"Fare thee well! and if forever,
Still forever, fare thee well!"
—Byron.
"Oh, Cecil! now I can marry Tedcastle," says Molly, at the end of a long and exhaustive conversation that has taken place in her own room. She blushes a little as she says it; but it is honestly her first thought, and she gives utterance1 to it. "Letitia, too, and the children,—I can provide for them. I shall buy back dear old Brooklyn, and give it to them, and they shall be happy once more."
"I agree with Lord Byron," says Cecil, laughing. "'Money makes the man; the want of it, his fellow.' You ought to feel like some princess out of the Arabian Nights' Entertainments."
"I feel much more like an intruder. What right have I to Herst? What shall I do with so much money?"
"Spend it. There is nothing simpler. Believe me, no one was ever in reality embarrassed by her riches, notwithstanding all they say. The whole thing is marvelous. Who could have anticipated such an event? I am sorry I ever said anything disparaging2 of that dear, delightful3, genial4, kind-hearted, sociable5, generous old gentleman, your grandfather."
"Don't jest," says Molly, who is almost hysterical6. "I feel more like crying yet. But I am glad at least to know he forgave me before he died. Poor grandpapa! Cecil, I want so much to see Letitia."
"Of course, dear. Well,"—consulting her watch,—"I believe we may as well be getting ready if we mean to catch the next train. Will not it be a charming surprise for Letitia? I quite envy you the telling of it."
"I want you to tell it. I am so nervous I know I shall never get through it without frightening her out of her wits. Do come with me, Cecil, and break the news yourself."
Ringing the bell, she orders round the carriage, and presently she and Molly are wending their way down the stairs.
At the very end of the long, beautiful old hall, stands Philip Shadwell, taking, it may be, a last look from the window, of the place so long regarded as his own.
As they see him, both girls pause, and Molly's lips lose something of their fresh, warm color.
"Go and speak to him now," says Cecil, and, considerately remembering a hypothetical handkerchief, retraces8 her steps to the room she had just quitted.
"Philip!" says Molly, timidly, going up to him.
He turns with a start, and colors a dark red on seeing her, but neither moves nor offers greeting.
"Oh, Philip! let me do something for you," says Molly impulsively9, without preparation, and with tears in her eyes. "I have robbed you, though unwittingly. Let me make amends10. Out of all I have let me give you——"
"The only thing I would take from you it is out of your power to give," he interrupts her, gently.
"Do not say so," she pleads, in trembling tones. "I do not want all the money. I cannot spend it. I do not care for it. Do take some of it, Philip. Let me share——"
"Impossible, child!" with a faint smile. "You don't know what you are saying." Then, with an effort, "You are going to marry Luttrell?"
"How rich to overflowing12 are some, whilst others starve!" he says, bitterly, gazing at her miserably13, filling his heart, his senses, for the last time, with a view of her soft and perfect loveliness. Then, in a kinder tone, "I hope you will be happy, and"—slowly—"he too, though that is a foregone conclusion." He pales a little here, and stops as though half choking. "Yes, he has my best wishes,—for your sake," he goes on, unsteadily. "Tell him so from me, though we have not been good friends of late."
"I will surely tell him."
"Good-bye!" he says, taking her hand. Something in his expression makes her exclaim, anxiously:
"For the present?"
"No; forever. Herst and England have grown hateful to me. I leave them as soon as possible. Good-bye, my beloved!" he whispers, in deep agitation14. "I only ask you not to quite forget me, though I hope—I hope—I shall never look upon your sweet face again."
So he goes, leaving his heart behind him, carrying with him evermore, by land and sea, this only,—the vision of her he loves as last he sees her, weeping sad and bitter tears for him.
A quarter of an hour later, as Molly and Cecil are stepping into the carriage meant to convey them to the station, one of the servants, running up hurriedly, hands Miss Massereene a letter.
"Another?" says Cecil, jestingly, as the carriage starts. "Sealed envelopes, like private bomb-shells, seem to be the order of the day. I do hope this one does not emanate15 from your grandfather, desiring you to refund16 everything."
"It is from Tedcastle," says Molly, surprised. Then she opens it, and reads as follows:
"Taking into consideration the enormous change that has occurred in your fortunes since this morning, I feel it only just to you and myself to write and absolve17 you from all ties by which you may fancy yourself still connected with me. You will remember that in our last conversation together in London you yourself voluntarily decided18 on severing19 our engagement. Let your decision now stand. Begin your new life without hampering20 regrets, without remorseful21 thoughts of me. To you I hope this money may bring happiness; to me, through you, it has brought lasting22 pain; and when, a few minutes ago, I said I congratulated you from my heart, I spoke23 falsely. I say this only to justify24 my last act in your eyes. I will not tell you what it costs me to write you this; you know me well enough to understand. I shall exchange with a friend of mine, and sail for India in a week or two, or at least as soon as I can; but wherever I am, or whatever further misfortunes may be in store for me, be assured your memory will always be my greatest—possibly my only—treasure."
"What can he mean?" says Molly, looking up. She does not appear grieved; she is simply indignant. An angry crimson25 flames on her fair cheeks.
