“UXMOOR.”
“Poor fellow!” said Zoe, and her eyes filled. She sat quite quiet, with the letter open in her hand. She looked at it, and murmured, “A pearl is offered me here: wealth, title, all that some women sigh for, and—what I value above all—a noble nature, a true heart, and a soul above all meanness. No; Uxmoor will never tell a falsehood. He could not.”
She sighed deeply, and closed her eyes. All was still. The light was faint; yet she closed her eyes, like a true woman, to see the future clearer.
Then, in the sober and deep calm, there seemed to be faint peeps of coming things: It appeared a troubled sea, and Uxmoor's strong hand stretched out to rescue her. If she married him, she knew the worst—an honest man she esteemed, and had almost an affection for, but no love.
As some have an impulse to fling themselves from a height, she had one to give herself to Uxmoor, quietly, irrevocably, by three written words dispatched that night.
But it was only an impulse. If she had written it, she would have torn it up.
Presently a light thrill passed through her: she wore a sort of half-furtive, guilty look, and opened the window.
Ay, there he stood in the moonlight, waiting to be heard.
She did not start nor utter any exclamation. Somehow or other she almost knew he was there before she opened the window.
“Well?” said she, with a world of meaning.
“You grant me a hearing at last.”
“I do. But it is no use. You cannot explain away a falsehood.”
“Of course not. I am here to confess that I told a falsehood. But it was not you I wished to deceive. I was going to explain the whole thing to you, and tell you all; but there is no getting a word with you since that lord came.”
“He had nothing to do with it. I should have been just as much shocked.”
“But it would only have been for five minutes. Zoe!”
“Well?”
“Just put yourself in my place. A detective, who ought to have written to me in reply to my note, surprises me with a call. I was ashamed that such a visitor should enter your brother's house to see me. There sat my rival—an aristocrat. I was surprised into disowning the unwelcomed visitor, and calling him my solicitor.”
Now if Zoe had been an Old Bailey counsel, she would have kept him to the point, reminded him that his visitor was unseen, and fixed a voluntary falsehood on him; but she was not an experienced cross-examiner, and perhaps she was at heart as indignant at the detective as at the falsehood: so she missed her advantage, and said, indignantly, “And what business had you with a detective? You having one at all, and then calling him your solicitor, makes one think all manner of things.”
“I should have told you all about it that afternoon, only our intercourse is broken off to please a rival. Suppose I gave you a rival, and used you for her sake as you use me for his, what would you say? That would be a worse infidelity than sending for a detective, would it not?”
Zoe replied, haughtily, “You have no right to say you have a rival; how dare you? Besides,” said she, a little ruefully, “it is you who are on your defense, not me.”
“True; I forgot that. Recrimination is not convenient, is it?”
“I can escape it by shutting the window,” said Zoe, coldly.
“Oh, don't do that. Let me have the bliss of seeing you, and I will submit to a good deal of injustice without a murmur.”
“The detective?” said Zoe, sternly.
“I sent for him, and gave him his instructions, and he is gone for me to Homburg.”
“Ah! I thought so. What for?”
“About my money. To try and find out whether they mean to keep it.”
“Would you really take it if they would give it you?”
“Of course I would.”
“Yet you know my mind about it.”
“I know you forbade me to go for it in person: and I obeyed you, did I not?”
“Yes, you did—at the time.”
“I do now. You object to my going in person to Homburg. You know I was once acquainted with that lady, and you feel about her a little of what I feel about Lord Uxmoor; about a tenth part of what I feel, I suppose, and with not one-tenth so much reason. Well, I know what the pangs of jealousy are: I will never inflict them on you, as you have on me. But I will have my money, whether you like or not.”
Zoe looked amazed at being defied. It was new to her. She drew up, but said nothing.
Severne went on: “And I will tell you why: because without money I cannot have you. My circumstances have lately improved; with my money that lies in Homburg I can now clear my family estate of all incumbrance, and come to your brother for your hand. Oh, I shall be a very bad match even then, but I shall not be a pauper, nor a man in debt. I shall be one of your own class, as I was born—a small landed gentleman with an unencumbered estate.”
“That is not the way to my affection. I do not care for money.”
