Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, No. 692

THE LAST OF THE HADDONS

CHAPTER XVI. – MARIAN'S RISE IN LIFE

In the garden I found Mr Wentworth pacing one of the side-walks.

'How does she bear it?' he asked, advancing towards me.

'I do not fear for her – eventually. But it is very terrible.' Striking my hand upon the arm of a garden-seat, I angrily added: 'And he dares to call it love! Thank God, the more she sees of it the less she will believe in it!'

'He is trying to persuade her not to act upon that paper. I saw that was his intention.'

'But you were not so blind as to suppose he would succeed?' I retorted.

'No; I was not so blind as that.'

'He will only succeed in making her suffer more; though there may be some use in that. Her eyes may be opened to his selfishness and – and utter worthlessness, at last. Indeed, I am proud to say I never called that man my friend.'

'Sit down, Miss Haddon; you will want all your nerve presently,' he said gently. 'What should we do without you?'

I sat down, and gave way to a few tears.

'There; that's all right: done you good; hasn't it?' – in a relieved sort of tone; but looking as though he were not a little puzzled at my getting relief in that fashion. I could not help feeling that he regarded my tears indulgently – as less to be dreaded than fainting, but as curious, decidedly curious, man that he was!

The Fates were certainly against my impressing Robert Wentworth with the notion that I was above feminine weakness; he so naturally, and I now believe quite unconsciously, shewed a vein of satire upon such occasions. Yet I do not think that he intended to be satirical, when he appeared most so; it simply arose from contrast – his inability to comprehend certain forms of weakness, and his ludicrous gentleness towards it. But be the cause what it might, his gentleness had now the good effect of putting me upon my mettle.

Seeing that I was beginning to recover my dignity, he went on more securely: 'She needs all the help you can give her. Poor Lilian! it is terribly hard for her to lose her lover as well as her name and fortune, Mary' (from this time I was never again 'Miss Haddon' to him). 'But if she can keep her faith in friendship, she will in time get over the loss of the rest.'

Yes; she would lose her lover as well as her name and fortune. Robert Wentworth saw as clearly as I did that sooner or later what had happened would separate them. We saw them step from the window; and hastily bidding me good-bye, my companion was turning away.

'Please do not leave me just yet,' I pleaded.

'It is better I should go – for you all. The fewer witnesses of the humiliation the better. By-and-by – in a day or two;' and laying his hand for a moment on mine, as it rested passively on the seat, he walked quickly on down the path to go out by the door leading from the lower grounds.

As Lilian drew nearer, followed by Arthur Trafford, his lowering brows and angry eyes told me that the beginning of the end had already taken place. But she was not drooping now. She placed her hand in mine, and held it with a firm hold, which I thought intimated that she had not succumbed under pressure. Nay, she was growing stronger rather than weaker under it. But she left him to explain; and if I had hoped anything from Arthur Trafford, the way in which he spoke would have destroyed my hope.

'Miss – Farrar' (there was a sufficiently long pause between the words to bring the colour rushing to her cheeks) 'seems determined to take your advice, Miss Haddon. She means to recognise that marriage, cost what it may.'

There was something peculiarly offensive, and I saw that he meant it to be so, in imputing the 'advice,' as he termed it, to me. But this was not a time for me to retort, so I merely replied: 'You are angry, Mr Trafford.'

'Angry! Is it to be expected that I could stand quietly by and make no protest, while such a sacrifice was being made? I suppose you have persuaded Lilian to believe that the consequences to her are nothing to me; you have tried to make her believe that I do not love her.'

'I believe that you do love her, Mr Trafford,' I replied. It was not his love, but its quality, which I doubted. Looking steadily at him, I added: 'And now is the time to prove the worth of your love.'

'I can best do that by protecting her interests, Miss Haddon.' Turning pleadingly towards Lilian again, he added: 'If you would only promise me to delay making it known for a few days – for a day – while we talk it over, and – and take further advice. For Heaven's sake, do not do such a rash thing on the impulse of the moment, Lilian! Say you will think it over?'

