Chapter XVIII: Wooing by Proxy

IN three more days Ralph was dressed and lying on a couch in Kathleen's boudoir. She and Geraldine had adorned it with flowers and autumn foliage, and were sitting by him.

"You will be running about directly," said Geraldine. "Shall you not be glad?"

"Yes, but it will be horrid to go to Monk's How. So lonely!"

Ralph pulled Ger's face down and kissed it, then called Kathleen, that he might kiss her also.

"Let us be happy to-day," said Ger. "We have so much to be glad about." A sound of wheels drew her to the window, and she added, "I must go. Mother is out, and here comes a carriage full of callers."

"You must do duty for me too, Ger," said Kathleen. "Sarah has gone over to Monk's How, nurse is lying down, and I must guard this youngster, lest he should take another climbing fit."

Ralph laughed, and seized Kathleen, exclaiming, "It is lovely to have you to myself. I want to talk to you about something."

Out came the story of his longings to have her for a mother. The boy would not be silenced. He clung to her excitedly as he pleaded.

"I do so love you, Miss Mountford, and I want you to be my mother. You are good to me, and I am so happy, and I want to be really good when I am with you. It's dreadful to think of leaving you. I shall get ill again and die, I know I shall, if you send me away. Say you won't, darling, say you won't!"

Ralph hid his face on Kathleen's arm, and sobbed. She was terrified, and would have summoned help, but his clinging grasp detained her, and she had to try to soothe him as best she might.

"Dear boy, you will injure yourself, and you are grieving me. I will do all I can for you. I will ask your father to let you stay here with me, and be my boy. You must not cry so. What shall I do?"

Her distressed tones had a calming effect on Ralph.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'll try to be quiet. But I don't seem to care whether I am ill again or not. I could not be your boy and leave father by himself, and he said that he is not good enough for you. I think he is good—"

A light rap at the door interrupted the sentence. Kathleen called, "Come in!" thankful for the prospect of relief, and John Torrance entered, having been guided to the room by a servant.

The sight of Ralph dressed and in the sitting-room was to have been a pleasant surprise for the father, but this was marred by the boy's excitement. Kathleen wished to explain, but blushed, hesitated, and remained silent. "I'll tell you, father," said Ralph, in a more subdued tone, but still clinging firmly to Kathleen, who, unable to extricate herself; was compelled to listen whilst the boy repeated all that he had just said.

A more painful position for a girl to be placed in could hardly be imagined, and it was intensified when Ralph added—

"Father is here now. He will tell you how glad he will be if you will be my mother. Say you will, darling."

The thin hands clung more tightly, tears again flowed down the boy's pale cheeks, whilst the upturned face had a pleading look upon it that matched the words Ralph had spoken.

On Kathleen's face an expression of combined indignation and distress appeared. At this moment all the gossip about Captain Torrance rushed to her mind, and she thought, "Ralph is his tool. How horrible, when we have been trying to make the child's life happier and better!"

Kathleen's eyes flashed with anger. She could not think of the boy, but with a sudden jerk released herself, feeling sorry that she had not done this before.

"It is impossible for me to remain here," she said. "I leave Ralph with you. I can never forgive a person who could put such words into a child's mouth."

"Surely, Miss Mountford, you do not believe in the existence of such a person. The scene has distressed me beyond measure. It is, however, the outcome of Ralph's intense love for you which your goodness has inspired," replied Captain Torrance. "Your home has been a haven of peace. Your indulgent love and the kindness of your relatives and guardian have made his lonely home and motherless condition more terrible. Is it wonderful that he loathes the thought of Monk's How? I pray you forgive him for loving you—not too much, but too selfishly. I cannot ask your pardon, for I am innocent, and would, if I could, blot this scene out of your memory and mine."

Never had John Torrance looked so dignified as at that moment. Kathleen felt ashamed of her indirect accusation. The angry look faded from her face, and she simply said—

"I believe you."

"That's right!" cried Ralph. "It wasn't father. Now he's angry with me."

"He will forgive you, and I must also, and try to be stern enough to put you a little out of love with me for the future."

"You will never do that. I must go on loving you if you cannot be—Oh dear! I nearly said something. I must go to sleep and forget."

Ralph looked weary, and closed his eyes, saying, "I will hold your hand; it helps me to sleep."

Soon his quiet breathing told of unconsciousness, and the watchers rejoiced that the excitement was past, though it had left him exhausted.

"Ralph was right," said the captain, in a low tone. "Having given the whole heart, one must go on loving, if return be hopeless."