“But other people do. Dear Zoe, you have plenty of pride yourself; you must let me have a little. Deeply as I love you, I could not come to your brother and say, 'Give me your sister, and maintain us both.' No, Zoe, I cannot ask your hand till I have cleared my estate; and I cannot clear it without that money. For once I must resist you, and take my chance. There is wealth and a title offered you. I won't ask you to dismiss them and take a pauper. If you don't like me to try for my own money, give your hand to Lord Uxmoor; then I shall recall my detective, and let all go; for poverty or wealth will matter nothing to me: I shall have lost the angel I love: and she once loved me.”
He faltered, and the sad cadence of his voice melted her. She began to cry. He turned his head away and cried too.
There was a silence. Zoe broke it first.
“Edward,” said she, softly.
“Zoe!”
“You need not defy me. I would not humiliate you for all the world. Will it comfort you to know that I have been very unhappy ever since you lowered yourself so? I will try and accept your explanation.”
He clasped his hands with gratitude.
“Edward, will you grant me a favor?”
“Can you ask?”
“It is to have a little more confidence in one who—Now you must obey me implicitly, and perhaps we may both be happier to-morrow night than we are to-night. Directly after breakfast take your hat and walk to Hillstoke. You can call on Miss Gale, if you like, and say something civil.”
“What! go and leave you alone with Lord Uxmoor?”
“Yes.”
“Ah, Zoe, you know your power. Have a little mercy.”
“Perhaps I may have a great deal—if you obey me.”
“I will obey you.”
“Then go to bed this minute.”
She gave him a heavenly smile, and closed the window.
Next morning, as soon as breakfast was over, Ned Severne said, “Any messages for Hillstoke? I am going to walk up there this morning.”
“Embrace my virago for me,” said Vizard.
Severne begged to be excused.
He hurried off, and Lord Uxmoor felt a certain relief.
The Master of Arts asked himself what he could do to propitiate the female M. D. He went to the gardener and got him to cut a huge bouquet, choice and fragrant, and he carried it all the way to Hillstoke. Miss Gale was at home. As he was introduced rather suddenly, she started and changed color, and said, sharply, “What do you want?” Never asked him to sit down, rude Thing!
He stood hanging his head like a culprit, and said, with well-feigned timidity, that he came, by desire of Miss Vizard, to inquire how she was getting on, and to hope the people were beginning to appreciate her.
“Oh! that alters the case; any messenger from Miss Vizard is welcome. Did she send me those flowers, too? They are beautiful.”
“No. I gathered them myself. I have always understood ladies loved flowers.”
“It is only by report you know that, eh? Let me add something to your information: a good deal depends on the giver; and you may fling these out of the window.” She tossed them to him.
The Master of Arts gave a humble, patient sigh, and threw the flowers out of the window, which was open. He then sunk into a chair and hid his face in his hands.
Miss Gale colored, and bit her lip. She did not think he would have done that, and it vexed her economical soul. She cast a piercing glance at him, then resumed her studies, and ignored his presence.
But his patience exhausted hers. He sat there twenty minutes, at least, in a state of collapse that bid fair to last forever.
So presently she looked up and affected to start. “What! are you there still?” said she.
“Yes,” said be; “you did not dismiss me; only my poor flowers.”
“Well,” said she, apologetically, “the truth is, I'm not strong enough to dismiss you by the same road.”
“It is not necessary. You have only to say, 'Go.'”
“Oh, that would be rude. Could not you go without being told right out?”
“No, I could not. Miss Gale, I can't account for it, but there is some strange attraction. You hate me, and I fear you, yet I could follow you about like a dog. Let me sit here a little longer and see you work.”
Miss Gale leaned her head upon her hand, and contemplated him at great length. Finally she adopted a cat-like course. “No,” said she, at last; “I am going my rounds: you can come with me, if I am so attractive.”
He said he should be proud, and she put on her hat in thirty seconds.
They walked together in silence. He felt as if he were promenading a tiger cat, that might stop any moment to fall upon him.
She walked him into a cottage: there was a little dead wood burning on that portion of the brick floor called the hearth. A pale old man sat close to the fire, in a wooden armchair. She felt his pulse, and wrote him a prescription.
“To Mr. Vizard's housekeeper, Vizard Court:
“Please give the bearer two pounds of good roast beef or mutton, not salted, and one pint port wine,