The Kellys and the O'Kellys Part 59

"You don't say my father?"

"Yes," said f.a.n.n.y, stopping on the path, and speaking with energy, as she confronted her cousin. "Yes, Lord Cashel. He, above all others, knows it. I have told him so almost on my knees. I have implored him, as a child may implore her father, to bring back to me the only man I ever loved. I have besought him not to sacrifice me. Oh! how I have implored him to spare me the dreadful punishment of my own folly--wretchedness rather--in rejecting the man I loved. But he has not listened to me; he will never listen to me, and I will never ask again. He shall find that I am not a tree or a stone, to be planted or placed as he chooses. I will not again be subjected to what I have to-day suffered. I will not--I will not--" But f.a.n.n.y was out of breath; and could not complete the catalogue of what she would not do.

"And did you intend to tell me all this, had I not spoken to you as I have done?" said Kilcullen.

"I did," said she. "I was on the point of telling you everything: twice I had intended to do so. I intended to implore you, as you loved me as your cousin, to use your exertions to reconcile my uncle and Lord Ballindine--and now instead of that--"

"You find I love you too well myself?"

"Oh, forget, Adolphus, forget that the words ever pa.s.sed your lips.

You have not loved me long, and therefore will not continue to love me, when you know I never can be yours: forget your short-lived love; won't you, Adolphus?"--and she put her clasped hands upon his breast--"forget,--let us both forget that the words were ever spoken.

Be still my cousin, my friend, my brother; and we shall still both be happy."

Different feelings were disturbing Lord Kilcullen's breast--different from each other, and some of them very different from those which usually found a place there. He had sought f.a.n.n.y's hand not only with most sordid, but also with most dishonest views: he not only intended to marry her for her fortune, but also to rob her of her money; to defraud her, that he might enable himself once more to enter the world of pleasure, with the slight enc.u.mbrance of a wretched wife. But, in carrying out his plan, he had disturbed it by his own weakness: he had absolutely allowed himself to fall in love with his cousin; and when, as he had just done, he offered her his hand, he was quite as anxious that she should accept him for her own sake as for that of her money.

He had taught himself to believe that she would accept him, and many misgivings had haunted him as to the ruined state to which he should bring her as his wife. But these feelings, though strong enough to disturb him, were not strong enough to make him pause: he tried to persuade himself that he could yet make her happy, and hurried on to the consummation of his hopes. He now felt strongly tempted to act a generous part; to give her up, and to bring Lord Ballindine back to her feet; to deserve at any rate well of her, and leave all other things to chance. But Lord Kilcullen was not accustomed to make such sacrifices: he had never learned to disregard himself; and again and again he turned it over in his mind--"how could he get her fortune?--was there any way left in which he might be successful?"

"This is child's play, f.a.n.n.y," he said. "You may reject me: to that I have nothing further to say, for I am but an indifferent wooer; but you can never marry Lord Ballindine."

"Oh, Adolphus, for mercy's sake don't say so!"

"But I do say so, f.a.n.n.y. G.o.d knows, not to wound you, or for any unworthy purpose, but because it is so. He was your lover, and you sent him away; you cannot whistle him back as you would a dog."

f.a.n.n.y made no answer to this, but walked on towards the house, anxious to find herself alone in her own room, that she might compose her mind and think over all that she had heard and said; nor did Lord Kilcullen renew the conversation till he got to the house. He could not determine what to do. Under other circ.u.mstances it might, he felt, have been wise for him to wait till time had weakened f.a.n.n.y's regret for her lost lover; but in his case this was impracticable; if he waited anywhere it would be in the Queen's Bench. And yet, he could not but feel that, at present, it was hopeless for him to push his suit.

They reached the steps together, and as he opened the front door, f.a.n.n.y turned round to wish him good morning, as she was hurrying in; but he stopped her, and said,

"One word more, f.a.n.n.y, before we part. You must not refuse me; nor must we part in this way. Step in here; I will not keep you a minute;" and he took her into a room off the hall--"do not let us be children, f.a.n.n.y; do not let us deceive each other, or ourselves: do not let us persist in being irrational if we ourselves see that we are so;" and he paused for a reply.

