“I cannot say, but it is so; and therefore, speaking for myself alone, I should be inclined to answer you that we had best go our separate ways in life, though I am sure that, as you promise, you would be a good and kind husband to me. But there are other people to be considered: there is my father, who is most anxious that I should make a satisfactory marriage—such as I know this would be for me, for I am nobody and scarcely recognised in society here—and who has the greatest respect and affection for you, as he had for your father before you. Then there is your family: if I refuse you it would mean that you would all be ruined, and though it may hurt your pride to hear me say so, I shrink from such a thought——”
“Oh! pray do not let that weigh with you,” he interrupted. “You know well that, although much of what you say is unhappily true, I am not seeking you that you may mend my broken fortunes, but because you are what you are, and I desire above all things to make you my wife.”
“I am sorry, Sir Henry, but, though I believe every word you say, I must let it weigh with me, for I wish to be a blessing to those about me, and not a curse. Well, for all these reasons, and chiefly perhaps, to be honest, because I am fond of you though you do not care very much for me, I will be your wife, Sir Henry, as you are good enough to wish it,” and she gave him her hand.
He took it and kissed it, and they walked on in silence till they were near to the house. Then Henry spoke, and his voice betrayed more emotion than he cared to show.
“How can I thank you, Emma!” he said; “and what am I to say to you? It is useless for me to make protestations which you would not believe, though perhaps they might have more truth in them than you imagine. But I am sure of this, that if we live, a time will soon come when you will not doubt me if I tell you that I love you.” And, drawing her to him, he kissed her upon the forehead.
“I hope so, Henry,” she said, disengaging herself from his arms, and they went together into the house.
Within ten weeks of this date Henry and Emma were spending a long honeymoon among the ruined temples of the Nile.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
THE DESIRE OF DEATH—AND THE FEAR OF HIM.
Joan remained at Kent Street, and the weary days crept on. When the first excitement of her self-sacrifice had faded from her mind, she lapsed into a condition of melancholy that was pitiable to see. Every week brought her rambling and impassioned epistles from her husband, most of which she threw into the fire half-read. At length there came one that she perused eagerly enough, for it announced the approaching marriage of Sir Henry Graves and Miss Levinger tidings which were confirmed in a few brief words by a note from Mr. Levinger himself, enclosing her monthly allowance; for from Samuel as yet she would take nothing. Then in January another letter reached her, together with a copy of the local paper, describing the ceremony, the presents, the dress and appearance “of the lovely bride and the gallant bridegroom, Captain Sir Henry Graves, Bart., R.N.”
“At least I have not done all this for nothing,” said Joan, as she threw down the paper; and then for the rest of that day she lay upon her bed moaning with the pain of her bitter jealousy and immeasurable despair.