Now, do not repeat that time-honoured sneer, "I told you so," and chuckle cynically over my capture by Cupid. It is true that he has chained me, but I glory in such bonds. Did you but see her face and hear her voice you would no longer wonder at my surrender. Who conquers Mars may be beaten by Venus. There is a classical nut for your cracking.
Doubtless you consider events have moved speedily, seeing I have thus wooed and won my future wife in so short a space of time. You are perfectly right in such supposition. The events of a year have been crammed into seven days. Every hour has brought forth a surprise, and the result is--as above. My position has been anything but pleasant of late; but now I trust my troubles are over, though, according to the unfulfilled portion of Mother Jericho's prophecy, the worst are still to come. A pleasant prospect, truly! but one rendered endurable by my present happiness.
Miss Linisfarne is the parent of my troubles and happiness. I told you about her in my last letters. A faded beauty in ill-health, who is my tenant at the Court. Ignorant of my identity, she thought I was simply a decayed gentleman, reduced to poverty and to the shelter of a caravan. With that inconsistency which is so noticeable a feature of the sex, she ignored my vagabondage, and, in the character of a broken-down gentleman, invited me to the Court. For some inexplicable reason she took a violent fancy to me, and ultimately proposed to marry me. You look surprised, and frown,--the first, at the information; the second, that I should impart it to you, and thus betray a woman's folly.
As a matter of fact, unless I tell you all I can tell you nothing, and so must be content to accept your censure. I would not speak of such a thing to others; but to you, who are my second self, and have been the receptacle of my confidences since we were at Eton, I am surely justified in making the revelation. And, after all, my friend, you can put away those wire-drawn notions of honour, as Miss Linisfarne is not worthy of being considered in any way. She is a base and designing woman. You must agree with this estimate of her character--harsh though it seems--when I tell you that she tried to lower Meg in my eyes, and almost succeeded in blackening my character to Meg. Such uncalled-for malignancy is, to my mind, worthy of blame. She must be beaten with her own weapons, punished for her spiteful behaviour, and generally condemned--at all events in this letter, which is strictly confidential.
It is useless for me to attempt to fathom her character. Originally it may have been a noble one, but twenty years of solitude have warped it strangely. Dr. Merle, who is the father of Meg, made a confession to me the other day. He heard a rumour that I was to marry Miss Linisfarne, and thereupon came to tell me that I was not to do so. He justified this declaration by the confession that his real name was Mallard--that he had been engaged to Miss Linisfarne twenty years ago, and that she had ruined his life. More than this he refused to tell me, but said Tinker Tim could reveal all. The gipsy declined confession until I married Meg; so, as I intend to do so shortly, I hope to be fully informed of all these mysteries. As I surmised, there is a connection between Tim and Dr. Merle and Miss Linisfarne; but what it is I cannot guess, so must possess my soul in patience until the gipsy chooses to open his mouth.
After my interview with Merle--or Mallard, as that is his real name--I received a message from Miss Linisfarne asking me to call and see her. I went unwillingly, as I was by no means prepossessed in her favour by the revelation of the doctor. The interview was of the most painful character. She said that Meg was engaged to a certain Byrne of Silkstone, and finally offered me her hand, her name, and her wealth. I refused all three, and, not knowing how to extricate myself from so awkward a position, uttered the name of Mallard. Its effect was magical. She fainted, and I, having committed her to the care of her housekeeper, hastened away. I need hardly say that nothing will induce me to set foot again in her house.
Much perplexed at my position, I consulted Mr. Jarner, as he is gifted with good common sense, and is remarkably shrewd in giving advice. He ascribed her strange conduct to hysteria, and said there was no truth in her assertion that Meg was engaged--nay, more, that Byrne of Silkstone was a myth. Why Miss Linisfarne should tell such falsehoods and offer to marry me I cannot say; but, as I remarked before, it is useless to attempt to fathom her character. My own opinion is, that seclusion has tended to unhinge her mind and destroy her self-control. No sane person would have acted as she has done. From charity, therefore, let us give her the benefit of the doubt, and say that she is mad.
Yet there is a method in her madness which is hurtful to those whom she designs to injure. I am one of those unfortunates. When she found that I refused to marry, her love changed to hate, and she is a living example of the truth of Congreve's couplet--
"Heav'n has no rage like love to hatred turned,
Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned."
With a view, therefore, to blast my happiness, she sought Meg, and lied to her as she did to me. Declared that I wished to marry her for the sake of her wealth, that I was a base villain, an escaped criminal, a nameless outcast, and made me out to be the most abandoned of mankind. Meg retorted with spirit, and defended me, but could not help thinking that there might be some truth in these accusations. I can hardly blame her for such belief. She knew nothing, or comparatively nothing of me, whereas Miss Linisfarne has been her friend and benefactress for years.