Tales of the Wonder Club Volume III Part 24

"How can I be calm," screamed the girl, "when he has gone for ever, and I shall never, never see him again!"

"Well, my dear, and a good job too. The best thing that could happen to you both," said the antiquary, "though you won't think so now; but mark my word, Helen, this will pa.s.s over, and the sooner the better for you both, for these sort of cases lead to no good, you may depend upon it."

"Why, sir," asked the girl, "is it then a sin to love?"

"A sin, my precious!" exclaimed Oldstone; "no, I can't say that.

But--but--there is always danger in it."

"What danger, sir?"

"Well, my dear, there are certain things that are very difficult to explain to one so young. When you grow older----"

"Oh! sir, why cannot you tell me now--you, who know the danger?"

"Yes, my dear, I should just think I did," observed the antiquary.

"There are shoals and pitfalls that beset the young, and they would do well to listen to the voice of warning ere it is too late, and profit by the experience of others, rather than trouble themselves about the _why_ and the _wherefore_ of everything."

"Then you mean to say that love _is_ wrong after all," observed Helen.

"Not as long as it remains love," replied Oldstone, "but people may _make_ it so."

"How? I don't understand."

"Perhaps not, my dear. You have much to learn yet. I mean, people _will_ talk, and you can't stop them. The world can only judge by appearances.

It _might_ misjudge you. It might put a false construction on your conduct, however innocent."

"But that would be wrong, unjust, and cruel."

"Perhaps so, my dear. It very often is."

"Are the gentlemen of the club the world?"

"Yes, part of it."

"Would they tell stories about me?"

"If they thought they saw anything suspicious in your conduct."

Helen reflected for a moment and then said, "I don't know what they could find suspicious in my conduct."

"No, my pet, neither do I," answered the kind old man with a benevolent smile. "The fact is, there are so many people in the world who find other people's business more interesting than their own; and even when they are unable to find a flaw in their neighbour's character, they will make one. Therefore, avoid the appearance of evil."

"Still, I don't understand," began Helen.

"No, my dear, and what's more, I can't explain," observed the old man.

"But _this_ I can tell you. The brute world, in cases of love, exacts marriage as the hallmark of respectability. It can see nothing but harm in the love of two young pure souls, however platonic--I mean innocent.

They look upon it as dangerous, to say the least, and the only way to satisfy them and avoid scandal is to _marry_."

"I never thought about marrying," said Helen. "Cannot two persons love each other just the same without either thinking of marriage?"

"They _could_ I suppose, but the world would soon make it hot for them.

They would have to pay for defying the world."

"Pay!"

"Yes, and dearly too. Pay for it by seeing the finger of scorn directed towards them--the cold shoulder of respectability and self-righteousness; by being forced to listen to vile gossip and scandalous reports; shunned by those far viler than themselves; bear up against the ribald jeers of the vile populace, till their lives become a burden to them, and they would finally be compelled to confess that they would have done better for their own peace and comfort if they had humoured the vile rabble and _married_."

"Does love without marriage mean all that?"

"I am afraid it does, my girl; I am afraid it does. At least, I wouldn't advise you to brave the world. It isn't worth it. If you can't marry, you had better not encourage love."

"I don't see that it matters to them if I love or if I don't," observed the girl.

"Neither do I, my dear," answered her counsellor, "and if people would mind their own business, the world would be happier."

"It seems so mean and paltry to be always prying into other people's affairs. I can't tell why they do it. I am sure I should never take the trouble. How is it, Mr. Oldstone?"

"My dear," replied the old man, "I can't tell you how these things are, but so they are."

At this juncture the voice of Dame Hearty was heard calling for her daughter. The door then opened, and the head of our hostess appeared.

"Come now, Helen," cried our worthy dame, rather petulantly, "I have been looking for you all over the house. You knew I was waiting for you in the kitchen."

"Don't blame her, mother," interceded the kind antiquary. "It is all _my_ fault. I have been detaining her perhaps over long, just for a friendly chat."

"Oh, very well, sir," replied the landlady with a bland smile, "but if you don't mind me taking her away now, as I am rather behind-hand with the work."

"Certainly, Dame Hearty," said Mr. Oldstone, with a wave of the hand.

Helen followed her mother, and the door closed behind them. Then our antiquary occupied himself vigorously with his writing, until the other members of the club returned from their ramble, hungry for their mid-day meal.

CHAPTER X.

It is not our object to weary the reader with superfluous details relating to the doings and sayings of the members of the club, nor to follow up the story of their lives from day to day. We will, therefore, suppose some two years to have pa.s.sed away since our artist's departure for Rome. In two years' time much may transpire, _i.e._, in a large town where there is much business and traffic. In this ancient hostelry, however, situated about a mile from any habitable dwelling, things went on from year to year in much the same monotonous way. Jack Hearty was just as genial and attentive as ever, and looked no older. Dame Hearty was just as active, bustling, and good-humoured. And Helen, what of her?

Ah! here _was_ a change. Was she falling into a decline? Did her cheek grow paler and paler, her step listless, her eye vacant, her manner distracted? No; nothing of the sort. All these signs had vanished long ago, thanks to a course of steel that Dr. Bleedem had prescribed for her, and insisted on her taking. What a feather in the good doctor's cap it was when he saw the sallow, sunken face fill out, the rose of perfect health once more return to her cheek, the elasticity to her step, and the merry ring to her voice. No wonder he blew his own trumpet. Who would not have done the same?

But there was one among the members who smiled quietly, and with an air of superiority, whenever the doctor vaunted himself.

"I don't know what you mean, sir," said Dr. Bleedem, one day, irritated at what he conceived to be an expression of incredulity on our antiquary's countenance, "but if you think that my medicine did not effect the marvellous cure we have been discussing, I should like to know what did, that's all."

"Well, sir," replied Mr. Oldstone, still with a quizzical look in his eye, "I said nothing."

The doctor, far from being pacified, gave a snort, then resumed severely, "And I'll tell you what it is, Oldstone, if you don't take more care of your const.i.tution, you won't last much longer. You may depend upon that. If you pa.s.s many more nights like that one on the eve of Mr. McGuilp's departure, and think that you know better than I do, your sand will run speedily down. Then will follow a state of utter prostration--the death rattle--the silent tomb. Ha! ha! how will you like that?"