'It needs no thinking,' she murmured.

'And my wishes are nothing to you?'

'I hoped – I believed – that you would help me to do what I am doing, Arthur,' she replied in a low broken voice.

'Is it possible that you can think that I should help you to sacrifice your mother's good name, and disobey your father's wishes, to gratify a sentimental and very doubtful feeling, such as this? It will not even be of any real benefit to the girl herself, who is already much better off than she had any right to expect, and happy enough as she is. I say nothing of the entire disregard of my wishes – the cruel injustice to me – after being so long led on to believe in your love for me.'

'Spare me!'

'How have you spared me?'

'I cannot act differently – I dare not!' she ejaculated, wringing her hands.

'Not though you cast away my love in doing it?'

She was silent; her clasped hands tightening painfully over each other, as she bowed her head in an agony of suffering, which his own nature was too shallow to understand.

I think that he once more imagined that he had found the way to influence her, and he impetuously went on: 'You cannot mean to cast me off. Dearest Lilian, I know that your love for me is true, and' —

'I must do what is right. O Arthur, it is so hard to bear, and I need help so much: for our love's sake, help me!' putting out her hands towards him with a last appeal.

'You call it right to bring shame upon your dead mother and to be untrue to me?'

'You are pitiless, Mr Trafford!' I put in, losing all patience. 'And you do not know Lilian, or you would see that you are adding to her suffering to no purpose; for you will not alter her determination: she will act according to her perception of what is right in the matter, suffer what she may.'

'Then let her take the consequences!' he exclaimed, losing all self-command, and without another word turning away and walking off in a towering passion; as I afterwards found, going through the house and straight down to the railway station.

Lilian clung sobbing to me a few moments: 'God help me! Pray for me, Mary!'

'You are helped, dear Lilian. Strength has been given to you, and the rest will come easier.'

'Yes; nothing can be very painful now' – wearily.

A servant came to tell us that tea was taken in, and that Mrs Tipper and Miss Reed were waiting for us.

'Have you quite decided to make it known at once, dear?'

'Yes; the sooner it is over the better.'

'Perhaps it is. Would you like to go to your room, and leave me to prepare them a little, dear Lilian?'

'Yes; I should be very glad – if you do not mind – if you think it is best, Mary.'

'I think it best for you to be present,' I replied, reflecting that it would at least be better for her than brooding over the miserable scene which had just been enacted. 'But if you do not feel equal to it, and would like me to act for you, I will of course do so.'

'I will come with you,' she quietly replied, putting her hand into mine.

I stopped for a moment to kiss the pure brow, then we went together to the morning-room.

'Excuse my sending, dears; but we thought that you had perhaps forgotten,' said the kind little lady. 'But where are the gentlemen? James said that Mr Wentworth had arrived.'

'They are gone,' I replied, trying to nerve myself for what was to come.

'Gone, dear?' Then she nervously added, taking note of Lilian's white face: 'Is there anything the matter? Is not Lilian well, Mary?'

I placed Lilian on a couch, and took my seat beside her; then replied: 'She has had a very great' (I was going to say shock, but substituted) 'surprise. Something has occurred which will affect her whole future life.'

I saw that Marian's interest was awakened now.

'Affect her whole future life!' she slowly repeated. Then with a sudden unholy light in her eyes, she eagerly went on: 'You don't mean to say that there's been a quarrel, and that it's all broken off between Mr Trafford and her?'

'Be good enough to listen quietly,' I sternly replied. 'Lilian wishes me to tell you, and I will do so in as few words as possible. In looking over the contents of a cabinet which had belonged to her father, Lilian found a paper purporting to be an agreement, which, being signed in Scotland, constitutes a marriage between Mr Farrar – and your mother.'

'Ma!'

