Mr. Brandon had come home with the intention of marrying, and had flirted a good deal during the six or eight months of his stay in England, but he had seen so many young ladies that one had driven another out of his head. He thought he might have fallen in love with Miss Harriett Phillips, who, though not very young, would in all other respects be very suitable, and who, he had no doubt, would accept him; but still he could not manage to cultivate an attachment strong enough to warrant such a desperate step as a proposal. Ever since he had seen Elsie Melville at Mrs. Rennie's party, her face and form, and her pleasant voice with its Scotch accent, recurred more frequently in his thoughts than those of any woman he had seen. Her elegance, her gentleness, her sprightliness, had struck him at sight, and her forlorn condition was very interesting. Her poetical talents, of which he had heard from Peggy, impressed him a good deal, and the manner in which she had taken so industriously to the only means of earning a livelihood open to her, though one which was so far beneath her, had certainly called forth his respect.
The sight of Elsie again, though in diminished beauty, revived all those sentiments of compassion and protection that he had felt for her from first hearing of her misfortunes. Yes, he would marry her, and then she would grow rosy and happy; and he would get her poems published at his own expense, and have such a splendid copy for herself to lay on her drawing-room table—for she should have a drawing-room at Barragong, and every comfort, and even luxury, that Victoria in those days could afford. He never would be ashamed to take Elsie to see any of his friends or relatives, for she was a gentlewoman born and bred. As for her being a milliner for the present, it was only so much the more to be proud of.
These thoughts lay in Brandon's mind, and strengthened every day of his short stay in Edinburgh; his strong-minded cousins thought Walter Brandon was more contemptible than ever, for he did not seem to have an idea in his head; whereas it was because he had one idea very strongly in his head and heart that he was so disinclined for argument or discussion. Peggy, who perceived Brandon's evident admiration, again regretted her own burst of confidence in her autobiographical sketch, but thought that now Miss Elsie was so downcast and so miserable, that she would never think of refusing so excellent an offer as her old master could make. She began to praise Mr. Brandon—to whose character, however, she never did full justice, from not understanding many of its best points. She liked Mr. Phillips much better, who was graver. Her Scotch phlegmatic temperament could not appreciate the fine spirit and unvarying good humour of Brandon, and his random way of talking she thought flighty and frivolous. But yet she could, and did, praise him for his kindness of heart and his want of selfishness, which he had shown on many occasions, great and small, at Barragong. These panegyrics were bestowed with discretion, not being told to Elsie herself, but brought out incidentally in conversation with grandfather, who thought highly of Brandon, and never ceased to extol his politeness.
Elsie and Brandon had a railway carriage to themselves for a considerable part of the way; and he thought he never could have a better opportunity of declaring himself; so, with rather less stammering and hesitation than is usual on such occasions—for he had not the least doubt of a favourable answer—he made Elsie understand that he loved her, and asked for her love in return.
"No, no—oh, no!" said Elsie, covering her face with her hands.
"Why 'No,' Miss Alice? 'Yes' sounds a great deal prettier. I'll take such good care of you, and I am sure you will like Australia. Peggy has not given you a very dismal account of Barragong, and I have had it very much improved since her time, and I will have a great deal more done to it; and before we go I will have your book printed——"
"My book," said Elsie; "what book?"
"Your poems—I know they are beautiful—Peggy told me about them; and we will have them brought out in the very best style, and I will be so proud to think what a genius I have got for my own darling."
Elsie sighed deeply; tried to speak, but could not. It was a good sign, Mr. Brandon thought—a sigh was ten times more encouraging than a smile. He knew he had hit upon the right thing when he had spoken of her poems; it was wonderful how discerning love had made him.
"You are mistaken, Mr. Brandon," said she with difficulty, scarcely daring to raise her eyes to the level of his waistcoat; "I am no genius, and my poems are not worth printing—poor, crude, empty productions. I believe I can make caps and bonnets, but that is all that I can do."
"That is only your opinion of yourself. But with my will, you shall make no more frippery of the kind. It is quite beneath you."
"It is not beneath me to earn an honest livelihood."
"No; but it was cruel to make you have to do it. I have been so sorry for you all these months, when Miss Melville told me how you were employed."
"Do not say anything more about your pity for me; it pains me."
"It is not pity; it is love," said he, stoutly.
"Love born of pity; that will die when—I mean if—but it cannot be; I never can be your wife—the most unsuitable, the most wrong thing that I could do. Do not speak any more about it."
