JOAN HASTE by H. RIDER HAGGARD (e reader comics TXT) 📕

"You foolish boy!" said Lady Graves, smiling a little; "do you not understand that she had become fond of you during that week when you were here together the year before last?"

"I can't say that I understand it, mother, for I had not much to do with her. But even if it is so, it does not satisfactorily explain why her father should be equally anxious for this match. Of course I know that he has given lots of reasons, but I cannot help thinking that there is something behind them all. However, that is neither here nor there."

"I fancy, Henry, that the only thing behind Mr. Levinger's reasons is an earnest desire for the happiness of a daughter to whom he is much attached."

"Well, mother, as I was saying, I took a great fancy to the girl, and though I did not like at all the idea of making advances to a lady to whom we are under such obligations, I determined to put my pride in my pocket, and, if I still continued to admire her after further acquaintance, to ask her if she would allow me to share her fortune, for I think that is an accurate way of putting it. So I went off to stay at Monk's Lodge, and the chapter of troubles began. The girl who indirectly was the cause of my accident became my nurse, and it seems that--she grew attached to me, and--I grew attached to her. It was not wonderful: you know her; she is very beautiful, she has a good heart, and in most ways she is a lady. In short, she is a woman who in any less prejudiced country would certainly be received into society if she had the means to enter it. Well, so things went on without anything remarkable happening, until recently." And he repeated to her fairly and fully all that had passed between himself and Joan.

"Now, mother," he said, "I have made my confession to you, and perhaps you will understand how it came about that, fresh from such scenes, and taken as I was utterly by surprise, I was unable to promise what my father asked. I do not know what your judgment of my conduct may be; probably you cannot think of it more harshly than I do myself, and in excuse of it I can only say that the circumstances were strange, and, as I have discovered, I love the woman. What, therefore, is my duty towards her?"

"Did you ever promise to marry her, Henry?"

"Promise? Yes, I said that I would; for, as you know, I am a bit of a puritan, although I have little right to that title now, and it seemed to me that marriage was the only way out of the trouble."

"Does she expect you to marry her, then?"

"Certainly not. She declares that she would not allow it on any consideration. But this goes for nothing, for how can I take advantage of her inexperience and self-sacrificing folly? You have the whole facts: what do /you/ think that I should do?"

"Henry, I am older than you are; I have seen a great deal of life, and perhaps you, who are curiously unworldly, may think me the reverse. I accept your story as it stands, well knowing that you have told me the exact truth, without hiding anything which would weigh against yourself; and on the face of that story, I cannot say that I consider it to be your duty to marry this poor girl, with whom, through your own weakness and folly, you have placed yourself in such false relations--though undoubtedly it is your duty to do everything in your power to provide for her. If you had deliberately set yourself to lead her astray, the case might be different; only, were you capable of such conduct--which I know that you are not--you would not now be tormented by doubts as to your duty towards her. You talk of Joan Haste's 'inexperience.' Are you sure that this is so? The whole history of her conduct seems to show experience, and even art, or at any rate a knowledge, very unusual in a girl of her age and position, of how best to work upon a man's tenderness and to move his feelings. That art may have been unconscious, an art which Nature gave her; and that knowledge may have been intuitive, for of course all things are possible, and I can only judge of what is probable. At least it is clear that she never expected that you would marry her, because she knew that such an act would bring you to ruin, and I respect her for her honesty in this particular."

"Should a man shrink from his duty because duty means disaster, mother?"

"Not if it /is/ his duty, perhaps, Henry; but in the present case that, to say the least of it, is not proved. I will answer your question by another: Should a man neglect many undoubted duties, among them that of obeying the dying petition of his father, in order to indulge his conscience with the sense that he has fulfilled one which is open to doubt? Henry, I do not wish to push you about this matter, for I see that, even if you do not love Joan Haste so much as you think, at the least you are strongly attracted to her; also I see that your self-questionings are honest, and that you are anxious to do what is right, independently of the possible consequences to yourself. But I do pray of you not to be led away, and, if you can avoid it, not to see this girl again at present. Take time to consider: one month, two, three, as you like; and in the meanwhile do not commit yourself beyond redemption. Remember all that is at stake; remember that a man in your position is not entirely his own master. Of myself I will not speak. Why should I? I am old, and my day is done; such years as remain to me I can drag out in obscurity without repining, for my memories are enough for me, and I have little care left for any earthly advantage. But of your family I do venture to speak. It has been here so long, and your father loved this place so well, that it breaks my heart to think of its going to the hammer--after three centuries,"--and the old lady turned her head and wiped her eyes furtively, then added: "And it will go to the hammer--it must. I know Mr. Levinger well; he is a curious man, and whatever his real reasons may be, his mind is set upon this marriage. If he is disappointed about it, he will certainly take his remedy; indeed, he is bound to do so, for the money at stake is not his, but his daughter's."

"You tell me to take three months to consider, mother; but, looking at the matter from the family point of view, how am I to do this? It seems that we have scarcely a sixpence in the world, and a heavy accumulation of debt. Where is the money to come from to enable us to carry on for another three months?"

"Beyond the overdue interest there are not many floating liabilities, Henry, for I have always made it a practice to pay cash. Of course, when the farms come on hand at Michaelmas the case will be different, for then, unless they can be let in the meantime, a large sum of money must be found to pay the covenants and take them over, or they must go out of cultivation. Till then, however, you need have no anxiety, for, as it chances, at the moment I have ample funds at command."

"Ample funds! Where do they come from?"

"Of all my fortune, Henry, there remained to me my jewels, the diamonds and sapphires that my grandmother left me, which she inherited from her grandmother. They should have gone to Ellen, but when our need was pressing, rather than trouble your poor father any more, I sold them secretly. They realized between two and three thousand pounds--about half their value, I believe--of which I have a clear two thousand left. Do not tell Ellen of this, I pray you, for she would be very angry, and I do not feel fit to bear any scenes at present. And now, my dear, it is luncheon time, so I think that I will leave you, hoping that you will consider the advice which I have ventured to give you." And again she kissed him affectionately and left the room.

"Sold her jewels!" thought Henry, "the jewels that she valued above any possession in the world! My poor mother! And if I marry this girl, or do not marry the other, what will her end be? The workhouse, I suppose, unless Milward gives her a home out of charity, or I can earn sufficient to keep her, of which I see no prospect. Indeed, I begin to think that she is right, and that my first duty is owing to my family. And yet how can I abandon Joan? Or if I do, how can I marry Emma Levinger with this affair upon my hands, begun since I became acquainted with her? Oh! what an unhappy man am I! Well, there is one thing to be said--my evil doing is being repaid to me full measure, pressed down and running over. It is not often that punishment follows so hard upon the heels of error."

Joan was not really ill: she had contracted a chill, accompanied by a certain amount of fever, but this was all. Indeed, the fever had already taken her on the night of her love scene with Henry, and to its influence upon her nerves may be attributed a good deal of the conduct which to Lady Graves had seemed to give evidence of art and experienced design. Nothing further was said by her aunt as to her leaving the house, and things went on as usual till the morning when she woke up and learned that her lover had gone under such sad circumstances. It was a shock to her, but she grieved more for him than for herself. Indeed, she thought it best that he should be gone; it even seemed to her that she had anticipated it, that she had always known he must go and that she would see him no more. The curtain was down for ever; her short tragedy had culminated and was played out, so