'And after ascertaining that it is genuine, for that kind of thing' (I could not help putting in the last little tag, though I might just as well have left it unsaid, so little did it trouble her), 'Lilian has decided to act upon it. She intends to recognise your mother's marriage, though it be at the sacrifice of everything she most cares for in the world.'

Mrs Tipper hurriedly rose from her seat, and crossed over to Lilian's side.

'Married to Ma!' ejaculated Marian, gazing at us with dilating eyes and parted lips. 'My gracious! And if Ma was his wife, I must be his daughter – his eldest daughter, and I've as good a right' – She paused, for the moment quite dazzled by the light which was breaking in upon her; then presently added, a little more doubtfully: 'But you forget; Ma died only fifteen years ago, and Lilian is over seventeen. How could he have two wives, unless' —

'It is Lilian's mother who was wronged,' I explained, feeling that the sooner it was all said the better, if I wished to spare Lilian as much as possible from hearing the other's comments.

'My goodness!' In her surprise and excitement, forgetting company manners and her usual fine-ladyism, as well as being entirely oblivious of Lilian's position and consequent feelings in the matter. 'Then that was what you meant when you questioned me so closely the other day about the exact time of Ma's death. You were sharp!'

Mrs Tipper had Lilian in her arms, murmuring tender love-speeches over her. Marian might go on as she pleased now.

It did please her to go on. 'To think of Ma being Mrs Farrar after all! I should like to hear what Mr Pratt will say to that, after talking about being able to tell a lady when he saw her! Mrs Farrar! And I'm the eldest daughter, and' – A new thought occurred to her, and she went on with raised colour: 'Why, if I'm the eldest daughter, the real Miss Farrar, and there was no will, everything must be mine!'

'Everything you most care for will most probably be yours.'

My words brought back the recollection of Arthur Trafford, and she eagerly whispered: 'Does he know, Miss Haddon? Will it make any difference to him, do you think?'

I turned away in disgust, and went towards Lilian.

'Come, Lilian; you need rest and quiet: come to your room, dear. – You will come with us – will you not, Mrs Tipper?'

'Certainly I will,' returned Mrs Tipper promptly, rising to accompany us: 'my place is with her.'

There was no necessity to apologise for leaving Marian alone. She was for the moment too entirely absorbed in the contemplation of the great change in her prospects to take any notice of our proceedings. 'Miss Farrar!' I heard her repeating to herself, as she stood gazing out of the window at the Fairview terraces and gardens, whilst we made our way towards the door – 'Miss Farrar!'

Well, we were not entirely comfortless; we three could wonderfully help each other. Mrs Tipper had at once returned to her allegiance; and from thenceforth, I knew that Lilian would reign alone in her heart. Indeed I think it was some time before the dear little woman could forgive herself for being so disloyal to Lilian as to allow the other to reign with her, even for a time. Marian's reception of the news had shocked her a great deal more than it had shocked me, because she was less prepared to see the former as she really was.

We were sitting together, and were already I was thankful to find beginning to be able to face the worst and talk over the event with some degree of calmness, when Lydia the housemaid tapped at the door with a message from 'Miss Farrar.'

'If you please, ma'am, Miss Farrar wishes to know if you will come to tea, or if you would prefer its being sent up here?' said the girl, staring at us with all her eyes, astonishment depicted in every line of her face.

Truly Marian had lost no time in making the change in her fortune known. But that was, I suppose, to be expected. Obeying a sign from Lilian and her aunt, I bade Lydia bring us some tea there.

We none of us went down again that night, although two or three very gracious messages were sent up by 'Miss Farrar.' The repetition of the name, and the girl's whole manner very evidently shewed that she had been taken into Marian's confidence. I could see by her hesitating reply to a question of Lilian's, that she had been informed that her young mistress had no right to her father's name; and this made me at length decide to give Lydia the true version of the story for circulation. There was now no helping its getting about, and therefore I determined that Lilian's unhesitating justice should be made known. Following her out of the room, I rapidly gave Lydia an account of what had happened. It was not necessary to dwell upon Lilian's unswerving truth and justice. I just related the facts, and they spoke for themselves.

