Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles Part 123

"Is it the bishop's daughter?"

William shook his head. "She seems to be quite as far removed from me."

"Come, I must know. Who is it?"

"It is impossible that I can tell you, sir."

"I must know. I don't think I have ever asked you in vain, since the time when, a boy, you confessed your thoughts about the found s.h.i.+lling.

Secrets from me! I will know, William!"

William did not answer. The upper part of his face was concealed by his hand; but Mr. Ashley marked the sweet smile that played around his mouth.

"Come, I will help you. Is it the charming Dobbs?"

Amused, he took his hand from his face. "Well, sir--no."

"It cannot be Charlotte East; because she is married."

William seemed as impervious as ever. The master suddenly laid his hand upon his shoulder, and confronted him face to face.

"Is it Mary Ashley?"

The burning flush of scarlet that dyed his face, even to the very roots of his hair, told Mr. Ashley the truth, far more effectually than words could have done. There ensued a pause. Mr. Ashley was the first to break it.

"How long have you loved her?"

"For years. _That_ has been the wild dream of my aspirations: one that I knew would never be realized," he answered, suffering his eyes to meet for a moment Mr. Ashley's.

"Have you spoken to her of it?"

"Never."

"Or led her to believe you loved her?"

"No, sir. Unless my looks and tones may have betrayed me. I fear they have; but it was not intentionally done."

"Honest in this, as in all else," thought Mr. Ashley. "What am I to say to you?" he asked aloud.

"I do not know," sighed William. "I expect, of course, sir, that you will forbid me Deoffam Hall: but I can still meet Henry at the house in town. I hope you will forgive me!" he added in an impa.s.sioned tone. "I could not help loving her. Before I knew what my new feelings meant, love had come. Such love! Had I been in a position to marry her, I would have made her life one dream of happiness! When I awoke to it all----"

"What awoke you?" was the interruption.

"I think it was Cyril Dare's asking for her. I debated with myself then, whether I ought to give up going to your house; but I came to the conclusion that, so long as I was able to hide my feelings from her, I need not banish myself. My judgment was wrong, I know; but the temptation to see her occasionally was great, and I did not resist it."

"And so you continued to go, feeding the flame?"

"Yes. Feeding it pa.s.sionately and hopelessly; never forgetting that the pain of separation must come!"

"Did you hear of Sir Harry Marr's offer?"

"Yes, I heard of it."

William swept his hand across his face as he spoke. It wore a _wrung_ expression. Mr. Ashley changed his tone.

"William, I cannot decide this matter, one way or the other. You must ask Mary to do that!"

"_Sir!_"

"If Mary chooses to favour you more than she does other suitors, I will not forbid her doing it. Only this very day she begged me, with tears, to keep all such troublesome customers away from her; to refuse them of my own accord. But it strikes me that you may as well have an answer from herself!"

William, his whole soul in his eyes, was gazing at Mr. Ashley. He could not tell whether he might believe what he heard; whether he was awake or dreaming.

"Did I deliver you a message from Henry?"

"No, sir," was the abstracted response.

"He wants you to go over to him. I said I would send you if you were not busy. He is not very well to-day."

"But--Mr. Ashley--did you mean what you said?"

"Should I have said it had I not meant it?" was the quiet answer. "Have you a difficulty in believing it?"

The ingenuous light rose to William's eyes, as he raised them to his master's. "I have no money," he whispered. "I cannot settle a farthing upon her."

"You have something better than money, William--worth. And I can make settlements. Go and hear what Mary says. You will catch the half-past three o'clock coach, if you make haste."

William went out, believing still that he must be in a trance. His deeply buried dream of the long past years: was it about, indeed, to become reality?

But in the midst of it he could not help casting a thought to a less pleasing subject--the Dares. Herbert was young to die; he was, no doubt, unprepared to die; and William sincerely hoped that the report would prove untrue. The Dares were going down sadly in the social scale; Cyril especially. He was just what Captain Chambers had called him--a scamp.

After leaving Mr. Ashley's, he had entered his father's office; as a temporary thing, it was said; but he had never left it for anything else. A great deal of his time was pa.s.sed in public-houses. George, whose commission never came, had gone out, some two or three years ago, to Sydney. His sister Julia and her husband had settled there, and they had found an opening for George. William walked on, thinking of the Dares' position and of his own.

CHAPTER XX.

WAYS AND MEANS.

When William reached Deoffam Hall, he found Henry Ashley alone, lying in the drawing-room, the sofa near the open window.

"That's good!" cried he. "Good of the master for sending you, and of you for coming."

"You don't look well to-day," observed William. "Your brow has the old lines of pain in it."

"Thanks to my hip, which is giving me threatening twinges. What's this report about Dare? Is it confirmed?"