel de St. Severan was equally pleased with the prospect of presenting the handsome, gay young Comte to Marie as her future husband, and felt quite convinced that it would effectually banish any regret which she might still feel for Lord Barkley.
Accordingly he hastened to find Marie, in order to communicate this flattering proposal to her; but to his great disappointment she had no sooner heard it than she began to cry, and sobbingly declared that she would never marry, and only wanted to be allowed to live always with her "cher père."
Colonel de St. Severan treated all this as girlish sentimentality, and told her to talk it all over with her good old friend, Monsieur le Curé, who would advise her as to what she ought to do.
Poor, gentle, yielding little Marie! how could she resist the persuasion and the reasoning of her beloved adopted father and the good Curé? She knew not how to answer when in measured accents they spoke of the dreadful consequences which any indulgence in romantic feelings might lead to, and counselled her to accept—as a safeguard against the dangerous inclination of her own heart for one who was about to become the husband of another—the pleasing and pious young Comte who now sought her in marriage. She could not, as we have said, reason with them about it; but from her heart burst forth the cry, "Oh, no! It cannot be right to marry the Comte Charles when I love another better than I can love him."
"Poor child!" replied the Curé compassionately; "we only want to make you happy, and your loving father by adoption will not press you for an answer. In the meantime you can see Monsieur le Comte Charles now and then, and think over all that we have said to you."
Marie at length consented to see her proposed suitor occasionally, but only on this condition, that he, or at least his father, should be told the whole truth. That is to say, that she was still smarting under the pain which a final separation from one whom she had loved caused her, and that consequently she did not feel inclined to entertain the thought of marrying at all. Nevertheless, in compliance with the wishes of her cher père, she would, if Monsieur le Comte de Morlaix still wished it, receive the visits of his son in order that she might become better acquainted with him. But these visits were to be considered strictly as visits of friendship until after the expiration of two months, when she should have completed her twenty-first year, and then she would say if they were to assume another character, or cease altogether.
These conditions were accepted, for the de Morlaix were really most anxious to win Marie for their son, and they had little doubt of his making a favourable impression upon the refractory young lady.
Marie was far too timid to assert her own sense of right by saying definitely, "I will not give my hand without my heart; for surely God cannot call upon me to swear falsely—to swear an allegiance to one for whom I have not even a very strong feeling of preference."
She longed to escape from this proposed marriage; but when she saw that every one around her looked upon her disinclination to it as a wicked indulgence in forbidden memories, she began to doubt herself, and to suppose that although she could not understand it, it must be wrong of her to refuse the Comte Charles. Her only hope of support was from Flora Adair; and she wrote her a long history of it all, begging her to say if she too thought it right for her to marry the Comte Charles; "for," she added, candidly, "I believe it is true to say that it is the memory of what I once felt for another which makes me wish to refuse him. He is very good and kind, and had I never known Edmund, I dare say I should have married him just because he is so good and kind, and because mon cher père wishes it. But as it is—— Flora, what shall I do? The thought of this marriage is hateful to me now."
Flora's answer, however, destroyed her last hope of support. It ran thus:—
"My poor darling Mignonne,
"I must not dare to advise you at such a time as the present, when peace, happiness, everything, depends upon your decision. I have no right to come between you and your adopted father, Colonel de St. Severan, and his friends. They have advised you, and now your own heart and conscience can alone decide the question. One word only will I say,—no man's counsel is infallible; and outside the Church's definitions of right and wrong, our conscience is the only code by which God will judge us. Trust to Him alone, and, under Him, to your own sense of right, and you cannot go wrong.
"Write to me often, and tell me how you feel as the time for your decision approaches. But you must never ask me to give any opinion about it. Do not think it cold and unkind of me, dearest, thus to throw you back upon yourself, and leave you to stand alone in this crisis of your life. Heaven knows how much it costs me to act so; but I cannot do otherwise. Colonel de St. Severan would naturally resent any interference on my part; so in honour I am bound to be silent.
"Good-bye, then, dearest; and may God direct you.
