“Yours, in the bonds of jollity,
“Tom Hazlehurst.”
“P.S.—Advice to cricketers! Mind your batting, old fellow; for I’ve been put up to some first-rate bowling dodges by my brother-in-law, Coverdale (he’s one of the top-sawyers at Lord’s), that will send your stumps flying about your ears, if you don’t mind your eye. “Verbum sat. slow-coachici!”
CHAPTER XVII.—PLOTTING AND COUNTER-PLOTTING.
The same post-bag in which Tom Hazlehurst dispatched his letter to his schoolfellow, conveyed also two other epistles written by inmates of the Grange. For the reader’s benefit we will take the same liberty with them, which we have already taken with the Etonian’s literary effusion. The first was from Kate Marsden to Miss Arabella Crofton, a lady some three or four years older than herself, who had been one of the teachers at the school at which Kate had been brought up, and was now governess in a German family. Miss Crofton was a woman of unusual mental ability, and having in a great degree moulded Kate’s character, was now her sole confidante and mentor. It ran thus:—
“Dear Arabella,—Since I finally determined on following your advice, fate seems to have played my game for me, and I now consider it as secure as anything which has not actually come to pass can be. I told you, when I wrote to you at Baden-Baden, that his friend, Mr. Coverdale, and my cousin Alice, were evidently becoming attached; you will therefore be the less surprised to hear that they were married yesterday; the matter came about thus:—Soon after I wrote to you, Mr. Crane, by my advice, offered; Alice of course refused him, but so equivocally (she is quite a child in such things) that the poor, dear, dull creature scarcely caught her meaning. I immediately took him in hand, and, availing myself of the situation, flattered his vanity to such a degree, that ere the evening finished he believed not only that Alice would accept him, but that I, Kate Marsden, was hopelessly in love with him. Accordingly, when he learned unmistakably next morning that Alice meant to refuse him, my good taste stood out in very favourable contrast. In the meantime, Mr. Crane’s offer brought Mr. Coverdale to the point, and Alice gladly accepted him, in doing which she acted wisely, for he is a good, amiable, sterling man! and when the romance has worn off, and they have got over the bore of awakening from ‘Love’s young dream,’ I believe they will settle down into a very happy couple. My uncle at first refused his consent, for Coverdale has only five, instead of twenty thousands a-year; and Mr. Crane sulked in a corner; but that strange Mr. D’Almayne, about whom I told you before, and who possesses a degree of influence over Mr. Crane of which I by no means approve, went to him, and persuaded him not only to give up Alice good-humouredly, but actually to play a generous part, and talk my uncle over to give his consent to my cousin’s union with Mr. Coverdale. Thus, you see, as I began by saying, my game was played for me, and I had only to sit still and avail myself of the moves as the others made them.
“I am much puzzled by this Mr. D’Almayne. He is, unless I am much deceived, a complete adventurer, scheming for his own advantage (I ought to be able to recognise such a character); but what his object can have been in this affair I cannot possibly conjecture. Pure philanthropy had nothing to do with it, of that I am certain. Again, how he contrived to influence Mr. Crane to behave so amiably I cannot conceive. Sometimes I fancy he has divined my intention of marrying the millionaire; but, if so, why should he aid me in my project?—for I know by his manner (although he is very cautious) that he admires me himself. Certain it is, that since the conversation I have alluded to, Mr. Crane has been at my feet, and is only waiting to offer till he imagines time enough shall have elapsed to prevent the transfer of his affections (?) from Alice to me appearing too ridiculous. However, the affair will unravel itself some day. And now that my plans are likely to be crowned with success, you will ask me how I feel on the subject. Determined as ever! that which I have begun I will carry through; but, Arabella, I am most miserable. For myself alone I should not care; to rescue my family from poverty, I should be happy to sacrifice my personal hopes and wishes; but to see Arthur suffer is indeed bitterness, and that he does suffer frightfully, I, who can read his every look and gesture, cannot for a moment doubt. Oh, that I had known the depth and reality of his affection sooner, or that the necessity were less cogent! Then he bears it with such manly endurance his manner to his family is exactly the same as usual; not one of them suspects that anything has occurred to pain him. Again, it is such an aggravation of my sorrow that he blames me so deeply! Sometimes, when I am talking to Mr. Crane, I catch his stern, penetrating glance fixed upon me with a calm earnestness of rebuke, which affects me more deeply than could the most vehement reproaches; and when I have acted my part for the day, and, in the solitude of my chamber, I recall all that has passed between us, and reflect that it is I who have brought this sorrow upon him—I who even now feel that I love him better than my own soul—I who would gladly have died for him, I sit, night by night, like a cold statue of despair, or lie sleepless, shedding such tears as I trust God’s mercy permits not to flow quite in vain! Yet it is my duty—you know, you cannot doubt for a moment, it is my duty—you could never have dared to counsel such a sacrifice of the only thing which can make the burden of life endurable, a real, deep, true affection, if you had not felt certain it was my duty.
“You have set me a cruel task, Arabella, but I do not flinch from it; you shall find your pupil worthy the trouble you have bestowed upon her. I shall write again when anything conclusive is settled. If all goes well, I shall be in a position to fulfil my old promise, and offer you a home on your return to England. Would to God it were likely to be a happier, though a humbler one! But that is past now. Farewell.