'If it were only somebody else, and I was one of the bridesmaids, Ireally think I should like it better!' she murmured one afternoon.
'Away with thee--that's only your shyness!' said one of the milkmaids.
It is said that about this time the Baron seemed to feel the effects of solitude strongly.Solitude revives the ****** instincts of primitive man, and lonely country nooks afford rich soil for wayward emotions.Moreover, idleness waters those unconsidered impulses which a short season of turmoil would stamp out.It is difficult to speak with any exactness of the bearing of such conditions on the mind of the Baron--a man of whom so little was ever truly known--but there is no doubt that his mind ran much on Margery as an individual, without reference to her rank or quality, or to the question whether she would marry Jim Hayward that summer.She was the single lovely human thing within his present horizon, for he lived in absolute seclusion; and her image unduly affected him.
But, leaving conjecture, let me state what happened.
One Saturday evening, two or three weeks after his accidental meeting with her in the wood, he wrote the note following:-DEAR MARGERY, -
You must not suppose that, because I spoke somewhat severely to you at our chance encounter by the hollow tree, I have any feeling against you.Far from it.Now, as ever, I have the most grateful sense of your considerate kindness to me on a momentous occasion which shall be nameless.
You solemnly promised to come and see me whenever I should send for you.Can you call for five minutes as soon as possible, and disperse those plaguy glooms from which I am so unfortunate as to suffer? If you refuse I will not answer for the consequences.
I shall be in the summer shelter of the mount to-morrow morning at half-past ten.If you come I shall be grateful.I have also something for you.Yours, X.
In keeping with the tenor of this epistle the desponding, self-oppressed Baron ascended the mount on Sunday morning and sat down.
There was nothing here to signify exactly the hour, but before the church bells had begun he heard somebody approaching at the back.
The light footstep moved timidly, first to one recess, and then to another; then to the third, where he sat in the shade.Poor Margery stood before him.
She looked worn and weary, and her little shoes and the skirts of her dress were covered with dust.The weather was sultry, the sun being already high and powerful, and rain had not fallen for weeks.The Baron, who walked little, had thought nothing of the effects of this heat and drought in inducing fatigue.A distance which had been but a reasonable exercise on a foggy morning was a drag for Margery now.
She was out of breath; and anxiety, even unhappiness was written on her everywhere.
He rose to his feet, and took her hand.He was vexed with himself at sight of her.'My dear little girl!' he said.'You are tired--you should not have come.'
'You sent for me, sir; and I was afraid you were ill; and my promise to you was sacred.'
He bent over her, looking upon her downcast face, and still holding her hand; then he dropped it, and took a pace or two backwards.
'It was a whim, nothing more,' he said, sadly.'I wanted to see my little friend, to express good wishes--and to present her with this.'
He held forward a small morocco case, and showed her how to open it, disclosing a pretty locket, set with pearls.'It is intended as a wedding present,' he continued.'To be returned to me again if you do not marry Jim this summer--it is to be this summer, I think?'
'It was, sir,' she said with agitation.'But it is so no longer.
And, therefore, I cannot take this.'
'What do you say?'
'It was to have been to-day; but now it cannot be.'
'The wedding to-day--Sunday?' he cried.
'We fixed Sunday not to hinder much time at this busy season of the year,' replied she.
'And have you, then, put it off--surely not?'
'You sent for me, and I have come,' she answered humbly, like an obedient familiar in the employ of some great enchanter.Indeed, the Baron's power over this innocent girl was curiously like enchantment, or mesmeric influence.It was so masterful that the sexual element was almost eliminated.It was that of Prospero over the gentle Ariel.And yet it was probably only that of the cosmopolite over the recluse, of the experienced man over the ****** maid.
'You have come--on your wedding-day!--O Margery, this is a mistake.
Of course, you should not have obeyed me, since, though I thought your wedding would be soon, I did not know it was to-day.'
'I promised you, sir; and I would rather keep my promise to you than be married to Jim.'
'That must not be--the feeling is wrong!' he murmured, looking at the distant hills.'There seems to be a fate in all this; I get out of the frying-pan into the fire.What a recompense to you for your goodness! The fact is, I was out of health and out of spirits, so I--but no more of that.Now instantly to repair this tremendous blunder that we have made--that's the question.'
After a pause, he went on hurriedly, 'Walk down the hill; get into the road.By that time I shall be there with a phaeton.We may get back in time.What time is it now? If not, no doubt the wedding can be to-morrow; so all will come right again.Don't cry, my dear girl.
Keep the locket, of course--you'll marry Jim.'