"Ever your affectionate
"Flora Adair."
After the receipt of this letter Marie felt more unhappy than ever. Flora's words, "Trust to God alone, and, under Him, to your own sense of right," simply told her that she must act on her own responsibility; for she could not suppose that God would send down an angel to tell her what she ought to do.
In vain she tried to conquer her repugnance to the idea of marrying. But when they said to her that this was a temptation and a clinging to the memory of one whom she had no longer any right to love, she felt that she had not the courage to say, "I will not marry."
At length she began to look upon her union with the Comte Charles as a sort of fate, from which she could not escape by any act of her own. Yet she prayed day after day that, if it were God's holy will, the marriage might never take place.
Thus time glided on, slowly and sadly for Marie, and yet too quickly also; for it brought nearer and nearer the dreaded day when she was to give her final answer.
One soft, hazy June morning, as she sat in an arbour with Colonel de St. Severan, he said, "Eh bien! mon enfant, we are not far from your birthday, and then I hope you will make us all happy by allowing your fiançailles to be celebrated."
"But I need not give my answer until the very day, mon père," murmured Marie, bending low over the work in her hand.
"Certainly not, my child," answered Colonel de St. Severan. "I promised not to ask for one until then. I cannot help hoping, however, that so charming and virtuous a young man as Comte Charles has succeeded in making you feel how much happier you will be as his honoured wife than in rejecting him and yielding to unauthorised recollections of a married man, as no doubt Lord Barkley is by this time. Nevertheless, Marie, you know that you are free to act as you will. I do not desire you under pain of my displeasure to accept him; but I shall be sorry if it be otherwise, and a little disappointed in my dear child." He laid his hand fondly on her head, whilst she struggled to keep down the sobs which were rising in her throat.
Just then a servant entered with some letters on a salver. Colonel de St. Severan took them up, read the addresses, and placing before Marie an unusually large envelope, he said gaily, "There, little one, is a volume from your nice Irish friend. Just look how thick it is, too! Why, it will give you something to do to read all that. And I, too, must see what my correspondents have to say to me."
Not many minutes had passed when Colonel de St. Severan was startled by a joyful cry from Marie. "I am saved—saved—what joy!—what happiness! Read, mon père." In her right hand she held up before him Flora's open letter, and in her left another, upon which she gazed with rapture. But the reaction was too great for Marie's strength, and she burst into so violent a fit of crying that Colonel de St. Severan was obliged to take her into the house before even he had time to read a line of the letter which had caused all this extraordinary agitation; but he guessed that in some way or other it must be connected with Lord Barkley, and the very thought of it enraged him.
Madame de St. Severan happened to be passing through the hall as they entered, and Colonel de St. Severan hastily consigned Marie to her care, and shut himself up in his study. By the same post Flora wrote to Marie and Colonel de St. Severan, enclosing Lord Barkley's respective letters to each of them; but the one addressed to Colonel de St. Severan, being mixed up among several other letters, had escaped his notice until he read her note to Marie, in which she spoke of having also written to him. He then eagerly looked for it, and, having found it, tore open the envelope and read her letter and Lord Barkley's as attentively as his increasing indignation would allow him.
Lord Barkley's letter was so frank and open in its acknowledgment of past unworthiness, and so humble in its appeal for forgiveness, that Flora hoped it might soften Colonel de St. Severan's anger towards him; and her own letter closed with these words—"You cannot any longer doubt Lord Barkley's love for Marie. Think what it must have cost a man like him, and in his position, to humble himself as he has done both to you and Mr. Molyneux; yet he did it for her sake. And I need not say that she loves him. You know it well, since you thought, when he was engaged to another, that she was bound to guard even against the memory of that love by making a marriage of duty, to say the least of it. Dreadful as it appeared to me that she should be induced to marry in this way, I forced myself to be silent until I learned that he whom she loved was free, and ready to make any atonement in order to obtain her hand. So now, dear Colonel de St. Severan, I hope you will pardon me for becoming Lord Barkley's mediatrix. Marie needs no intercessor with you; your own deep affection for her will be a far more powerful advocate in favour of her happiness than anything which I could say. It will not let you see her suffer very long when you know that it is in your power to make her happy by forgiving her lover and receiving him as your adopted son-in-law."