Elsie's real distress convinced Mr. Brandon of her sincerity, but it set him on a wrong scent. There must be a rival; no doubt she must love some one else, or she would have given him a hearing. It was not possible that a girl would prefer poverty, solitude, and a position like that which she held at Mrs. Dunn's, to marriage with a good-looking, good-tempered fellow like himself, who would deny her nothing, and who intended to be the kindest husband in the world—if her heart was disengaged. Now poor Elsie was as heart-whole as a girl could be, but her manner of refusing made him think of a number of little signs which looked as if she were the victim of a hopeless attachment. Her sadness, her poetry, her little sighs, her diffidence, her pining away, were all due to the shameful conduct of one who in happier days had sought her hand, and had deserted her when fortune changed. His pity for her increased, but his love did not. If she had the bad taste to prefer a sad memory to a living lover, she might do so. He did not care to inquire as to the particulars of her unhappy love, even if he had thought it honourable to do so. The truth is, that Mr. Brandon did not love Elsie very much, though he thought he did so when he asked her. If she had said yes—if she had looked at him with grateful eyes, and told him that she would try to do her best to make him happy, his love would have become real, and would have surprised both himself and her by its strength and its steadiness. But he had never dreamed of such a thing as a refusal, and he had hastened his proposal, not from any feeling of insecurity, but from a desire to make Elsie very happy, and to do it as soon as possible.
But he had been refused—positively refused. Elsie might have said more of the obligation to him—might have been more grateful for the compliment which he had paid to her—Walter Brandon thought it would have been graceful to do so; but she said nothing of the kind. She sat in a rigid, painful silence till they reached the next station, where other passengers joined them, and put an end to a TETE-A-TETE which was rather awkward for both parties. She felt that she had given pain and mortification to a man who had meant well by her, and she did not dare to open her lips in consolation or extenuation. She could not trust herself to speak; she would not venture to renew any solicitation. Forlorn and humbled as she was, she felt that she was in the greatest danger; that it was a tremendous bribe that was offered to her. She had Peggy's story ringing in her ears, and thought of Peggy's insight and Peggy's courage. The weak and facile Mr. Brandon was apt to fall in love, or to fancy that he did so, with any woman he came in much contact with, and she was as unsuitable for him, even more unsuitable, than Peggy was. The discipline of the last ten months had been too severe for her; it had crushed her spirit, and injured her health. She felt alarmed about her cough, and recently had been thinking more of the blessedness of an early death than the happiness of an early marriage. She felt herself to be sickly, low-spirited, wanting in energy, no fit companion for any colonist, and especially unfit to be the wife of a man of so little force of character. His offer appeared to her to be rash and imprudent. What did he know of her to warrant him in risking his life's happiness in such a way? But yet, though it was foolish in him to ask her, and though it would have been very wrong in her to accept of him, she was grateful, so grateful. How little Walter Brandon could guess how grateful she felt, when, after their journey was over, he took her cold, trembling hand, and placed her in the carriage that was to take them to Dr. Phillips's.
"You seem afraid of me, Miss Alice," said he. "Do not think that I will say another word on the subject, if it is painful to you. I know better than to persecute a woman with my addresses, if I see she does not like them. But do you REALLY not like them?"
"No, I do not," said Elsie, abruptly. "You will see hundreds of other women who would suit you far better than I could do."
"If you would only love me, I should be quite satisfied with your suiting me—but if you cannot, there need be no more said about it."
Jane was engaged with her pupils when her sister arrived, and Mrs. Phillips, who had not been very regular in her attendance at school lately, stayed in the room this morning in order to see and remark upon Miss Melville's pretty sister. She could see little beauty in the sad face, with the weary look about the eyes, and the lines round the mouth, that had been the result of Elsie's real experience of life. The figure, Mrs. Phillips confessed to her husband and to Mr. Brandon, was rather good, but wanted development; it was too much of the whipping-post order. The Misses Phillips said they really thought Jane the better looking of the two girls, for she had such a beautiful expression; while Mr. Phillips said that Elsie had fallen off sadly since he saw her in Edinburgh at the new year. She had struck him then as being very pretty, but he did not think so now, and, of course, in every other respect but personal appearance she could not be compared with her sister. Dr. Phillips said he must have her examined about her cough, for it should not be trifled with. He hoped that it had not been too long neglected. All these remarks, coming immediately after his refusal by the object of them, made Brandon somewhat reconciled to the circumstance, though if he had had a kinder answer, they would have made no difference in his feelings towards Elsie, but would probably have made him love her all the more.
When Harriett Phillips spoke in warm praise of Miss Melville's excellent understanding, and her fine, open, intelligent, expression of countenance, he thought he never saw her own countenance look so open or so attractive. He felt disposed to be consoled, and he was very sure that she was quite willing to console him.
Jane saw much amiss with her darling sister at the first glance, but hoped that the change, and Dr. Phillips's advice, which he had said would be at her service, and her own society, would benefit Elsie greatly.
Elsie did not muster courage to tell Jane of the incident of the railway journey till they had retired for the night.
"You know I could not answer otherwise, Jane; I did not love him; do not be angry with me," said Elsie, apologetically.
"Angry with you my dear child! No, I honour you," said Jane.
"You see Jane, I have been so unhappy, so ill, and so low-spirited, that I could easily have snatched at an escape from this dreary life, and said I would marry him; but he would have been so disappointed when he came to know me."