"Well, Adolphus?" was all she said.

"If I could avoid it," continued he, "I would not hurt your feelings; but you must see, you must know, that you cannot marry Lord Ballindine."--f.a.n.n.y, who was now sitting, bit her lips and clenched her hands, but she said nothing; "If this is so--if you feel that so far your fate is fixed, are you mad enough to give yourself up to a vain and wicked pa.s.sion--for wicked it will be? Will you not rather strive to forget him who has forgotten you?"

"That is not true," interposed f.a.n.n.y.

"His conduct, unfortunately, proves that it is too true," continued Kilcullen. "He has forgotten you, and you cannot blame him that he should do so, now that you have rejected him; but he neglected you even before you did so. Is it wise, is it decorous, is it maidenly in you, to indulge any longer in so vain a pa.s.sion? Think of this, f.a.n.n.y. As to myself, Heaven knows with what perfect truth, with what true love, I offered you, this morning, all that a man can offer: how ardently I hoped for an answer different from that you have now given me.

You cannot give me your heart now; love cannot, at a moment, be transferred. But think, f.a.n.n.y, think whether it is not better for you to accept an offer which your friends will all approve, and which I trust will never make you unhappy, than to give yourself up to a lasting regret,--to tears, misery, and grief."

"And would you take my hand without my heart?" said she.

"Not for worlds," replied the other, "were I not certain that your heart would follow your hand. Whoever may be your husband, you will love him. But ask my mother, talk to her, ask her advice; she at any rate will only tell you that which must be best for your own happiness.

Go to her, f.a.n.n.y; if her advice be different from mine, I will not say a word farther to urge my suit."

"I will go to no one," said f.a.n.n.y, rising. "I have gone to too many with a piteous story on my lips. I have no friend, now, in this house.

I had still hoped to find one in you, but that hope is over. I am, of course, proud of the honour your declaration has conveyed; but I should be wicked indeed if I did not make you perfectly understand that it is one which I cannot accept. Whatever may be your views, your ideas, I will never marry unless I thoroughly love, and feel that I am thoroughly loved by my future husband. Had you not made this ill-timed declaration--had you not even persisted in repeating it after I had opened my whole heart to you, I could have loved and cherished you as a brother; under no circ.u.mstances could I ever have accepted you as a husband. Good morning." And she left him alone, feeling that he could have but little chance of success, should he again renew the attempt.

He did not see her again till dinner-time, when she appeared silent and reserved, but still collected and at her ease; nor did he speak to her at dinner or during the evening, till the moment the ladies were retiring for the night. He then came up to her as she was standing alone turning over some things on a side-table, and said, "f.a.n.n.y, I probably leave Grey Abbey to-morrow. I will say good bye to you tonight."

"Good bye, Adolphus; may we both be happier when next we meet," said she.

"My happiness, I fear, is doubtful: but I will not speak of that now.

If I can do anything for yours before I go, I will. f.a.n.n.y, I will ask my father to invite Lord Ballindine here. He has been anxious that we should be married: when I tell him that that is impossible, he may perhaps be induced to do so."

"Do that," said f.a.n.n.y, "and you will be a friend to me. Do that, and you will be more than a brother to me."

"I will; and in doing so I shall crush every hope that I have had left in me."

"Do not say so, Adolphus:--do not--"

"You'll understand what I mean in a short time. I cannot explain everything to you now. But this will I do; I will make Lord Cashel understand that we never can be more to each other than we are now, and I will advise him to seek a reconciliation with Lord Ballindine. And now, good bye," and he held out his hand.

"But I shall see you to-morrow."

"Probably not; and if you do, it will be but for a moment, when I shall have other adieux to make."

