Then it was that all my resolution came to a point; for all circ.u.mstances looked that way--my determination to speak, the blessed time of Christmas, the extraordinary kindness of Dolly to me all day, and the very place empty, yet lighted and waiting, as if by design.
For a moment after she had sat down on one side of the hearth, and I on the other, I could not speak; for I seemed to myself all shaking, and again she looked such a child, with her pale cheeks flushed with the exercise, and her eyes alight with merriment. All went before me in that moment--my old thought that I was to be a monk, my leaving the novitiate, my mission from Rome, such as it was, and the work I had been able to do for the King. To all this I must say good-bye; and yet this price I should pay seemed to me scarcely to be considered as weighed against this little maid. So it went by me like a picture, and was gone, and I looked up.
There was that in my air, I suppose, and the way I looked at her, that told her what my meaning was; for before I had spoken even a syllable she was on her feet again, and the flush was stricken from her face.
"Oh! no! Cousin Roger," she cried. "No, no, Cousin Roger!
"It is Yes, Yes, Cousin Dolly," said I. "Or at least I hope so." (I said this with more a.s.surance than I shewed, for if I was sure of anything it was that she loved me in return. And I stood up and leaned on the chimney-breast.)
She stood there, staring on me; and the flush crept back.
"What have I said?" she whispered.
"You need say nothing more, my dear, except what I bid you. My dear love, you have guessed just what it was that I had to say. Sit down again, if you please, Cousin, while I tell you."
As I looked at her, a very curious change came across her face. I saw it at once, but I did not think upon it till afterwards. She had been a very child just now, in her terror that I should speak--just that terror, I should suppose, that every maid must have when a man first speaks to her of love. Yet, as I looked, that terror went from her face, and her wide eyes narrowed a little as she brought down her brows, and her parted lips closed. It was, I thought, just that she had conquered herself, and set herself to hear what I had to say, before answering me as I wished. She moved very slowly back to her chair, and sat down, crossing her hands on her lap. That was all that I thought it was, so little did I know women"s hearts, and least of all hers.
I remained yet a moment longer, leaning my forehead on my hand, and my hand flat upon the tapestry, staring into the red logs, and considering how to say what I had to say with the least alarm to her. I felt--though I am ashamed to say it--as it were something of condescension towards her. I knew that it was a good match for her, for had not her father drilled that into me by a hundred looks and hints? I knew that I was something considerable, and like to be more so, and that I was sacrificing a good deal for her sake. And then a kind of tenderness came over me as I thought how courageous she was, and good and simple, and I put these other thoughts away, and turned to her where she sat with the firelight on her chin and brows and hair, very rigid and still.
"Dolly, my dear," I said, "I think you know what I have to say to you.
It is that I love you very dearly, as you must have seen--"
She made a little quick movement as if to speak.
"Wait, cousin," I said, "till I have done. I tell you that I love you very dearly, and honor you, and can never forget what you did for me.
And I am a man of a very considerable estate and a Catholic; so there is nothing to think of in that respect. And your father too will be pleased, I know; and we are--"
Again she made that little quick movement; and I stopped.
"Well, my dear?"
She looked up at me very quietly.
"Well, Cousin Roger; and what then?"
That confused me a little; for I had thought that she had understood.
And then I thought that perhaps she too was confused.
"Why, my dear," I said very patiently as I thought, as one would speak to a child, "I am asking you if you will be my wife."
I turned away from the fire altogether, and faced her, thinking I should have her in my arms. But at first she said nothing at all, but sat immovable, scrutinizing me, I thought, as if to read all that was in my head and heart. But it was all new to me, for what did I know of love except that it was very strange and sweet? So I waited for her answer.
That answer came.
"Cousin Roger," she said in a very low voice, "I am very sorry you have spoken as you have--"
I straightened myself suddenly and looked at her more closely. She had not moved at all, except her face. A kind of roaring murmur began to fill my ears.