Colonel de St. Severan, however, passionately declared in his own mind, when he finished reading these letters, that he would never consent to give Marie to a man who had treated her as Lord Barkley had done. Repentance came too late; and, so far as he was concerned, he would sternly reject him. He was just about to write a few chilling lines to Flora, re-enclosing Lord Barkley's letter, and expressing his astonishment that he should have had the presumption to address him, when he was called away on business which obliged him to absent himself from home for a few hours.
When he returned he was met at the door by Marie, who, all radiant with joy, threw herself into his arms, and gaily whispered, mimicking his words in the morning, "Now, mon père, I am quite ready to make you all happy by allowing my fiançailles to be celebrated as soon as you will. I will not even claim the fulfilment of your promise to wait for my answer until my birthday. See what a difference a name makes; now that I may be affianced to Edmund instead of to Charles, I ask for no delay. Ah! how happy I am!"
"Marie! I am ashamed of you!" exclaimed Colonel de St. Severan, pushing her from him. "If you had the slightest sense of maidenly dignity you would consider it an insult that Lord Barkley should dare to address you again, instead of showing this unseemly joy and of heedlessly rejecting the honour of becoming the Comte Charles de Morlaix's wife in order to give yourself to one who cast you off! But I will save you if I can. By this post I shall send back Lord Barkley's letter to Miss Adair, requesting that the subject may never be named to me again."
This was a sad check to Marie, to whom the possibility of his not forgiving her lover had never occurred. She only thought of all he had suffered, and longed to be able to console him and make him forget the unhappy past. But Colonel de St. Severan's words rudely dispelled this delicious dream, and the only concession which her prayers and tears could win from him was a promise that he would not send Lord Barkley's letter back to him; but he persisted in writing to Flora, and begged of her to convey to her friend, Lord Barkley, his decided refusal even to tolerate the idea of his becoming Marie's husband, and, as a favour, he asked Flora not in any way to encourage Marie in this misplaced affection.
Colonel de St. Severan allowed Marie to see the letter, and even consented that she should add a few lines. She accordingly wrote, with trembling fingers—"Tell Edmund, dearest Flora, that I have forgiven and forgotten everything but his love for me; and would—so gladly!—prove to him how fully it is returned by giving myself to him at once. But, as you see from the above, my dear father refuses his consent to our marriage; and I could not be so ungrateful as to marry in the face of his prohibition. I will never, however, marry any one else. Thank God! they cannot persuade me now that it is wrong to love him; and if he thinks me worth waiting for, we may yet be happy. My dear father, I feel sure, is too fond of me not to relent at last. Pray, then, ma Flore, for thy Mignonne!"
Colonel de St. Severan frowned as he read these lines, and folding up the letter, he said, "Delude not yourself with false hopes, Marie. You can of course marry Lord Barkley if you choose, but it must ever be against my consent."
In spite of this, three months had not passed when Flora Adair received a letter from Marie, saying that she thought Colonel de St. Severan was half inclined to yield; and if Lord Barkley were to try the bold stroke of coming over and seeking a personal interview with him, she hoped all would terminate happily.
Her hope was realised. Colonel de St. Severan had seen during these last few weeks that there was no chance of inducing Marie to marry according to his wishes now that Lord Barkley was free,—now that they could no longer urge that she was bound to forget him and become the wife of the Comte Charles; and that consequently he was only making her suffer to no purpose by continuing to refuse his consent to her wishes. So, when Lord Barkley unexpectedly presented himself before him, and pleaded his cause humbly and earnestly, as he had already done in writing, Colonel de St. Severan yielded, after a fair show of resistance, and led the grateful and happy Lord Barkley to Marie, to receive from her lips the ratification of his pardon. And to her tender mercies we may surely leave him without fearing that she will inflict any severe penance on him for his past wanderings.