"Good bye, then, Adolphus; and may G.o.d bless you; and may we yet live to have many happy days together," and she shook hands with him, and went to her room.

x.x.xIII. LORD KILCULLEN MAKES ANOTHER VISIT TO THE BOOK-ROOM

Lord Cashel's plans were certainly not lucky. It was not that sufficient care was not used in laying them, nor sufficient caution displayed in maturing them. He pa.s.sed his time in care and caution; he spared no pains in seeing that the whole machinery was right; he was indefatigable in deliberation, diligent in manoeuvring, constant in attention. But, somehow, he was unlucky; his schemes were never successful. In the present instance he was peculiarly unfortunate, for everything went wrong with him. He had got rid of an obnoxious lover, he had coaxed over his son, he had spent an immensity of money, he had undergone worlds of trouble and self-restraint;--and then, when he really began to think that his ward's fortune would compensate him for this, his own family came to him, one after another, to a.s.sure him that he was completely mistaken--that it was utterly impossible that such a thing as a family marriage between the two cousins could never take place, and indeed, ought not to be thought of.

Lady Selina gave him the first check. On the morning on which Lord Kilcullen made his offer, she paid her father a solemn visit in his book-room, and told him exactly what she had before told her mother; a.s.sured him that f.a.n.n.y could not be induced, at any rate at present, to receive her cousin as her lover; whispered to him, with unfeigned sorrow and shame, that f.a.n.n.y was still madly in love with Lord Ballindine; and begged him to induce her brother to postpone his offer, at any rate for some months.

"I hate Lord Ballindine's very name," said the earl, petulant with irritation.

"We none of us approve of him, papa: we don't think of supposing that he could now be a fitting husband for f.a.n.n.y, or that they could possibly ever be married. Of course it's not to be thought of. But if you would advise Adolphus not to be premature, he might, in the end, be more successful."

"Kilcullen has made his own bed and he must lie in it; I won't interfere between them," said the angry father.

"But if you were only to recommend delay," suggested the daughter; "a few months' delay; think how short a time Harry Wyndham has been dead!"

Lord Cashel knew that delay was death in this case, so he pished, and hummed, and hawed; quite lost the dignity on which he piqued himself, and ended by declaring that he would not interfere; that they might do as they liked; that young people would not be guided, and that he would not make himself unhappy about them. And so, Lady Selina, crestfallen and disappointed, went away.

Then, Lady Cashel, reflecting on what her daughter had told her, and yet anxious that the marriage should, if possible, take place at some time or other, sent Griffiths down to her lord, with a message--"Would his lords.h.i.+p be kind enough to step up-stairs to her ladys.h.i.+p?" Lord Cashel went up, and again had all the difficulties of the case opened out before him.

"But you see," said her ladys.h.i.+p, "poor f.a.n.n.y--she's become so unreasonable--I don't know what's come to her--I'm sure I do everything I can to make her happy: but I suppose if she don't like to marry, n.o.body can make her."

"Make her?--who's talking of making her?" said the earl.

"No, of course not," continued the countess; "that's just what Selina says; no one can make her do anything, she's got so obstinate, of late: but it's all that horrid Lord Ballindine, and those odious horses. I'm sure I don't know what business gentlemen have to have horses at all; there's never any good comes of it. There's Adolphus--he's had the good sense to get rid of his, and yet f.a.n.n.y's so foolish, she'd sooner have that other horrid man--and I'm sure he's not half so good-looking, nor a quarter so agreeable as Adolphus."

All these encomiums on his son, and animadversions on Lord Ballindine, were not calculated to put the earl into a good humour; he was heartily sick of the subject; thoroughly repented that he had not allowed his son to ruin himself in his own way; detested the very name of Lord Ballindine, and felt no very strong affection for his poor innocent ward. He accordingly made his wife nearly the same answer he had made his daughter, and left her anything but comforted by the visit.

It was about eleven o'clock on the same evening, that Lord Kilcullen, after parting with f.a.n.n.y, opened the book-room door. He had been quite sincere in what he had told her. He had made up his mind entirely to give over all hopes of marrying her himself, and to tell his father that the field was again open for Lord Ballindine, as far as he was concerned.