"You do not love him now, Elsie, but could you not have learned to love him? It is not to be supposed that a girl has a ready-made attachment to be given to the first man who sees fit to ask her; she must take a little time."
"But, Jane, though he has been very kind to us, you know—you remember Peggy, and what she said about him?"
Jane nodded assent.
"I know I have been rude about it. I ought to have said much that I felt, but when girls say such things they either give more pain afterwards, or get committed. Oh! Jane, tell me again that I have been right."
"Right? yes," said Jane, thoughtfully. "Perhaps you ought to have a man of more fixed principles, if he could be had. But Elsie, my darling, it is not who we ought to have in the world, but who will have us; reflect that you may never have such an offer, or, indeed, another offer of any kind, again. I do not mean to bias your judgment, my own dear sister. Only think—he has, as you say, been very kind. He is not faultless; but who is? As for Peggy's story, that was many years ago; and, so far as I can judge from our friends here, he bears an excellent character. We should not condemn a man for life on account of something wrong done, or, as in this case, only purposed, when very young, and in circumstances of temptation which you and I, perhaps, can scarcely appreciate. He took Peggy's first answer in a right spirit, and you can see how he respects her. All I have seen of him since I came to London, has disposed me to think favourably of him. His temper is the finest in the world, I think."
"Finer than Francis'?" said Elsie, who knew her sister's very great regard for her cousin, and never fancied she could think any man his superior in any point.
"Yes, sunnier than Francis'."
"But he is not half so clever or so cultivated," remonstrated Elsie.
"His cleverness lies in a different direction."
"I think him inferior to Francis in every way," said Elsie, "and that weighed with me in giving my answer. You should think your husband the very best person you ever saw."
"Perhaps when he is your husband you may, but I fancy that a girl who has a good father and brothers, does not at once give a man this preference when he asks for her hand. As I said before, he is not faultless, but would not life with him be preferable to life as it is for you now?"
"Don't, Jane; don't side with my cowardly self. To marry him, not loving him, as he perhaps deserves to be loved—not honouring him as I know I should honour my husband—but merely because I am miserable—how cruel to him, how base in myself! I know, besides, that he only pities me. Oh! Jane, if it were only life with you I could bear it better, but I am so weary of that workroom at Mrs. Dunn's, and of seeing people there whom I used to know, and getting a pitying sort of recognition from them. The very girls in the workroom pity me, and Peggy pities me, and even the children and their grandfather pity me. Oh! Jane, Jane, I am tired, tired to death of all this pity. Nobody ever thought of pitying you in your hardest times; you could hold up your head, and mine seems as if I never could raise it more. It must have been only pity in Mr. Brandon's case—what did he know of me to make him love me?"
"Have you forgotten that you are a very sweet, charming girl, Elsie—that your eyes are both bright and true—that your voice is pleasant, both in itself, and for the very pleasant things you can say? My darling, you must not lose all pride in yourself in this way. I wish half the offers of marriage that are made were founded on as much respect as Mr. Brandon felt for you. Though he talked slightingly of your work at Mrs. Dunn's, do not fancy but that he honours you for doing it. Besides, though he is not very literary, he may admire your talents. He meant to please you by speaking about your poems."
"If he thinks I could be brilliant in society, or do him any credit in that way, he would be sure to be disappointed, and what a terrible thing it must be to disappoint a husband! It is not so much his deficiencies as my own, that weigh upon me. And, besides, Jane, I am not well; I really think I am going into a consumption—the sooner the better, if it were not for you, my dearest—and to marry any one with such a conviction, would be positively wicked."
"Oh, you are not going into a consumption, Elsie, I hope and believe," said Jane, as cheerfully as she could. "Your apprehension of such a thing shows that you are in no danger. You will see Dr. Phillips tomorrow morning, and get something to set you to rights. I am glad you are joining us here, for the sake of his advice. I like him so very much, and I think him clever—perhaps not naturally so acute as Dr. Vivian, but he has had a large practice so long, and so little wedded to routine, and so willing to accept of any new light that can be thrown on medicine, that his greater experience more than counterbalances his son's greater talent. And he is cheerful, too; the sound of his voice, and even of his step, is like a cordial to the sick and the depressed, I think. I know it does me a great deal of good, and it must benefit you."
"You are very happy here; honoured, and useful, and well paid," said Elsie.
"Oh! yes, dear; I have a great deal to be thankful for, and in time we will be able to be together always. In the meantime your holiday must be enjoyed to the utmost."
So the sisters talked of their plans for the future, and of the routine of their past life, as cheerfully as they could, and tried to banish Mr. Brandon from their thoughts. Elsie was asleep first, and then Jane anxiously lay awake, weighing the probabilities about her health and her recovery, and also thinking with approval, but certainly with regret, of Elsie's conscientious refusal of so excellent an offer as she had that day received. Her own opinion of Mr. Brandon had risen since she had known him better, and she believed that Elsie would have suited him extremely well. She only hoped that he would not accept her sister's answer as final, at least, if Dr. Phillips pronounced favourably on the subject of her health.
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