Finished - H. Rider Haggard (ebook reader with highlighter .TXT) 📗
- Author: H. Rider Haggard
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“After all marriage is a matter that concerns a woman even more than it does her father, one, in short, of which she must be the judge.”
“Quite so, Quatermain, but there are some daughters who are prepared to make great sacrifices for their fathers. Well, she will be of age ere long, if only I can stave it off till then. But how, how?” and with a groan he turned and left me.
That old gentleman’s neck is in some kind of a noose, thought I to myself, and his difficulty is to prevent the rope from being drawn tight. Meanwhile this poor girl’s happiness and future are at stake.
“Allan,” said Anscombe to me a little later, for by now he called me by my Christian name, “I suppose you haven’t heard anything about those oxen, have you?”
“No, I could scarcely expect to yet, but why do you ask?”
He smiled in his droll fashion and replied, “Because, interesting as this household is in sundry ways, I think it is about time that we, or at any rate that I, got out of it.”
“Your leg isn’t fit to travel yet, Anscombe, although Rodd says that all the symptoms are very satisfactory.”
“Yes, but to tell you the truth I am experiencing other symptoms quite unknown to that beloved physician and so unfamiliar to myself that I attribute them to the influences of the locality. Altitude affects the heart, does it not, and this house stands high.”
“Don’t play off your jokes on me,” I said sternly. “What do you mean?”
“I wonder if you find Miss Heda attractive, Allan, or if you are too old. I believe there comes an age when the only beauties that can move a man are those of architecture, or scenery, or properly cooked food.”
“Hang it all! I am not Methusaleh,” I replied; “but if you mean that you are falling in love with Heda, why the deuce don’t you say so, instead of wasting my time and your own?”
“Because time was given to us to waste. Properly considered it is the best use to which it can be put, or at any rate the one that does least mischief. Also because I wished to make you say it for me that I might judge from the effect of your words whether it is or is not true. I may add that I fear the former to be the case.”
“Well, if you are in love with the girl you can’t expect one so ancient as myself, who is quite out of touch with such follies, to teach you how to act.”
“No, Allan. Unfortunately there are occasions when one must rely upon one’s own wisdom, and mine, what there is of it, tells me I had better get out of this. But I can’t ride even if I took the horse and you ran behind, and the oxen haven’t come.”
“Perhaps you could borrow Miss Marnham’s cart in which to run away from her,” I suggested sarcastically.
“Perhaps, though I believe it would be fatal to my foot to sit up in a cart for the next few days, and the horses seem to have been sent off somewhere. Look here, old fellow,” he went on, dropping his bantering tone, “it’s rather awkward to make a fool of oneself over a lady who is engaged to some one else, especially if one suspects that with a little encouragement she might begin to walk the same road. The truth is I have taken the fever pretty bad, worse than ever I did before, and if it isn’t stopped soon it will become chronic.”
“Oh no, Anscombe, only intermittent at the worst, and African malaria nearly always yields to a change of climate.”
“How can I expect a cynic and a misogynist to understand the simple fervour of an inexperienced soul—Oh! drat it all, Quatermain, stop your acid chaff and tell me what is to be done. Really I am in a tight place.”
“Very; so tight that I rejoice to think, as you were kind enough to point out, that my years protect me from anything of the sort. I have no advice to give; I think you had better ask it of the lady.”
“Well, we did have a little conversation, hypothetical of course, about some friends of ours who found themselves similarly situated, and I regret to say without result.”
“Indeed. I did not know you had any mutual acquaintances. What did she say and do?”
“She said nothing, only sighed and looked as though she were going to burst into tears, and all she did was to walk away. I’d have followed her if I could, but as my crutch wasn’t there it was impossible. It seemed to me that suddenly I had come up against a brick wall, that there was something on her mind which she could not or would not let out.
“Yes, and if you want to know, I will tell you what it is. Rodd has got a hold over Marnham of a sort that would bring him somewhere near the gallows. As the price of his silence Marnham has promised him his daughter. The daughter knows that her father is in this man’s power, though I think she does not know in what way, and being a good girl—”
“An angel you mean—do call her by her right name, especially in a place where angels are so much wanted.”
“Well, an angel if you like—she has promised on her part to marry a man she loathes in order to save her parent’s bacon.”
