Mollie's Prince: A Novel

by Rosa Nouchette Carey

  CHAPTER XXXIII.

  A QUIXOTIC RESOLUTION.

  "Thine were the weak, slight hands That might have taken this strong soul, and bent Its stubborn substance to thy soft intent."

  WATSON.

  For the first time in his life Thorold Chaytor's conscience felt ill atease; and, though his nature was by no means introspective orover-scrupulous, he tormented himself and suffered keen twinges ofremorse, for what he called his unpardonable want of self-control.

  Thorold's sense of honour was exceptionally high; in spite of his cold,reserved manner, he was extremely sensitive; the thought that he hadbeen over-mastered and carried away by passion, even though it had beenmomentary, humiliated and shocked him.

  In some of his ideas Thorold was somewhat behind his generation, anddifferent from other men. He held old-fashioned and somewhat obsoleteviews on the subject of love, and his reverence for women savoured ofthe old days of chivalry.

  In his hard-working life he had been brought little into contact withthem. He had no time for society. An evening at the Red House with hisold friends, Althea and Doreen, was the only relaxation he had allowedhimself. But, in spite of his self-repression, Thorold Chaytor wasintensely human, and, like other men, he yearned for the joys of wifeand child.

  "Man is not made to live alone," he would say to himself, drearily, ashe sat late at night by his solitary fireside; and, though no visionary,the thought of some fair young face would haunt him persistently. "Iwonder if I ever shall have a wife?" he would say to himself, as helooked into the red, glowing caverns before him. "I shall be hard toplease. I should like her to be a younger and prettier Althea. Oh, sheis a noble creature, Althea! She would have been a treasure to any man,but I fancy--I have always fancied--that she gave away her heart toEverard Ward. Well, who knows what may happen, when I have earned myfortune?" And then he smiled a little bitterly, as he opened his booksagain. Thorold's strong, intense nature took nothing lightly. If heloved, it was with his whole heart and soul. Alas! for him, the small,pale face and dark, _spirituelle_ eyes of his little Undine were now allthe world to him. From the first he had recognised her sweetness andintelligence.

  How he had longed to hold her to his heart, and comfort her with theassurance of his great love! How his nerves had thrilled with passionatetenderness as he ministered to her, as though she were a little helplesschild! And all the time his heart had, with mute reverence, worshippedher.

  "I must not think of myself or my own happiness," he said to himself, ashe walked down the hill in the darkness that night. "My days have beenalways joyless, and what does a little more pain matter? It is of her Iam thinking. God forbid that I should cloud her bright young life withany of my cares or perplexity. My little Waveney, I would suffer ahundred-fold more willingly than see you bearing my burdens."

  Poor Thorold! In his generous self-renunciation he was making a grievousmistake, though he little guessed it; for woman's nature was _terraincognita_ to him. Generosity and self-abnegation are not solelymasculine virtues, and there are women to whom any form ofself-sacrifice for the sake of a beloved object is simply joy andhappiness; who care nothing for waiting and poverty, if they can onlylean on some strong arm and be at rest.

  But Thorold was not wise enough to know this, so he formed a singularresolution. He would see Waveney again. He would watch her closely. Ah!he loved her so dearly that he felt he could almost read her thoughts.If she received him with her old frankness of manner, if there were notrace of consciousness in look or tone, he would know that his impulsivespeech had not reached her ear, and he would content himself with beingmore guarded for the future.

  But if, as some subtle instinct told him, there should be someundefinable change in her, some new veil of shyness, he would be certainthat she had heard him too well, and in this case it was his fullintention to make her understand in some way the difficulty of hisposition. "It is impossible for me to marry for a great many years. I amtoo heavily handicapped." Some such words as these he would say, andthen he would leave her, but not until he had apologized to her with allthe humility of which he was capable. And when he had arrived at thisquixotic resolution Thorold was more at peace.

  They would not meet just yet, for Waveney was unable to leave her roomfor some days, and spent most of her time, as Althea informed Thoroldwhen he came in one evening, in sleeping like a baby.

  "And she looks like one," observed Doreen, who had just come down fromthe Pansy Room. "I was watching her just now before she woke up, and Inever saw such a baby face. I think it must be her short, curly hairthat gives one the impression. I wonder why it has never grown long?Mollie Ward has such lovely hair!"

  "Waveney told me once that it had never grown since some childishillness," returned Althea, "but that she did not mind it, as it gave herso little trouble. Why, Thorold, you are never going?" as he rose fromhis chair. "What nonsense! You must stay to dinner. You have not dinedwith us for an age."