Lydia was astounded; too much so to pick and choose her words, or to assume a higher morality than she really felt.

'My! Give up all that, when she might so easily have kept it all! Oh, Miss Haddon, an angel straight down from heaven couldn't do more than that! It's almost too good, it really is' (regretfully), 'giving up this beautiful house, and thousands and thousands a year, when she might have just torn up that paper, and nobody ever been the wiser! One wouldn't mind if a bad person had to give it up; but it don't seem right for dear Miss Lilian to suffer – it really don't.'

'Do not you think she is better able to endure suffering than a bad person would be, Lydia?'

'I suppose she is, Miss; I suppose that's religion; but – There; I can't bear to think of it! That Miss Reed, who isn't fit to hold a candle to her for goodness, leave alone ladified ways, to be set up above over Miss Lilian! A pretty mistress she will make; though,' added Lydia, gradually awakening to the possibility of certain consequences accruing to herself, 'I shan't be here long to see it. I've let her see what I think of her, a good deal too plain for that; and for the matter of that, so has every one of us, though she's only got herself to thank for it.'

I had had my suspicions that Marian was not liked amongst the servants; indeed Becky had more than once given me a hint that the former was just as much disliked in the house as Lilian was beloved. The first thing the next morning, Becky shewed me something else.

'Why, what is the matter, Becky?' I inquired, when she entered the room, her swollen eyelids and red nose betokening recent and violent emotion, which I could not wholly attribute to her attachment to Lilian, and consequent sympathy with her suffering. Though Lilian was growing in Becky's favour, the growth was slow.

'Please, don't ask me, Miss' – lugubriously. Then, after a struggle against herself, she put down the jug of water she was carrying, and burst forth into a wail of sorrow.

'I must ask you, Becky, and of course you must tell me your trouble.'

'You've got to go,' she sobbed out. 'You're going to be sent away the very first! She told Lydia so this morning. But I'll go too; I told her so. You will let me go with you; won't you, Miss Haddon, dear? You've always been my real mistress in my heart; and it won't make scarce any difference to you, till we can get another place. I can live on as little as you can; and there's another quarter's wages nearly due.'

'Hush, Becky! Don't cry so, child!' I murmured, not a little touched, and trying to wipe her tears away. 'It is not so bad as you think – not for me. I should very much prefer leaving Fairview now, I assure you, indeed – What if I tell you a secret, Becky; something which no one else, not even Miss Lilian, knows, though I love her so much? I think I can do very well without taking another situation, and I mean to have you with me.'

'Do without!' she ejaculated, her thoughts, I think, reverting to my small success in 'doing without' at Mrs Sowler's. 'Don't try that again, for' —

'Listen a moment, Becky. In three or four months I am going to be married.'

'Married! Oh, Miss Haddon, dear!' she ejaculated, her mouth expanding and her whole face brightening. 'And may I guess who he is? I think I can.'

'Yes.'

'It's that gentleman, Mr Wentworth, who comes here so often, and looks at you so. Isn't it? Mr Saunders said he knew it would come. And I don't believe there's another gentleman in all the world as is so fit for you, that I don't; for I know a little about him too. I did not like to tell you before, but that time as' —

'Stop, stop, Becky!' I ejaculated, laughing outright. 'What in the world put such an idea into your head? Mr Wentworth indeed! Certainly not; quite a different kind of gentleman.'

'Oh!' said Becky, her face falling.

'But I do not wish it mentioned, Becky. I only tell you that you may have the pleasure of feeling that you and I need have no anxiety about the future; for of course you will be with me.'