"Quixotism!" says Cecil, when she, too, has read the letter. "Was there ever such a silly boy?"
"Oh! it is worse than anything,—so cold, so terse26, so stupid. And not an affectionate word all through, or a single regret."
"My dear child, that is its only redeeming27 point. He is evidently sincere in his desire for martyrdom. Had he gone into heroics I should myself have gone to Ireland (where I suppose he soon must be) to chastise28 him. But as it is—— Poor Tedcastle! He looks upon it as a point of honor."
"It is unbearable," says Molly, angrily. "Does he think such a paltry29 thing as money could interfere30 with my affection for him?"
"Molly, beware! You are bordering on the heroics now. Money is not a paltry thing; it is about the best thing going. I can sympathize with Tedcastle if you cannot. He felt he had no right to claim the promise of such a transcendently beautiful being as you, now you have added to your other charms twenty thousand a year. He thinks of your future; he acknowledges you a bride worthy31 any duke in the land (men in love"—maliciously—"will dote, you know); he thinks of the world and its opinion, and how fond they are of applying the word 'fortune-hunter' when they get the chance, and it is not a pretty sobriquet32."
"He should have thought of nothing but me. Had he come into a fortune," says Molly, severely33, "I should have been delighted, and I should have married him instantly."
"Quite so. But who ever heard the opprobrious34 term 'fortune-hunter' given to a woman? It is the legitimate35 thing for us to sell ourselves as dearly as we can."
"But, Cecil,"—forlornly,—"what am I to do now?"
"If you will take my advice, nothing,—for two or three weeks. He cannot sail for India before then, and do his best. Preserve an offended silence. Then obtain an interview with him by fair means, or, if not, by foul36."
"You unscrupulous creature!" Molly says, smiling; but after a little reflection she determines to abide37 by her friend's counsel. "Horrible, hateful letter," she says, tearing it up and throwing it out of the window. "I wish I had never read you. I am happier now you are gone."
"So am I. It was villainously worded and very badly written."
"I don't know that," begins Molly, warmly; and then she stops short, and they both laugh. "And you, Cecil—what of you? Am I mistaken in thinking you and Sir Penthony are—are——"
"Yes, we are," says Cecil, smiling and coloring brilliantly. "As you so graphically38 express it, we actually—are. At present, like you, we are formally engaged."
"Really?"—delighted. "I always knew you loved him. And so you have given in at last?"
"Through sheer exhaustion39, and merely with a view to stop further persecution40. When a man comes to you day after day, asking you whether you love him yet, ten to one you say yes in the end, whether it be the truth or not. We all know what patience and perseverance41 can do. But I desire you, Molly, never to lose sight of the fact that I am consenting to be his only to escape his importunities."
"I quite understand. But, dear Cecil, I am so rejoiced."
"Are you, dear?"—provokingly. "And why?—I thought to have a second marriage, if only for the appearance of the thing; but it seems I cannot. So we are going to Kamtschatka, or Bath, or Timbuctoo, or Hong-Kong, or Halifax, for our wedding tour, I really don't know which, and I would not presume to dictate42. That is, if I do not change my mind between that and this."
"And when is that?"
"The seventeenth of next month. He wanted to make it the first of April; but I said I was committing folly43 enough without reminding all the world of it. So he succumbed44. I wish, Molly, you could be married on the same day."
"What am I to do with a lover who refuses to take me?" says Molly, with a rueful laugh. "I dare say I shall be an old maid after all."
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1
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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2
disparaging
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| adj.轻蔑的，毁谤的v.轻视( disparage的现在分词 )；贬低；批评；非难 | |
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3
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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4
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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5
sociable
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| adj.好交际的，友好的，合群的 | |
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6
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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7
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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8
retraces
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| v.折回( retrace的第三人称单数 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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9
impulsively
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| adv.冲动地 | |
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10
amends
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| n. 赔偿 | |
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11
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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12
overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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13
miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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14
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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15
emanate
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| v.发自，来自，出自 | |
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16
refund
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| v.退还，偿还；n.归还，偿还额，退款 | |
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17
absolve
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| v.赦免，解除（责任等） | |
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18
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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19
severing
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的现在分词 )；断，裂 | |
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20
hampering
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| 妨碍，束缚，限制( hamper的现在分词 ) | |
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21
remorseful
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| adj.悔恨的 | |
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22
lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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23
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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24
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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25
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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26
terse
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| adj.(说话，文笔)精炼的，简明的 | |
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27
redeeming
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| 补偿的，弥补的 | |
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28
chastise
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| vt.责骂，严惩 | |
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29
paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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30
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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31
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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32
sobriquet
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| n.绰号 | |
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33
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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34
opprobrious
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| adj.可耻的，辱骂的 | |
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35
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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36
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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37
abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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38
graphically
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| adv.通过图表；生动地，轮廓分明地 | |
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39
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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40
persecution
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| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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41
perseverance
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| n.坚持不懈，不屈不挠 | |
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42
dictate
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| v.口授；(使)听写；指令，指示，命令 | |
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43
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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44
succumbed
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| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的过去式和过去分词 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
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