"I"ll go and see her, Joan," she said, and so at last was gone.
Hugh closed the door after her.
"You"ve been anxious?" he said briefly.
"Naturally!"
"There was no need. I had to give him what I had promised him, one must always keep one"s word. It was rather a brutal business, Joan, but I had to go through with it. I"d sooner not tell you anything more. I am not proud of it."
"I--I understand, and you can understand that I was anxious."
"For him?"
"For--for you."
"For me?" He took two long strides to her. "Joan, are you going to let your pride rear impa.s.sable walls between us for ever? Can"t you be fair, generous, natural, true to yourself? Can"t you see how great, how overwhelming my love for you is?"
"There is--is something more than pride between us, Hugh."
"There is nothing--nothing that cannot be broken; that cannot be forced and broken down," he said eagerly. "You are to marry a man you do not love. Why should you? Would it be fair to yourself? Would it be fair to me? Would it be fair to your future? Think while there is time."
"I cannot," she said. "I have given him my promise--and I shall stand by it." She drew her hands away. "It is useless, Hugh. Useless now--if I did rear walls of pride between you and myself. I confess it now, I did; but they are so strong that we may not break them down."
"They shall be broken down!" he said. "Answer me this--this question truthfully, and from your soul. Look into my eyes, and answer me in one word, yes or no?" He held her hands again; he held her so that she must face him, and so holding her, looking into her eyes, he asked her: "Do you love me? Have you given to me some of your heart, knowing that I have given all of mine to you, knowing that I love you so, and need you and long for you? Do you love me a little in return, Joan?"
She was silent; her eyes met his bravely enough, yet it seemed as if she had no control upon her lips, the word would not come. Once before she had lied to him, and knew that she could not lie again, not with his eyes looking deep into hers, probing the very secrets of her soul.
"Joan, do you love me? My Joan, do you love me?" And then the answer came at last--"Yes."
CHAPTER XLIII
"NOT TILL THEN WILL I GIVE UP HOPE"
"There is nothing wrong, nothing the matter with Johnny or Connie?"
"Nothing."
"Then why--why did not Johnny come?"
"He is busy."
"But you--"
"I came to see Joan Meredyth," said Ellice quietly. She and Helen did not like one another; they were both frank in their dislike. Helen looked down on Ellice as a person of no importance, who was entirely unwanted, a mere nuisance, someone for ever in the way.
Ellice looked on Helen as the promoter of this engagement and marriage, as the woman who was responsible for everything. She did not like her.
She resented her; but for Helen, there would never have been any break in the old happy life at Buddesby.
"So you wish to see Joan, why?"
"Privately."
"My dear child, surely--"
"I am not a child, and I wish to see Joan Meredyth privately, and surely I have the right, Mrs. Everard?"
Helen frowned. "Well, at any rate you cannot see her now. She is engaged, a friend is with her."
"I can wait."
"Very well," Helen said. "If you insist. Does Johnny know that you are here?" she asked with sudden suspicion.
"No; Connie knows. I told her, and I am willing to wait."
Helen looked at her. Helen was honest. "I thought the child pretty," she reflected, "and I was wrong; she is beautiful. I don"t understand it. In some extraordinary way she seems to have changed." But her manner towards Ellice was as unfriendly as before.
"I do not in the least know how long Joan will be. You may have to wait a considerable time."
"I shall not mind."
In the room these two stood, Joan had made her confession frankly, truthfully. She had admitted her love for him, but of hope for the future she had none. That she loved him now, in spite of all the past, in spite of the troubles and shame he had brought on her, was something that had happened in spite of herself, against her will, against her desire; but because it was so, she admitted it frankly.
"But my love for you, Hugh, matters nothing," she said. "Because I love you I shall suffer more--but I shall never break my word to the man I have given it to."
"When you stand before the altar with that man"s ring on your finger, when you have promised before G.o.d to be his wife, then and not till then will I give up hope. And that will be never. It is your pride, dear, your pride that ever fights against your happiness and mine; but I shall beat it down and humble it, Joan, and win you in the end. Your own true, sweet self."
"I don"t think I have any pride left," she said. "I was prouder when I was poor than I am now. My pride was then all I had; it kept me above the sordid life about me. I cultivated it, I was glad of it, but since then--Oh, Hugh, I am not proud any more, only very humble, and very unhappy."
And because she was still promised to another man, he could not, as he would, hold out his arms to her and take her to his breast and comfort her. Instead, he took her hand and held it tightly for a time, then lifted it to his lips and went, leaving her; yet went with a full hope for the future in his heart, for he had wrung from her the confession that she loved him.
In the hall a girl, sitting there waiting patiently, looked at him with great dark eyes, yet he never saw her. A servant let him out, and then the servant came back to her. "Tell Miss Meredyth that I am here waiting to see her," Ellice said.
And as the man went away she wondered what had brought Hugh Alston here to-day, why he should be here so long with Joan when she could so distinctly remember Joan"s lack of recognition of him in the village.
She could also remember the sight of them that night, their dark shapes against the yellow glow of the lamplight in Mrs. Bonner"s cottage.
How would she find Joan? she wondered. Softened, perhaps even confused, some of her coldness shaken, some of her self-possession gone? But no, Joan held out a hand in greeting to her.
"I did not know that you were here, Miss Brand," she said. "Have you not seen Mrs. Everard?"
"I have seen her," Ellice said, "but I didn"t come here to-day to see her. I came to see you."
"To see me?" Joan smiled--a conventional smile. "You will sit down, won"t you? Is it anything that I can do? It is not, I hope, that Mr.
Everard is ill?"