There was only one little drawback to Becky's happiness now – the regret that Robert Wentworth was not to be my husband; and I thought his being so great a favourite of hers quite sufficiently accounted for her disappointment. I, in turn, was a little disappointed that the face I had shewn her in the locket was so difficult to connect with the idea of my happiness; though I told myself Philip must look much more manly now. But having set Becky's fears at rest, I was a great deal too anxious about Lilian's future to think much about my own.

FOSSIL MEN

Men of science in their eagerness to support a theory are apt to fall into mistakes. They reason honestly enough, but from too narrow a basis of facts. For example, the skeleton of a man is found imbedded in limestone. That man must have lived in the geological period, long before the commencement of human record. This theory looks well, but is not satisfactory. We do not know at what time the limestone, which was originally a loose substance, assumed the rocky form. There is a case in point.

At the western end of the geological galleries of the British Museum may be seen a human skeleton imbedded in a block of limestone brought from Guadeloupe. At first sight this would seem to be a silent but unimpeachable witness to the remote antiquity of our race. On investigation, however, the fossil man is found to be in this point of view a bearer of most unreliable testimony. All fossils are not necessarily very old, and this skeleton is comparatively a modern one. The limestone in which it is imbedded is a very rapidly formed deposit of corals and small shells bound together by a kind of natural calcareous cement. The remains are those of an Indian, whose death is placed by some authorities at as recent a period as two hundred years ago. The same rock often contains remains of unmistakably recent origin. In England a coin of Edward I. has been found imbedded in it; in France a cannon buried in this hard stone was quarried out of a deposit on the lower Rhone.

Another 'fossil man' was found at Denise in Auvergne. The bones were beneath the hardened lava stream of an extinct volcano, and it was alleged that the volcanoes of Auvergne had not been active since the Christian era, as Julius Cæsar had actually encamped among them. This view was put forward more than thirty years ago. Since then, a more careful investigation of local history has proved that there were serious volcanic disturbances in Auvergne as late as the fifth century; and further, it appears that the original position of the buried man is very doubtful, as there has been a landslip on the spot.

In 1848 some human bones were found imbedded in the rocks on the shores of Lake Monroe in Florida. It was reported at the time that the rock was a coralline limestone; and on this basis Agassiz and Lyell assigned to the fossil men an age of at least ten thousand years. But the claim to this venerable antiquity was unfortunately exploded by a discovery which shewed that the evidence on which it rested was false. Pourtalès, the original discoverer, came forward to rectify the mistake. The rock in which the bones lay was not the old coralline limestone of Florida, but a recent fresh-water sandstone, which contains (besides the bones) large numbers of shells of precisely the same species as those still indigenous to the lake.

So far we have dealt only with errors resulting from imperfect information or too hastily drawn inferences. But there are cases in which, as we have said, an uneducated man has succeeded in deceiving a geologist in his own special line of study. The well-known jaw of Moulin Quignon is a case in point. Every one has heard of M. Boucher de Perthes' careful exploration of the gravels of the Somme Valley, which resulted in the discovery of thousands of flint implements, the handiwork of primitive man in Western Europe. But up to 1863 M. Boucher de Perthes had found no human remains in the gravel, though it had been predicted that such would be found; and he was naturally anxious to make the discovery. He had offered a reward for this purpose to the workmen of the different gravel-pits in the valley. Several attempts had been made to deceive him with false discoveries, but in every case his special knowledge had saved him from falling into a trap. At length he and many others with him were completely deceived by the cunning of a workman. In 1863 a quarryman at Moulin Quignon, near Abbeville, came to M. Boucher de Perthes with the news that he had laid bare a human bone in the gravel. He had left it undisturbed, in order that the professor might himself examine it in situ, and explore the surrounding deposit for further remains. M. de Perthes and some of his friends went to the spot. Half imbedded in the gravel – a bed of pebbles stained a dull red by the presence of iron in the deposit – they found a human jawbone with several teeth still in position, the whole stained like the surrounding gravel. Close by was a flint hatchet.