"That is not Ralph's case. We all love the boy," said Kathleen.

"I know, and am grateful. The case is mine. I have given my whole heart to one who deserves that of the best and noblest of mankind. So I have no hope. I will not be wicked enough to ask for a return;" and he looked eloquently at the girl.

Kathleen understood. This man loved her, but was too honest to ask her to link her fate with his.

"Captain Torrance—" she began.

He interrupted. "I have no right to be called so. I forfeited the honour when, years ago, I was allowed to resign my commission instead of being deprived of it. Old acquaintances use it out of mistaken courtesy. From your lips it comes as a reproach; not that you would deem it such, but conscience reminds me that the time is long past when I could honestly claim the title as a servant of my Queen and country."

"I want you to listen for a few moments," he added; and before Kathleen could assent or otherwise, he was pouring into her ear the story of his past life—"so far as he could tell it to a girl."

Kathleen listened as if fascinated, alas! with more of sympathy than repulsion, and at length the speaker closed with these words—

"I have told you all. I have lost my ample fortune; lost the good name my father left me, deeming it my best heritage. I am a ruined man, and worse, for I have robbed my boy of all that ought to have descended to him. Monk's How is only mine on sufferance, and a very few months hence I must turn my back upon it for ever, and seek a refuge for Ralph and myself in some far-away land, where no one will be able to remind him of his father's follies and sins. Yet once my life and home were blessed by an angel's presence. I had the whole-hearted love of one of the sweetest women that ever lived, and she died believing in me."

"I am so sorry—so very sorry!" said Kathleen, as John Torrance's voice died into silence and he rose to leave her. "Is there nothing that can be done?"

"Ask yourself, Miss Mountford."

Kathleen could not reply, and he continued: "There is only one way of salvation for me. Were my Adela living, and as she was, when, with every advantage of family, fortune, and beauty, she became my wife, I, with my present experience, could look forward with confidence to a new and better life. But how could any other girl risk her future with that of a ruined spendthrift? If there were one so noble, so unselfish, as to stoop in order to raise John Torrance from the mire into which he has fallen, others would step in to save her from her too rash generosity. I would die a beggar by the roadside sooner than I would be guilty of the crime of asking her for such a sacrifice; even though I could say, as indeed I can, that I love her with all the strength of my being. My love for Adela was selfish, though sincere. I will not be selfish a second time."

The man's voice trembled as he ended. He bent over his sleeping boy and touched his forehead with his lips, then rose to leave the room.

Kathleen's beautiful eyes were moist, but her face was lighted by such a look as John Torrance had never before seen there. She placed her hand in his, he thought by way of farewell, but when he held it she made no effort to withdraw it from his clasp. He felt it tremble, and interpreting the expression on her face aright, he exclaimed—

"Miss Mountford—Kathleen, dearest, can it be possible that you care for one so unworthy as I, penniless, homeless, and ruined to boot? I did not think that even you, noble, high-souled, generous as you are, could make so great a sacrifice."

He drew her towards him, and she, hiding her face on his shoulder, whispered, "I am so weak myself in everything that is best; but we will help one another."

"My darling, your goodness is too great. I feel that I ought not to accept such a sacrifice, though it would be heaven on earth for Ralph and me to have you joined to us by the dearest ties."

"I will make Ralph happy soon," said Kathleen, as she again hid her glowing face. "I will tell him that, after all, I have promised to be his mother."

"Such a promise will be enough to restore him to health. Oh, Kathleen, you give me your sweet self, and you will give me back my boy! Was ever so generous a maiden? I trust my life-long devotion will prove alike my love and gratitude."

He held her in his arms and kissed her tenderly, feeling for the moment almost overwhelmed by what, mentally, he would have called "his astonishing luck."

"What will your guardians say?" he asked, after a short silence. "I shall be sorry for Matheson. He has done so much for me, unknown to all but ourselves."

"He is my true friend, and as such he will desire nothing so much as my happiness," replied Kathleen.

"I believe it. He is capable of any self-sacrifice. It will be hard for me to tell him, dearest, all the same."

"He will return to-morrow," said Kathleen. "In the meanwhile—"

She looked up as if for guidance.

"In the meanwhile we will keep our happy secret to ourselves. What say you?"

Kathleen assented, and with a lover's farewell John Torrance left her to muse over what had passed, and the change wrought in her life prospects.

She had time, for Ralph slept long. She pictured a life with one saved and elevated to more than his former best estate. She never doubted her power or John Torrance's gratitude. The opportunity would realize dreams, and make noble, unselfish plans into realities also. Two lives, those of Ralph and his father, would be blessed by the dedication of her own. This would be reward enough.