  "Not this evening," he returned, hurriedly, "or I should have to sit upall night working. I am glad to hear that Miss Ward is better," hecontinued, rather formally; "but she seems very weak, still. I supposeyou have had Dr. Hilton."

  "Oh, no, it was not necessary," returned Althea. "Waveney is not reallyill. She is only worn out, body and mind. A few days' rest and feedingup, and plenty of Nurse Marks' cosseting will soon put her to rights.And now her mind is at rest about Mollie, she will soon be her cheerfullittle self again."

  "I hope so," was Thorold's sole answer. And then, seeing that he was inone of his grave, silent moods, Althea did not press him to stay--onlyaccompanied him to the door, and bade him a friendly good-night.

  "Poor old Thorold, he does not look quite happy," observed Doreen, asher sister re-entered the room. "I wonder if he has anything on hismind?" And though Althea made no reply to this, the same thought hadcrossed her mind more than once.

  When Waveney heard that Thorold had called to inquire after her theprevious evening, she merely observed that it was very kind. But an houror two later she insisted on dressing herself, and making an attempt togo downstairs.

  Althea remonstrated at first; but Waveney was so bent on trying herstrength, that she thought it wiser to let her have her way, andactually forbore to triumph when Waveney, with rather a piteous face,subsided weakly on the couch.

  "Perhaps I had better wait until to morrow," she panted; "dressing hastired me so." And then, as Althea brought her another pillow, andcovered her up snugly, she continued in a weak voice, jestingly, "I feelas though I had the corporal's wooden legs, instead of my own. They domove so stiffly; but then, wooden legs don't ache. Never mind; anythingis better than the heartache." And to this Althea cordially agreed.

  Everard Ward paid them another visit while Waveney was still in herroom. When he came again he found her cosily established in the library,and, though looking still rather weak and pale, in excellent spirits.

  For every day the good news was verified, and Mollie made slow butsteady progress to recovery. Only once had there been a return ofanxiety, when, for one long half-hour, Mollie's weakness was so greatthat Nurse Helena feared sudden collapse. Everard did not tell Waveneythis. But he kept her well acquainted with every little detail of thesick room--what nourishment Mollie took, and how many hours she slept,and even a speech or two, repeated by her nurses.

  Once she sent her dear love to Waveney. And another time she asked ifMr. Ingram ever came to the house, and had looked both pleased andsurprised when she heard he had been daily. "Twice or three times a day"would have been no exaggeration of the truth. But Nurse Helena wiselykept this to herself. For, of all things, she dreaded any agitation orexcitement for her patient.

  When Waveney grew stronger she drove daily with one or other of thesisters. And when the February sunshine tempted her, she took shortstrolls over the Common, with Fuss and Fury.

  One Sunday afternoon, when Althea and Doreen were occupied as usual,Waveney put on her hat and went out. Th
ere had been rain the previousnight, and the garden paths were damp. And at luncheon Althea hadrecommended her to take a little walk, in the direction of the golflinks, as it would be higher and dryer there.

  "Do not go too far, and tire yourself," had been her parting words."Remember Thursday." As though Waveney could have forgotten it, for amoment! For that day she was to see her dear Mollie again.

  It was a lovely afternoon. The air was soft and balmy, and full of thepromise of spring, and thrushes and blackbirds were singing for joy,because the dark, wintry days were over.

  Waveney could have sung with them, out of very gratitude and happiness.Oh, how sweet life was! After all, Mollie was getting well, and----Buthere Waveney flushed and walked on more rapidly; for there were certainthoughts that made her heart beat too quickly.

  "I am very faithless," she was saying to herself, as she came in sightof her favourite seat. It was in a little hollow, and in the summer thelarches and willows made a pleasant shade. There was a pond near, wherechildren loved to sail their little boats, or throw sticks in the waterfor some excited dog.

  In her letters to Mollie, she had called it "her green parlour."

  She would have rested there for a few minutes, but she saw it wasoccupied by a gentleman, so she walked on slowly. The next moment,however, she heard her name pronounced, and Thorold Chaytor stood besideher.

  "You are tired. You wanted to sit down," he said, abruptly, as theyshook hands. "Please come back and rest a moment. It is so warm andsheltered in the hollow."

  "I was not really tired," returned Waveney, nervously; but she avoidedlooking at him as she spoke. "It is rather a favourite seat of mine, andthe view is so pretty."

  "Yes, I was admiring it just now," replied Thorold; "but you will sitdown for five minutes, will you not?" Then Waveney, shy and confused,accompanied him a little reluctantly across the grass. But as Thoroldwalked silently beside her, under his quiet manner there raged a perfecttempest of conflicting feelings.

