Chapter VIII: A Decisive Step

"I WANT a little talk with you myself to-day, Marigold," said Mrs. Heavitree. "Narcissus is out with the children; and you can see her by-and-by when she returns. Come into my boudoir now."

"I wanted to speak to you too, ma'am," said Marigold, following as directed.

"Which first?" asked Mrs. Heavitree, smiling. "I suppose our subjects are hardly the same. What is yours?"

"About mother's health, ma'am."

"Ah! I have suspected something to be wrong there."

"She never said a word till the other day,—when I got home from here. I found her so bad, she couldn't keep up any longer,—and then she told." Marigold gave particulars, adding,—"Mother don't want to see a doctor, but father says she must; and he thought perhaps you'd advise us."

"She ought to do so without delay. I think I can help you. My brother, Dr. Wilton—a London surgeon—is coming to me next week for a few days; and he is particularly skilful in such matters. You must have seen him once at the Vicarage. I have a visit from him occasionally. No? You think not? Well, tell your father, but not Mrs. Plunkett. She would only grow nervous beforehand. I will bring him in one day; and she will like him, before she knows that he is a doctor. He has a most kind manner. Then he shall look into her health, and tell us what he thinks."

"I'm sure I can't thank you enough, ma'am. And father will be so glad."

"You shall thank me by listening now to something else that I have to say. Can you at all guess what it is about?"

Marigold shook her head; though the thought of Todd did come up, and when his name was uttered by Mrs. Heavitree, she felt no surprise.

"It has been said lately—with how much truth you know—that you and Todd are engaged to be married, or at least likely to be engaged."

"We're not engaged," said Marigold, flushing. "He's been in pretty often at home lately."

"And your father approves of it?"

"Father likes James. Mother did say one day that he wouldn't like that," added Marigold. "But I don't see how she knew."

"Probably your father had said so to her."

"I don't know, ma'am. I don't see why. He's always pleased to see James."

"To see him as a friend. That may be. Todd is a pleasant young man, I believe. But is he a good man?"

"I'm sure he wants to do right," said Marigold rather faintly.

"If he can do it, without trouble to himself."

"He does want to get work, ma'am."

"But he has had work offered to him again and again; and he keeps to nothing. Marigold, I want you very much to look this matter in the face bravely. I don't even ask whether Todd is a man of high religious principle, because that unhappily I know he is not." Marigold opened her lips, and shut them again. "I ask only—is he steady and hard-working? Is he one who could be expected to make his wife happy?"

"I think he's steady," said Marigold, not so confidently as when she had spoken to Narcissus.

"I'm afraid—not—always," said Mrs. Heavitree gently. "My husband has twice come across him, lately, the worse for drink."

Marigold said nothing; but her downcast face showed what she felt.

"I know you too well to believe it possible that you could ever be happy with a drunkard for a husband. Impossible that you should. Life would be one long misery. And the habit is one which grows upon a man fearfully, unless nipped in a very early stage."

"He says he'd do anything for me," faltered the girl.

"He would not give up drinking for you! He would not keep steadily to hard work for you. He does neither now,—even for the hope of winning you; and if once you were his wife, you would be powerless. He would go his own way, and you would have to endure. Do you think I have not seen it, scores of times? Every girl thinks she can reform the man whom she wishes to marry; and it is only after marriage that she finds her mistake. I want you to know it beforehand."

"But James isn't a drinking man—commonly," urged Marigold. "Those two times he might have been overcome; but he don't commonly, ma'am. I've never seen him so. And if he had a good wife, and a nice little home—"

"You are trusting to a rope of sand. If once a man has put his foot on that steep slope, it takes far more to hold him back than wife or home. God's grace alone can do it . . . Besides, what chance is there that Todd can ever have a nice little home? Unless he were to work steadily, such a home could not exist . . . Probably he would expect you to work: and what sort of a home does that mean?

"An idle husband, and a toiling wife,—not to speak of neglected little ones. A wife and mother cannot do everything. She cannot support the household, make a comfortable home, and train her children, all at once. I am speaking very plainly, because girls do not think or look forward; and I want you to think; I want you to look forward. Marriage is no light matter. You enter upon it for life,—''till death you do part.'

"And it is not a question only as to yourself and Todd. You know as well as I do what marriage will probably mean. No man or woman has a right to marry, unless he and she have a reasonable prospect, not only of keeping themselves in comfort, but of feeding, and clothing, and rightly training, the helpless little ones, who may be given to them by God,—given to bring up for HIM! No man, whether gentleman or working man, has a right to marry unless such a prospect is his,—and no woman has a right either. Mere boys and girls rush recklessly into marriage, day after day, without a thought of the future,—yet by-and-by they will have to answer, before the Throne of God Himself, for the manner in which their children have turned out."

"I'm sure I never thought about all that," said Marigold in a subdued tone.

"Girls do not think; and a kind of false delicacy often keeps people from warning them in time. There is no step in life, about which one ought so seriously to count the cost, so anxiously to weigh one's responsibilities, as marriage,—just because it involves so much, and because it can never be undone . . . Will you give your mind to what I have said? Do not at least drift into a step which may spoil your whole life, not to speak of other lives.

"And pray to be guided. Even if James Todd's character were in other qualities all that one could desire,—I mean if he were entirely steady, thoroughly hard-working,—even then I should still ask you to think how far you, who try to serve God from the heart, could be happy with a husband who professes no religion at all. But he falls short of even such lower requirements. Think it over well, Marigold."