As to John Torrance, he walked homeward feeling little like the man lately so humble, and saying to himself, "Poor Ralph has done a splendid stroke of business for us both. It is really too absurd, but my beautiful Kathleen gave herself to me without being directly asked. I told a story, and she jumped straight to a conclusion."

Kathleen's musings were interrupted by her cousin. The visitors were gone at last, and Ger regretted Kathleen's long, lonely watch beside Ralph.

"Captain Torrance came, and Ralph got excited, and frightened us both before he fell asleep. I will call Sarah now, for I am tired," said Kathleen. "I was glad to escape the Westons, though. They are such arrant gossips."

"I was glad of your absence; too. They have little to do, and their one resource is the discussion of their neighbours."

"What was to-day's subject?"

"Ralph's accident. Regret for his presence here as an excuse for his father's visits, a long tirade against the latter, and a devout wish that no harm may happen to any of us through him. These were the main topics."

"Perhaps I may find them a more interesting one soon," said Kathleen; then, as Geraldine looked inquiringly, she added, "I shall be of age in three months."

"True, and they will speculate about the festivities."

"Anything else of interest?"

"Hetty Stapleton is come to make a long stay at Oakwood."

Geraldine expected that Kathleen would express her pleasure at this, but she was silently wondering how Hetty would receive the news of her engagement, when it became public.

"I suppose she will hate me for winning what she most desired," was her own first thought.

She was wrong, but not to blame for a false impression which John Torrance had managed to convey to her mind respecting his acquaintance with Hetty.

The latter was longing to see Kathleen, and full of fears on her account, and because of the captain's frequent visits.

"As to Aylmer," thought Hetty, "he is too unselfish. Had I been in his place, Captain Jack should never have crossed the threshold of Hollingsby Hall. Moreover, he should have found Monk's How too hot to hold him long ago. Aye, and I would have been Kathleen's affianced husband too, for had that man been out of the way he would have stood first. She trusts and esteems Aylmer, and love would have followed but for a bit of high-flown, romantic folly that has got into the girl's head. She thinks she can save John Torrance and Ralph. I am convinced she is full of plans to effect this. Cost what it may, I will try to open her eyes to her danger."

Full of this resolution, Hetty went early to the Hall on the following morning, and asked for Miss Mountford.

Kathleen received her pleasantly enough, but the old girlish heartiness was absent, and Hetty could not help feeling that they met again on different terms from those which existed when they last parted.

They talked of many things. Hetty's journeyings and new experiences, of Kathleen's own, of Ralph's illness and present condition, and of the family at Oakwood. Then, in a quiet fashion, Hetty stepped on forbidden ground, and began to speak of John Torrance. She hardly knew how she found courage, but she did begin a story with which few beside herself were acquainted, and which need not be, repeated here.

Kathleen at first listened quietly, but at length she exclaimed, "How dare you repeat such falsehoods? Shame on you to attack a fallen man behind his back! But I have learned that hopeless love will sometimes turn to hate, and that a girl will leave no stone unturned to revenge a slight! But I thought better things of you, Hetty Stapleton."

"What do you mean, Kathleen? Never did I entertain anything like affection for John Torrance, or even respect; but till now I should have thought him incapable of inventing an untruth to prejudice you. I have spoken in your interests, vainly, I can see. Some day you will know the falsehood lies not with me; and for myself, I would die sooner than share the lot of such a man as John Torrance, and with such a past!"

"He did not say you had—" Kathleen paused.

"Been in love with him," said Hetty. "Perhaps not in so many words, but there are ways of conveying impressions apart from speech. You are angry, and I am sharing the fate of those who, with a right motive, give unwelcome information. I have often dared to do it, and earned gratitude thereby. To-day I have lost my friend in the effort to save her from the effects of her too generous, trustful nature. Farewell, Kitty. May God preserve you from yourself! I cannot."

Hetty left the room and the house, without waiting for a reply, feeling unhappy, but no more so than did Kathleen. A shrug of the shoulders, an indirect sentence, a meaning look which, as used by John Torrance, might have applied to anybody. On this foundation Kathleen had insulted Hetty, accused her of a vile motive in speaking, and as good as told her that she had, in unmaidenly fashion, flung herself at John Torrance's feet, to be repulsed and scorned!

When the passion was over, Kathleen thought of what she really knew about Hetty. She saw in her a girl, true to her friends, helpful to the weak, wise to advise, cheer, comfort and strengthen others, and always incapable of falsehood or meanness.