"Because," said she--and every word of hers now was pain to me--"because there is but one answer that I can give, which is No."
"Why--" cried I.
"You have spoken very kindly and generously. But--" and at this her voice began to ring a little--"but I am not what you think me--a maid to be flung at the head of any man who will choose to take her."
"Cousin!" cried I; and then she was on her feet too, her face all ablaze.
"Yes, Cousin!" cried she; "and never any more than that. You have acted very well, Cousin Roger; and I thank you for that compliment--that you thought it worth while to play the part--and for your great kindness to a poor country maid. I had thought it to be all over long ago--before you went away; or I would not have behaved as I have. But since you have considered it again carefully, and chosen to--to insult me after all; I have no answer at all to give, except No, a thousand times over."
"Why, Cousin--" I began again.
She stamped her foot. I could not have imagined she could be so angry.
"Wait till I have done," she said--"I do not know what my father thinks of me; but I suppose that you and he have designed all this; and led me on to make a fool of myself--Oh! Let me go! let me go!"
Oh! the triple fool that I was! Yet who had ever taught me the ways of love, or what women mean, or what their hearts are like? If I had been one half the man that I thought myself, I would have seized her there, and forced back her foolishness with kisses, and vowed that, conspirator or not, she must have me; that we knew one another too well to play false coin like this. Or I should have blazed at her in return; and told her that she lied in thinking I was as base as that. Why, I should have just borne myself like a lover to whom love is all, and dignity and wounded pride nothing; for what else is there but love, sacred or profane, in the whole world that G.o.d has made? If I had done that! If only I had done that then! But I suppose that I was no lover then.
So I drew back, smarting and wounded; and let her go by; and a minute later I heard the door of her chamber slam behind her, and the key turn.
For myself I went out very slowly, five minutes after, and upstairs to my own chamber, and began to consider what things I must take with me on the morrow; for I would not stay another day in the house where I had been so insulted and denied.
CHAPTER VIII
Pride is a very good salve, when one has no humility; and it was Pride that I applied to myself to heal the wounds I had.
I came down again to the Great Chamber, half an hour later, very cold and dignified, and danced again, like the solemn fool that I was, first with one and then with another; and all the while I told myself, like the prophet that "I did well to be angry"; and that I would shew her that no man, of my ability, could depend upon any mere woman for his content. Yet the pain at my heart was miserable.
It is very near incredible to me now how I, who truly knew something of the world, and of men and of affairs, could be so childish and ignorant in a matter of this sort. In truth this was what I was; I knew nothing of true love at all; how therefore should I be a proper lover? I saw my Cousin Tom, who mopped himself a great deal, eyeing me now and again; and he presently came up and asked me where Dolly was.
"In her chamber, I think," said I, with my nose in the air; and with such a manner that he said no more.
It was enough to break my heart to continue dancing; but it was the task I had set myself upstairs; and till near ten o"clock we continued to dance--but no Dolly to help us. I had even determined how I should bear myself if she came--and how superb should be my dignity; but she did not come to see it. We ended with singing "Here"s a health unto His Majesty"; and I took care that my voice should be loud so that she should hear it. (I had even, poor fool that I was! walked heavily past her chamber-door just now, that she might hear me go.)
When all were gone away at last, I waited for my Cousin Tom, and then went with him into the parlour; where I told him very briefly all that had pa.s.sed, with the same dignity that I had set myself to preserve. I even spoke in a high sort of voice, to shew my self-command and detachment. My Cousin Tom appeared as if thunderstruck.
"Good G.o.d!" said he. "The minx! to behave like that!"
"It is no longer any concern of mine," I said. "For myself I shall go back to town to-morrow."
"But--" began he.
"My dear Cousin," I said, "it is the only thing that I can do--to set to work again. Mistress Dorothy must recover herself alone. I could not expect her to tolerate such a personage as I must appear in her eyes."
"But you will came back again," said Tom. "And I"ll talk to the chit as she deserves."