“Mr. Edgar,” she said, “you cannot think that I am not moved by such a letter. Oh! I’m not mercenary, I don’t think I am mercenary! but to have all this put at my feet, to feel that it would be for Charles’s good and for Sibby’s good, if I could make up my mind!”
Here she stopped, and cast a glance back at the house again. Edgar had been taking a melancholy walk along the side of the loch, where she had joined him. Her heart was wrung by a private conflict, which she could not put into words, but which he divined. He felt sure of it, from all he had seen and heard since they came, as well as from the impression conveyed to his mind the moment she had named the sailor Willie’s name. I do not know why it should be humbling for a woman to love without return, when it is not humbling for a man; but it is certain that for nothing in the world would Margaret have breathed the cause of her lingering unwillingness to do anything which should separate her from Willie; and that Edgar felt hot and ashamed for her, and turned away his eyes, that she might not see any insight in them. At the same time, however, the question had another side for him, and involved his own fortunes. He tried to dismiss this thought altogether out of his mind, but it was hard to do so. Had she loved Harry Thornleigh, Edgar would have felt himself all the more pledged to impartiality, because this union would seriously endanger his own; but to help to ruin himself by encouraging a mercenary marriage, this would be hard indeed!
“Are you sure that you would get so many advantages?—to Charles and to Sibby?” he cried, with a coldness impossible to conceal.
She looked at him startled, the tears arrested in her blue eyes. She had never doubted upon this point. Could she make up her mind to marry Harry, every external advantage that heart could desire she felt would be secured. This first doubt filled her with dismay.
“Would I no?” she cried faltering. “He is a rich man’s heir, Lady Mary’s nephew—a rich gentleman. Oh! Cousin Edgar, what will you think of me? I have always been poor, and Charles is poor—how can I put that out of my mind?”
“I do not blame you,” said Edgar, feeling ashamed both of himself and her. And then he added, “He is a rich man’s son, but his father is not old; and he would not receive you gladly into his family. Forgive me that I say so—I ought to tell you that I am not a fair judge. I am going to marry Harry’s sister, and they object very much to me.”
“Object to you!—they are ill to please,” cried Margaret, with simple natural indignation. “But if you were in the family, that would make things easier for us,” she added, wistfully, looking up in his face.
“You have made up your mind, then, to run the risk?” said Edgar, feeling his heart sink.
“I did not say that.” She gave another glance at the house again. Willie was standing at the door, in the morning sunshine, and beckoned to her to come back. She turned to him, as a flower turns to the sun. “No, I am far, far from saying that,” said the young woman, with a mixture of sadness and gladness, turning to obey the summons.
Edgar stood still, looking after her with wondering gaze. The good-looking sailor, whose likeness to himself did not make him proud, was a poor creature enough to be as the sun in the heavens to this beautiful, stately young woman, who looked as if she had been born to be a princess. What a strange world it is, and how doubly strange is human nature! Willie had but to hold up a finger, and Margaret would follow him to the end of the earth; though the rest of his friends judged him rightly enough, and though even little Jeanie, though she loved, could scarcely approve her brother, Margaret was ready to give up even her hope of wealth and state, which she loved, for this Sultan’s notice. Strange influence, which no man could calculate upon, which no prudence restrained, nor higher nor lower sentiment could quite subdue!