What had John Torrance been by his own confession?

She shrank from the picture, but said to herself, "How different will the future be from the past, which I will help him to forget!"

Then about Hetty. "She is too generous to keep up a grudge. Some day I shall ask her to forgive my hasty words, and when she sees me happy, despite the past, she will forgive and rejoice with me."

It was a terrible surprise to Aylmer Matheson when, as soon as possible after his return, John Torrance sought an interview with him, and asked his consent to his engagement with Kathleen, and his influence with Mrs. Ellicott.

"I am not worthy of her, I know," he said, "but girls seldom choose the best man, even when choice is theirs, or I should not have been the husband of such a woman as was my boy's mother. But Kathleen loves me, and has promised to be my wife, and she is fully informed as to my hopeless pecuniary position. I will agree to anything in reason as to the settlement of the property, the estate absolutely, and part of the money. As to the past, it is irrevocable. I can only begin again."

"Yes," said Aylmer, "the present is yours, and there is help to be had." He felt that opposition would be hopeless.

"Shall I not make a fresh start with an angel of goodness by my side to help me? And you will be my friend, Matheson. I do not forget what I owe to you, and you shall not find me ungrateful," was the reply.

"I will do all I can for Kathleen's sake, and yours," he added. "But I cannot forget that you, as you acknowledge, had an angel of goodness by your side once before, when you made a new beginning. Believe me, Torrance, there is only One whose help will make you strong to withstand temptation. If I knew you sought such guidance, I should be more hopeful."

"You think I failed with Adela beside me. Do you think I shall rush into the old follies after past experience? If so, you must deem me weak indeed."

"I have seen enough to know that experience does not give strength," said Aylmer.

Carried away by his own faith, and his anxiety, too, for Kathleen, he pleaded with John Torrance as he had never thought to speak to a man of his stamp.

"You are the best fellow I ever met," said the other as he finished. "If you had gone into the Church, you would have carried all before you. I will think of your words, though I make no promise to follow your advice. I doubt whether my sweet Kathleen would like a saint as well as she does good-for-nothing Jack Torrance, whom she is going to take in hand and reform. So far, her preferences have been in favour of the sinner rather than the saint."

The speaker laughed, and Aylmer's cheek flushed, for he detected a sneer beneath the jesting words, and was pained by it.

Captain Torrance saw the look, and continued. "Do not misunderstand my jesting words. Feeling as you do, you cannot regard me as a desirable husband for Kathleen; but until you have spoken to her I will not ask your consent. Be sure, however, we should both be happier for having it, and Mrs. Ellicott's also."

Kathleen prevented the possibility of any difficulty when the subject was named to her.

"Glad as I should be to have your consent and aunty's, I will not seek it; and, though I have no fears respecting my future, you shall have no responsibility, whatever may happen. I will not marry until I am my own mistress."

Mrs. Ellicott was distressed, but helpless; for Kathleen deferred to her guardians in everything until the end of their trust. As for Aylmer, he would have forfeited his whole fortune, if by so doing he could have prevented the ill-omened marriage, though his prospect of winning Kathleen himself would have remained hopeless. He sometimes thought that Torrance would prefer wealth alone, rather than with a wife, however charming.

On the other hand, Aylmer noticed that Kathleen was exacting in requiring her lover's attendance, and that Torrance showed a scarcely veiled impatience to escape. "No wonder," thought Aylmer. "He has so long been unused to home-life that it soon palls upon him. What will the future bring, when such a life is expected to be lasting?"

He hinted these doubts to John Torrance in a half-jesting way, and the answer startled him.

"You think I shall not settle down easily after my recent vagabond life, but we shall not need to be quite humdrum in our habits. Kathleen must see something of life, and I shall delight in introducing her to it, in order to give her new interests, before we drop into the domestic rut. After a season in town we shall enjoy Hollingsby and rural felicity," replied the other, with a laugh.

Perhaps John Torrance read the fears that filled Aylmer's mind as he listened, and he continued: "You have no faith in me, but mind, I am not wholly selfish and mercenary, though you know how needy I am—none better. But let me tell you, that if you could and would hand over to me every yard of land and every penny she possesses, with your fortune to boot, on condition of giving up Kathleen, I would refuse all. She has honoured me by her choice. A world's wealth would not to give her up."

"Who could relinquish one like Kathleen?" asked Aylmer, with a sigh. "Be good and true to her, Torrance. Make her happy, and those who love her will be happy in knowing it, and bless you as the cause."