“I hope to show my friends, and the world too, my dear Mrs. Stangrove,” said Jack, standing up and squaring his broad shoulders, “that one fall has not taken all the fight out of me. But it is an uphill game, and I may, like many a better man, find the odds too heavy. But, whatever happens, you may believe that I shall not forget my friends at Juandah, who have proved themselves such in my hour of need.”
“I have heard,” at length Maud said, in low faltering tones, “that people in—in their dark hours—and we all have them at some time of our lives—should walk by the counsel of their friends if they know them to be good and true. We are too apt to be led by our own wayward spirits, and sorrow warps our better judgment. I know Mark will be glad to give you his best advice. And oh! do—do talk matters over with him. He is cool, and sure judging, and is seldom mistaken in his course.”
Mrs. Stangrove had slipped out “on household work intent.”
“Maud,” he said, “dearest, loveliest, best-beloved, why has fortune, so kind though unsought for many a year, deserted me now, when for the first time in my life I had prized her with a miser’s joy for your dear sake, and for yours alone? My heart will break—is broken—at the thought of leaving you. But——”
“Why should you leave us—me, if you will have it so?” interrupted she passionately; “stay with us for a time till your wound be healed, as in the first dear time when I nursed you, and knew the joy of lightening your weary hours and soothing all your pain. Do you think mine a fair-weather love, given in assurance of ease, and pleasure, and fairy summer-time—or did I yield my heart to be yours in weal or woe? You dishonour me by an implied mistrust—and yourself by such faint-hearted fears of the future.”
She had risen, and laid her hand on his shoulder as she spoke with all the aroused magnetic energy of tender, yet impetuous womanhood, ere yet experience has quenched the open trust of youth, or sorrow smirched the faint delicate hues of beauty.
“Promise me that you will talk your plans over with Mark. And oh! if you would but follow his advice.”
Jack groaned aloud, but his face was set unyieldingly, as he took her hand in both of his, and looked pityingly and mournfully in the sweet pale face, and loving, tear-brightened eyes.
“My darling, my darling,” he said, hoarsely, “it cannot be. I must tread my path alone. For good or for evil, I will confront my fate sole and unfriended, and either make a name and another fortune, or add mine to the corses on life’s battle-field. If I live and prosper I will return to my love. But here I release her from the pain and the lowliness of a life linked to so ill-starred a destiny as that of John Redgrave.”