“Just what I concluded, from what we heard in the row. I wonder which of that pair is the bigger blackguard. Well, Allan, that settles it. You and I are on the side of the angel. You will have to get her out of this scrape and—if she’ll have me, I’ll marry her; and if she won’t, why it can’t be helped. Now that’s a fair division of labour. How are you going to do it? I haven’t an idea, and if I had, I should not presume to interfere with one so much older and wiser than myself.”
“I suppose that by the time you appeared in it, the game of heads I win and tails you lose had died out of the world,” I replied with an indignant snort. “I think the best thing I can do will be to take the horse and look for those oxen. Meanwhile you can settle your business by the light of your native genius, and I only hope you’ll finish it without murder and sudden death.”
“I say, old fellow,” said Anscombe earnestly, “you don’t really mean to go off and leave me in this hideousness? I haven’t bothered much up to the present because I was sure that you would find a way out, which would be nothing to a man of your intellect and experience. I mean it honestly, I do indeed.”
“Do you? Well, I can only say that my mind is a perfect blank, but if you will stop talking I will try to think the matter over. There’s Miss Heda in the garden cutting flowers. I will go to help her, which will be a very pleasant change.”
And I went, leaving him to stare after me jealously.
THE STOEP
When I reached Miss Heda she was collecting half-opened monthly roses from the hedge, and not quite knowing what to say I made the appropriate quotation. At least it was appropriate to my thought, and, from her answer, to hers also.
“Yes,” she said, “I am gathering them while I may,” and she sighed and, as I thought, glanced towards the verandah, though of this I could not be sure because of the wide brim of the hat she was wearing.
Then we talked a little on indifferent matters, while I pricked my fingers helping to pluck the roses. She asked me if I thought that Anscombe was getting on well, and how long it would be before he could travel. I replied that Dr. Rodd could tell her better than myself, but that I hoped in about a week.
“In a week!” she said, and although she tried to speak lightly there was dismay in her voice.
“I hope you don’t think it too long,” I answered; “but even if he is fit to go, the oxen have not come yet, and I don’t quite know when they will.”
“Too long!” she exclaimed. “Too long! Oh! if you only knew what it is to me to have such guests as you are in this place,” and her dark eyes filled with tears.
By now we had passed to the side of the house in search of some other flower that grew in the shade, I think it was mignonette, and were out of sight of the verandah and quite alone.
“Mr. Quatermain,” she said hurriedly, “I am wondering whether to ask your advice about something, if you would give it. I have no one to consult here,” she added rather piteously.
“That is for you to decide. If you wish to do so I am old enough to be your father, and will do my best to help.”
We walked on to an orange grove that stood about forty yards away, ostensibly to pick some fruit, but really because we knew that there we should be out of hearing and could see any one who approached.
“Mr. Quatermain,” she said presently in a low voice, I am in great trouble, almost the greatest a woman can have. I am engaged to be married to a man whom I do not care for.
“Then why not break it off? It may be unpleasant, but it is generally best to face unpleasant things, and nothing can be so bad as marrying a man whom you do not—care for.
“Because I cannot—I dare not. I have to obey.”
“How old are you, Miss Marnham?”
“I shall be of age in three months’ time. You may guess that I did not intend to return here until they were over, but I was, well—trapped. He wrote to me that my father was ill and I came.”
“At any rate when they are over you will not have to obey any one. It is not long to wait.”
“It is an eternity. Besides this is not so much a question of obedience as of duty and of love. I love my father who, whatever his faults, has always been very kind to me.”
“And I am sure he loves you. Why not go to him and tell him your trouble?”
“He knows it already, Mr. Quatermain, and hates this marriage even more than I do, if that is possible. But he is driven to it, as I am. Oh! I must tell the truth. The doctor has some hold over him. My father has done something dreadful; I don’t know what and I don’t want to know, but if it came out it would ruin my father, or worse, worse. I am the price of his silence. On the day of our marriage he will destroy the proofs. If I refuse to marry him, they will be produced and then—”
“It is difficult,” I said.
“It is more than difficult, it is terrible. If you could see all there is in my heart, you would know how terrible.”
“I think I can see, Miss Heda. Don’t say any more now. Give me time to consider. In case of necessity come to me again, and be sure that I will protect you.”
“But you are going in a week.”
“Many things happen in a week. Sufficient to the day is its evil. At the end of the week
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