"I will indeed, ma'am," Marigold answered, and her eyes were full of tears.

Nothing passed that day between Marigold and Narcissus on the subject of Todd. Marigold did not refer to him, and Narcissus wisely held her peace. Marigold was very thoughtful while at the Vicarage, and still more on her way home. She was alone this time, having carefully abstained from telling Todd of her little expedition. But half-way back, to her surprise, he appeared as before, from behind a clump of bushes, and walked forward with a confident air.

Then a swift thought came to Marigold that now was the time to make a stand—to hold herself free. "I'm not to drift into it!" she told herself resolutely, and she stopped short.

"Well, so here you are, eh?" said Todd. "Didn't let me know, but I found out, you see!"

"I didn't tell, because I didn't mean to walk home with you," said Marigold.

Todd laughed easily. "Can't help it now,—as I'm here!"

"I don't think it's right. Father would not be pleased."

"Rubbish!"

"It's not rubbish. I mean what I say."

"Rubbish!" repeated Todd. "Come along."

"No. It is not right. I would rather walk home alone."

"But I say—! What on earth—? Who's been setting you against me?"

Marigold was silent, questioning in her mind what to say next.

"Eh? Who's been talking against me?"

Marigold moved on, and James walked by her side. She stopped again.

"I'd rather go home alone, please."

"And I'd rather you wouldn't."

"Very well;" and Marigold quietly proceeded. "Then it isn't my fault. You can do as you like, and I shall tell father,—and he can do as he likes."

"You won't! You wouldn't be such a—"

"I've warned you!"

Todd did not believe her. He thought she was half in fun; and he kept his place by her side resolutely.

Marigold quickened her pace, and answered his remarks only in monosyllables; but he was not to be driven off.

Reaching the street in which she lived, he again asked: "I say, who's been setting you against me?"

"I've heard one thing," Marigold said slowly. "And that is—that you've been seen—taking too much."

"Oh, come now! You ain't so particular as all that! If I did take just a drop more than I needed, once in a year, what then? A man can't always be shilly-shallying. I vow it wasn't more than a drop,—and just about once a year."

"Or once a month," said Marigold. Then she looked straight at him, and said firmly,—"I'd sooner do anything in the world—I'd sooner die—than marry a man who was on the way to become a drunkard."

"Now, Marigold! What nonsense you do talk!"

"I mean it," said Marigold. She had trembled a little at the beginning of their talk, but now she trembled no longer. "I would sooner die."

"It's all the fault of them strait-laced folks up at the Vicarage, meddling with what don't concern them."

"They are the best friends I ever had. It isn't meddling, and it does concern them, because they want to see me happy."

"And don't I want you to be happy? You know I'd do anything in the world for you! Don't you, now? I'd promise faithful never to touch a drop of anything again, if that would make it all right."

"You wouldn't keep your promise?"

"I swear I would."

"James, you are not to speak so! And it's no use. You promised me—faithfully—that you would stick to work, the next that came in your way; and you threw it up the first thing."

"I'll stick to it yet,—as soon as I get something to do."

Suddenly Plunkett turned into the street, and crossed over a little way in front of them. Marigold at once called,—

"Father!"

"You shut up!" said Todd, not too civilly.

"Father!" repeated Marigold, and he stopped.

"Eh; it's you, is it?" said Plunkett. He did not think much of seeing the two together, merely supposing that they had just met, and Todd remarked,—

"Fine day!"

"Father, James has walked with me all the way from the Common,—from half over the Common. I did not want him. I've let him do it before, and I was wrong; and I told him not to-day, and he would come."

"Well, why not?" said Todd sulkily.

Plunkett looked from the one to the other.

"I told him I would tell you, and now I have," said Marigold. Then she went indoors, leaving the two together.

Plunkett presently followed, to find her alone in the little kitchen.

"What's all this?" he demanded.

"Father, I thought I ought to speak about it. Mother said once you wouldn't be pleased . . . And I wouldn't listen . . . But Mrs. Heavitree's been talking . . . And—I thought—I ought—" Marigold's voice failed.

"An idle fellow like that! You've too much sense to care for him!"

Plunkett stared, as Marigold burst into tears.

"Eh? You don't mean for to say you like Todd?"

"He's been nice to me,—and I do like him," sobbed Marigold. "But Mrs. Heavitree says—says he's not—"

"Not the sort to make a girl happy? No, I should think not. He's smooth-spoken, and when you've said that, you've said all. I wouldn't see you marry Todd,—not for anything you could name! I told him he'd best make himself scarce, and he said it was all a mistake,—he'd no notion of marrying nobody."

"Oh!" Marigold's cheeks flamed.

"That isn't how he's talked to you, oh?"

"I should think not! Father, I did think he was one that would speak true."

"Well, the best thing you can do is to see no more of him," said Plunkett decisively. "There's no sort o' dependence to be put on Todd. He's not fit for you, and you're a deal too good for him. And what's more, you'll never marry him with my will. So the sooner you can forget him, the better. I've said enough to stop his looking in here, again, in a hurry. And I'm sure you'd need be grateful to Mrs. Heavitree, for the trouble she's taken."

Marigold's thoughts reverted to the beginning of her Vicarage conversation. "There's something else too,—" she said, "something you'll be glad of. Mrs. Heavitree said I'd best not speak to mother, but I might to you." Then she told Plunkett about the doctor who was to arrive at the Vicarage, and about Mrs. Heavitree's kind intentions.