“You will go?” cried Polly; “and where will you go? Who have you got to take you in? People ain’t so fond of you. A woman as can do nothing for herself, who wants her? and isn’t even obliging. Oh, you are going to your room again, to be sulky there? But I tell you I won’t have it. You shall sit where the family sits or you shall go out of the place altogether. And you’ll come to your meals like other people, and you’ll mix with them as is there, and not set up your white face, as if you were better than all the world. You’re not so grand as you think you are, Miss Lottie Despard. If it comes to that I’m a Despard as well as you; and I’m a married woman, with an ’usband to work for me—an ’usband,” cried Polly, “as doesn’t require to work for me, as has enough to keep me like a lady—if it wasn’t that he has a set of lazy grown-up children as won’t do nothing for themselves, but eat us out of ’ouse and ’ome!”
Was it possible that this humiliation had come to Lottie—to Lottie of all people—she who had felt that the well-being of the house hung upon her, and that she alone stood between her family and utter downfall? She sat still, not even attempting now to escape, her ears tingling, her heart beating. It was incredible that it was she, her very self, Lottie, who was bearing this. It must be a dream; it was impossible that it could be true.
And thus Lottie sat the whole of the evening, too proud to withdraw, and bore the brunt of a long series of attacks, which were interrupted, indeed, by the supper, to which Polly had to give some personal care, and by Captain Despard’s entrance and Law’s. Polly told her story to her husband with indignant vehemence. “I asked her,” she said, “to help me a bit with my music—I know you’re fond of music, Harry—and I thought we’d learn up some duets or something, her and me, to please you; and she says she can’t play the piano! and, then, not to show no offence, I said as singing would do just as well, and then she says she can’t sing!” The Captain received this statement with much caressing of his wife and smoothing of her ruffled plumes. He said, “Lottie, another time you’ll pay more attention,” with a severe aspect; and not even Law had a word to say in her defence. As to Law, indeed, he was very much preoccupied with his own affairs; his eyes were shining, his face full of secret importance and meaning. Lottie saw that he was eager to catch her eye, but she did not understand the telegraphic communications he addressed to her. Nor did she understand him much better when he pulled her sleeve and whispered, “I am going to Australia,” when the tedious evening was over. Law’s career had fallen out of her thoughts in the troubles of those few weeks past. She had even ceased to ask how he was getting on, or take any interest in his books; she remembered this with a pang when she found herself at last safe in the shelter of her room. She had given up one part of her natural duty when the other was taken from her. Australia? What could he mean? She thought she would question him to-morrow; but to-morrow brought her another series of petty struggles, and once more concentrated her mind upon her own affairs.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
LOTTIE SUBDUED.
“I waited half an hour. I was not very happy,” said Rollo. “It is never cold when you are here, but last night the wind went through and through me. That is the consequence of being alone. And you, my Lottie, had you no compunctions? Could you make yourself happy without any thought of the poor fellow freezing under the elm-tree?”
“Happy!” Lottie cried. She was happy now. Last night she had been alone, no one in the world caring what became of her; now she felt safe, as if the world held nothing but friends; but she shivered, notwithstanding her lover’s supporting arm.
“Not happy then? Does it not answer, darling? Can you endure the woman? Is she better than at first? I like her,” said Rollo, “for you know it was her arrival which opened your heart to me—which broke the ice—which brought us together. I shall always feel charitably towards her for that.”
Lottie shivered again. “No, it is not because of the cold,” she said. “I do not suppose you could understand if I were to tell you. Home! I have not any home!” cried the girl. “I was thinking—if it was really true what you said the other night—if it would make no difference to you, Rollo, to take your wife out of some poor little lodging instead of out of her father’s house—are you sure you would not mind?” she said, looking wistfully, anxiously into his face. In the waning light all he could see distinctly was this wistful dilation of her eyes, gazing intently to read, before he could utter it, his answer in his face. “I could manage to live somehow,” she went on, tremulously. “Though I cannot give lessons, I can work, very well. I think I am almost sure I could get work. No; I would not take money from you; I could not, Rollo:—not until—no, no; that would be quite impossible; rather stay here and bear it all than that. But if really, truly, to marry a poor girl, living in a poor little room, working for her bread, would not make any difference to you——. Oh, I know, I know it is not what ought to be—even here, even at home, I am not equal to you. You ought to have some one a great deal better off—a great deal higher in the world. But if you would not think it—discreditable; if you would not be ashamed—— oh, Rollo,” she cried, “I cannot bear it! it is impossible to bear it!—I would ask you to do what you offered and take me away!”
It is impossible to describe the feelings with which Rollo listened to these unexpected words. To see a bird walk into the snare must awake compunctions in the most experienced trapper. The same sensation does not attend a sudden fall; but the sight of an innocent creature going calmly into the death set before it, as if into safety and shelter—a man must be hard indeed to see that unmoved. And Rollo was no villain. His heart gave one wild leap again, as it had done when, in the hurrying of passion, not with deliberation (as he had always been comforted to think), he had laid that snare. The thrill of his hairbreadth escape from her horror and loathing, the leap of sudden, horrified delight to find her in his power all at once, by her own act and deed, transported him for the moment with almost uncontrollable power; and then this sudden passion in his mind was met by the stream, the torrent, of a more generous impulse, a nobler passion, which carried everything before it. A man may trap his prey with guile, he may take advantage of the half-willingness of a frail resistance; but to turn to shame the perfect and tender confidence of innocence, who but a villain could do that? and Rollo was no villain. He grasped her almost convulsively in his arms as she spoke; he tried to interrupt her, the words surging, almost incoherent, to his lips. “Lottie! my Lottie!” he cried, “this is not how it must be. Do you think I will let you go to live alone, to work, as you say?” He took her hand hastily, and kissed the little cold fingers with lips that trembled. “No, my love, my darling, not that—but I will go to town to-morrow and settle how we can be married—at once, without an hour’s delay. Oh, yes, it is possible, dear—quite possible. It is the only thing to do. Why, why did I not think of it before? I will go and settle everything, and get the licence. That is the way. My darling, you must not say a word. You had made up your mind to marry me some time, and why not to-morrow—next day—as soon as I can settle? What should we wait for? who should we think of except ourselves? And I want you, my love; and you, thank heaven, Lottie, have need of me.”
He held her close to him, in a grasp which was almost fierce—fierce in the strain of virtue and honour, in which his own nature, with all its easy principles and vacillations, was caught too. He wanted to be off and do it at once, without losing a moment, lest his heart should fail. He would do it, whatever might oppose. She should never know that less worthy thoughts had been in his mind. She should find that her trust was not vain. His blood ran in his veins like a tumultuous river, and his heart beat so that Lottie herself was overawed by the commotion as he held her against it. She was half frightened by his vehemence and tried to speak, but he would not let her at first. “No,” he said, “no, you must not say anything. You must not oppose me. It must be done first, and then we can think of it after. There is nothing against it, and everything in its favour. You must not say a word but Yes,” he cried.