  His sudden and unexpected appearance had taken Waveney by surprise, andher startled blush, and confusion, betrayed her agitation at themeeting. Her new timidity, the faltering of her voice, and her avoidanceof his eyes, all told the same tale to Thorold: she had understood, andshe was not indifferent to him!

  A spasm of joy shot through Thorold's heart at this thought; then heremembered his resolution, and crushed down his rising happiness.

  "I must think of her, and not of myself," he said to himself, as he tookthe seat beside her.

  "I am glad to see you are so much better," he began, after a long pause,that neither knew how to break. "But you are not quite strong yet; yourstep has lost its old spring." Then he interrupted himself, as though hefeared to say so much. "But all that will pass."

  "Yes, it will pass," she returned, trying to speak naturally, andlooking at him for the first time. The soft brilliancy of her eyesalmost dazzled Thorold. He nearly forgot his resolution, as he lookedinto their brown depths. "Do you know, Mr. Chaytor, that on Thursday Iam actually to see my Mollie. I am counting the hours, and so is she."

  "And that makes you very happy?" he asked, in a low voice.

  "Oh, yes; so grateful and happy! Father has seen her, of course; and hesays I must be prepared to find her very weak. Is it not a pity she haslost her lovely colour? But Nurse Helena says it will come back. Sheseems such a kind woman. When I send little notes to Mollie, she answersthem so nicely, and gives all Mollie's messages."

  Waveney had forgotten her nervousness in this engrossing topic; butThorold's answer was a little vague.

  "And you will never be faithless again?"

  "No!" she returned, flushing at this; "I will try to be more trustful infuture." And then, more kindly, "Mr. Chaytor, you were so good to methat miserable evening, I have so often wished to thank you, and tellyou that I am not unmindful of your great kindness." Then he checkedher.

  "Miss Ward, you owe me no gratitude; any one would have done what I did.It is your forgiveness I ought to ask, for I am afraid that in mysympathy and pity I forgot myself."

  He said this with such difficulty, and in such a constrained tone, thatWaveney looked at him in astonishment. Then, as she saw his expression,her head drooped a little.

  "I do not know what you mean," she said, under her breath.

  "I cannot explain myself," he returned, hurriedly; "would to heaven thatI could. But I think from your manner that you do not misunderstand me.Miss Ward, there is something I want to tell you about myself if youwill pardon my egotism. We are good friends, I trust, and if possible Iwant you to think well of me."

  Waveney listened silently to this, but she bit her lip to conceal asmile. Was it likely that she of all persons would think ill of him?

  "I am unfortunately placed," he continued. "All my life circumstanceshave been too strong for me. Other men can please themselves, but I havenever been free to choose my own path. Duties and responsibilities havecrowded on me from mere boyhood. Fresh ones have come to me within thelast few months."

  Then Waveney understood that he was speaking of his brother and littleBet, and her attention became almost painful.

  "I can see no end of it all," he went on--and there was despair in hisvoice. "It must be years--perhaps many years--before I can think ofmarrying. I ought to have remembered this--I ought not to have forgottenmyself." Then he rose abruptly, and his face was very pale. "Miss Ward,you have been very good to listen to me so patiently, but I must notkeep you here any longer; it will not be safe for you."

  He was standing before her as he spoke, but for a moment she made noreply, only sat with bent head, and her hands folded tightly together inher lap. But as he stooped and put out his hand, as though to help herto rise, she suddenly looked up in his face.

  "Thank you," she said, quite simply. "You need not fear that I shouldever misunderstand one so good and kind;" and then she flushed up, androse quickly from the bench. "It is too late to go on now, and MissHarford will be expecting me. Please do not come any farther. There isno need to spoil your walk. Give my love to your sister and littleBet--dear little Bet."

  "Are you sure? Do you not wish me to accompany you?" he stammered; butshe shook her head with a semblance of gaiety.

  "Oh, no. I shall be at the Red House in five minutes. Good-bye,good-bye."

  Waveney was in such a desperate hurry that she forgot to shake hands.She almost ran down the little path between the furze-bushes.

  The thrushes and blackbirds had ceased their songs, and the sunshine hadfaded from the landscape, but in Waveney's heart there was a strange,new joy.

  "He loves me, he loves me," she was saying to herself, "though he willnot tell me so for a long time. Oh, how good he is! how patient andself-sacrificing!" And then her eyes were dim as she remembered thesuppressed pain in his voice. "I have never been free to choose my ownpath." Was that not true, absolutely true? and could any man have donehis duty more nobly? And yet this hero, this king among men, actuallyloved her! And now Waveney's eyes were full of tears.