Phyllis. Duchess
Чтение книги онлайн.
Читать онлайн книгу Phyllis - Duchess страница 18
My lover's countenance falls.
"What do you mean by 'ever so long?'" he asks.
"Two or three years, perhaps."
"Phyllis! how can you be so unreasonable, so absurd?" says he, his face flushing. "Two years! It is an eternity. Say six months, if you will; though even that is a ridiculous delay."
"If you talk like that," I say, stopping to stare fixedly at him, "I will not marry you at all. We had better decide the question at once. If you mean to say you think seriously I will marry you in six months, all I can say is, you are very much mistaken. I would not marry the Prince of Wales in six months; there! If you once mention the subject to papa, and he discovers I do not wish to be hurried into the marriage, I have no doubt, he will insist on my becoming a bride in six days. But rather than submit to any tyranny in the matter I would run away and drown myself."
I utter this appalling threat with every outward demonstration of seriousness. Really the last hour has developed in a wonderful manner my powers of conversation.
"Do you suppose," cried Marmaduke, with indignation, "I have any desire to force you into anything? You may rest assured I will never mention the subject to your father. What do you take me for? You shall do just as you think fit. But, Phyllis, darling"—very tenderly, "won't you consider me a little? Remember how I shall be longing for you, and how unhappy will be every day spent away from you. Oh, darling, you cannot comprehend how every thought of my heart is wrapped up in you—how passionate and devoted is my love."
He looks so handsome, so much in earnest, as he says this, with his face flushed and his dark eyes alight, that I feel myself relenting. He sees his advantage and presses it.
"You won't be cruel, darling, will you? Remember you have all the power in your own hands. I would not, if I could, compel you to marry me a day sooner than you wish. And, Phyllis, will you not try to think it is for your happiness as well as for mine? In time you will learn to love me as well—no, that would be impossible—but almost as well as I love you. The entire devotion of a man's life must meet with some return; and I swear it shall not be my fault if every hour you spend is not happier than the last. Speak, Phyllis, and say you will come to me in—"
"A year," I interrupt, hastily. "Yes, that is a great concession; I said three years first, and now by a word I take off two. That is twenty-four long months. Think of it. You cannot expect more."
"It will never pass," says Marmaduke, desperately.
"It will pass, all too soon," say I, with a heavy sigh.
CHAPTER XII.
All that evening and all the next day I creep about as one oppressed with sin. As the hour approaches that shall lay bare my secret I feel positively faint, and heartily wish myself in my grave. I am as wretched as though some calamity had befallen me; and verily I begin to think it has. With what intense longing do I wish undone all that happened yesterday!
Almost as the hall-clock, with its customary uncouthness clangs out four strokes, Mr. Carrington rides up to the door.
As I sit in an upper chamber—like Elaine, but with what different emotions!—watching my lover's coming, I can see he is looking oppressively radiant, and is actually whistling. I begin to hate him. How detestable a man looks when whistling! Ploughboys whistle!
He knocks a loud, determined, and, as it seems to me in my morbid fright, a triumphant knock at the door, and rings the bell until it sends forth a merry peal that echoes through the passages. A funny empty sensation comes into the tops of my fingers and across my forehead, as though the blood was receding, and, rising swiftly, I hurry to my own room and lock the door.
Now he is in the hall, and Billy and he are laughing—at some stupid joke, no doubt. Now he is in the library; now he has told papa it is a fine day; and now it must be all over!
I am too frightened to cry. Half an hour, an hour, go by. I long, yet fear, to open the door. Another quarter of an hour elapses, and then mother's step comes slowly along the corridor outside.
"Phyllis, are you within, open the door."
It is mother's voice, but it sounds strangely cold. I open to her, and present a woebegone face to her inspection. She comes in and comforts me for a moment silently. Then she speaks.
"Phyllis, I never thought you deceitful," she says, as severely as it is in her to say anything, and with a look of reproach in her dear eyes that cuts me to the heart.
"Mother," I cry passionately, "don't look at me like that. Indeed, indeed I am not deceitful. I knew nothing about it when he asked me yesterday to marry him. I was a great deal more surprised than even you are now. I always thought it was Dora (and I wish with all my heart it was Dora); but, though I refused him at first, he said so much afterwards that I was induced to give in. Oh, mother, won't you believe me?"
"But you must have met him many times, Phyllis, before he asked you in marriage—many times of which we know nothing."
"I did not, indeed. Whenever I saw him I told you—except once, a long time ago when we met in the wood, with Billy. But I was climbing a nut-tree that day, and was afraid to say anything of it, lest I should get into disgrace. And when we went for that drive; and two or three times we met here; and that was all. I am sure I don't know what made him fall in love with me, and Dora so much prettier and more charming in every way. I don't believe he knows himself."
"It is certainly most extraordinary," says mother, "and, I must add, very unfortunate. You will acknowledge it looks suspicious. Your father is much disturbed about it and I really think Dora's heart must be broken, she is crying so bitterly. If we had not all made up our minds so securely about Dora it would not be so bad; but she was sure of it. And his visits here were so frequent. I really do think he has behaved very badly."
"It was a mistake altogether," I murmur feebly.
"Yes, and a most unhappy one. I am sure I don't know what is to be done about Dora. She insists upon it that you secretly encouraged and took him away from her; and your father appears to sympathize with her."
"That goes without telling," I reply bitterly.
Then there follows a pause, during which mother sighs heavily once or twice, and I do severe battle with my conscience. At the end of it I cry, suddenly—
"Mother, there is one thing for which I do blame myself, but at first it did not occur to me that it might be wrong. One day we were talking of photographs, Mr. Carrington and I, and—two days afterwards I gave him mine. He put it in his locket, and when Dora saw him down by the river it was it he was kissing. I never dreamed it could be mine until he showed it to me yesterday."
"I had forgotten to ask you about that. Dora and your father were discussing it just now, and Dora declared she was certain it had happened as you have now stated. Phyllis, if there has not been actual duplicity in your conduct, there has at least been much imprudence."
"I know that, mother," СКАЧАТЬ