Miss Mackenzie Part 24

Then Mr Maguire got up from his chair, and walked about the room, and Miss Mackenzie, watching him closely, could see that he was much moved. But, nevertheless, I think he had made up his mind to walk about the room beforehand. After a while he paused, and, still standing, spoke to her again across the table.

"May I ask you this question? Has Mrs Stumfold said anything to you about me?"

"I'd rather not talk about Mrs Stumfold."

"But, surely, I may ask that. I don't think you are the woman to allow anything said behind a person's back to be received to his detriment."

"Whatever one does hear about people one always hears behind their backs."

"Then she has told you something, and you have believed it?"

She felt herself to be so driven by him that she did not know how to protect herself. It seemed to her that these clerical people of Littlebath had very little regard for the feelings of others in their modes of following their own pursuits.

"She has told you something of me, and you have believed her?"

repeated Mr Maguire. "Have I not a right to ask you what she has said?"

"You have no right to ask me anything."

"Have I not, Miss Mackenzie? Surely that is hard. Is it not hard that I should be stabbed in the dark, and have no means of redressing myself? I did not expect such an answer from you;--indeed I did not."

"And is not it hard that I should be troubled in this way? You talk of stabbing. Who has stabbed you? Is it not your own particular friend, whom you described to me as the best person in all the world?

If you and she fall out why should I be brought into it? Once for all, Mr Maguire, I won't be brought into it."

Now he sat down and again paused before he went on with his talk.

"Miss Mackenzie," he said, when he did speak. "I had not intended to be so abrupt as I fear you will think me in that which I am about to say; but I believe you will like plain measures best."

"Certainly I shall, Mr Maguire."

"They are the best, always. If, then, I am plain with you, will you be plain with me also? I think you must guess what it is I have to say to you."

"I hate guessing anything, Mr Maguire."

"Very well; then I will be plain. We have now known each other for nearly a year, Miss Mackenzie."

"A year, is it? No, not a year. This is the beginning of June, and I did not come here till the end of last August. It's about nine months, Mr Maguire."

"Very well; nine months. Nine months may be as nothing in an acquaintance, or it may lead to the closest friends.h.i.+p."

"I don't know that we have met so very often. You have the parish to attend to, Mr Maguire."

"Of course I have--or rather I had, for I have left Mr Stumfold."

"Left Mr Stumfold! Why, I heard you preach yesterday."

"I did preach yesterday, and shall till he has got another a.s.sistant.

But he and I are parted as regards all friendly connection."

"But isn't that a pity?"

"Miss Mackenzie, I don't mind telling you that I have found it impossible to put up with the impertinence of that woman"--and now, as he spoke, there came a distorted fire out of his imperfect eye--"impossible! If you knew what I have gone through in attempting it! But that's over. I have the greatest respect for him in the world; a very thorough esteem. He is a hard-working man, and though I do not always approve the style of his wit,--of which, by-the-bye, he thinks too much himself,--still I acknowledge him to be a good spiritual pastor. But he has been unfortunate in his marriage. No doubt he has got money, but money is not everything."

"Indeed, it is not, Mr Maguire."

"How he can live in the same house with that Mr Peters, I can never understand. The quarrels between him and his daughter are so incessant that poor Mr Stumfold is unable to conceal them from the public."

"But you have spoken so highly of her."

"I have endeavoured, Miss Mackenzie--I have endeavoured to think well of her. I have striven to believe that it was all gold that I saw.

But let that pa.s.s. I was forced to tell you that I am going to leave Mr Stumfold's church, or I should not now have spoken about her or him. And now comes the question, Miss Mackenzie."

"What is the question, Mr Maguire?"

"Miss Mackenzie--Margaret, will you share your lot with mine? It is true that you have money. It is true that I have none,--not even a curacy now. But I don't think that any such consideration as that would weigh with you for a moment, if you can find it in your heart to love me."

Miss Mackenzie sat thinking for some minutes before she gave her answer--or striving to think; but she was so completely under the terrible fire of his eye, that any thought was very difficult.

"I am not quite sure about that," she said after a while. "I think, Mr Maguire, that there should be a little money on both sides. You would hardly wish to live altogether on your wife's fortune."

"I have my profession," he replied, quickly.

"Yes, certainly; and a n.o.ble profession it is,--the most n.o.ble," said she.

"Yes, indeed; the most n.o.ble."

"But somehow--"

"You mean the clergymen are not paid as they should be. No, they are not, Miss Mackenzie. And is it not a shame for a Christian country like this that it should be so? But still, as a profession, it has its value. Look at Mrs Stumfold; where would she be if she were not a clergyman's wife? The position has its value. A clergyman's wife is received everywhere, you know."

"A man before he talks of marriage ought to have something of his own, Mr Maguire, besides--"

"Besides what?"

"Well, I'll tell you. As you have done me this honour, I think that I am now bound to tell you what Mrs Stumfold said to me. She had no right to connect my name with yours or with that of any other gentleman, and my quarrel with her is about that. As to what she said about you, that is your affair and not mine."

Then she told him the whole of that conversation which was given in the last chapter, not indeed repeating the hint about the three or four wives, but recapitulating as clearly as she could all that had been said about the suitable young lady.

"I knew it," said he; "I knew it. I knew it as well as though I had heard it. Now what am I to think of that woman, Miss Mackenzie?"

"Of which woman?"

"Of Mrs Stumfold, of course. It's all jealousy: every bit of it jealousy."

"Jealousy! Do you mean that she--that she--"

"Not jealousy of that kind, Miss Mackenzie. Oh dear, no. She's as pure as the undriven snow, I should say, as far as that goes. But she can't bear to think that I should rise in the world."

"I thought she wanted to marry you to a suitable lady, and young, with a fair provision."