I assure you it was not laziness; the real truth is, I was not quite happy in my mind about accepting Mr. Newton, and I felt a little afraid of writing to you. You know I told you all about Charles Westby: I shall tell you everything now. You recollect I agreed with what you said as to the folly of letting that matter rest in my mind. Well, I did manage to dismiss my foolish fancy of love, but I never could get over a sense of pique at the low appreciation he manifested for my character,—that I was without power or strength to endure the serious labour of the world. Somehow, I kept dwelling on that, very foolishly, no doubt, and at last I grew to think, with his age and experience, he might have read my character aright: I had never been tried,—I might, after all, have been deceiving myself with vain ideas of excellence.
“I cannot plead that I acted without full knowledge with regard to Mr. Newton. I saw clearly from the first what his character was—no pretension to a highly cultivated intellect, no great strength of purpose, but a good heart. He made me an offer very shortly after his introduction to us: I talked the matter over with papa and mamma; they decidedly liked him, and urged very strongly his wealth and good position. I did accept him! I know you will blame me; I’m ready enough to blame myself; but the offer was made very suddenly, and I did honestly believe I could really love him as time went on. I am sure no lover could ever be more devoted in his attentions; he invariably deferred his opinion to mine; day by day I grew more convinced of the absolute power I possessed over him. I might well be flattered,—I was flattered and proud, when my spirits were at the full, but in certain times of depression and doubt, when I wanted support, why I found he was leaning on me. You recollect, Fred, that day at Brighton, when the horses were so fresh, and I would insist on taking the reins out of your hands at the straight piece of road. I felt so proud of driving, they went so splendidly, but when something startled them in the hedge, and for all my hard pulling they kept getting ahead, and you, to punish me, would not take back the reins, why I felt a little frightened then, though I knew well enough you were at my side and would seize the reins at any moment of real danger; but with Mr. Newton, I foresaw whatever course the events of life might take, the responsibility and direction of everything would rest with me. I was downcast and dismayed when I thought upon this.
“Then came that sad bank failure. He told me he was ruined, poor fellow! Ah, Fred! for some three hours in my room I had a hard fight of it. It was such a terrible shock. In opulence I had felt we might live very happily, but in a life of struggle—how? I told you when we used to talk about Charles Westby, that I believed I could work, strive upwards, dare and do anything, following in the footsteps of a man I admired and looked up to, but to take the lead oneself, to have to encourage, to animate another.—There! I dare say Karlo Magno was right after all. I do not in any way possess this power of endurance. I know I prayed earnestly for strength; I thought of what you would say, but it was all of no avail; the more I thought upon it, the more terrible the pledge I was called upon to make. Thank God! Karlo Magno was near me at this great time; he spoke to me as I know you would have spoken, and then I went to George Newton, and promised to hold by him in adversity.”
*****
CHAPTER VI. ON A PEDESTAL AGAIN.
Charles Westby had worked hard in George Newton’s affairs, and he had worked to such good purpose that that gentleman was enabled to return to England with safety after about four months’ absence. The arrangements to effect this had not been made without heavy pecuniary sacrifice, but owing, by good luck, to a railway which was proposed to pass through a large portion of Newton’s property, there was every reason to believe that the purchase-money of the land would very nearly make up the loss on the bank transaction.
It was probable that if Newton had been content to remain abroad for a longer term a better bargain might have been made with the creditors, but Newton begged and prayed of Westby to forward matters, at any cost, so as to allow him to return to England. Concessions had therefore been made which, in a business point of view, were unduly adverse to Newton. Westby’s view of the affair was this: “Newton may, perhaps, lose some additional thousands, but he will the more surely secure the girl he loves.” Westby, too, was strongly actuated by his own feelings; he felt he could never entirely forgive himself until he saw Lilian married to Newton. The fierce temptation of that night’s interview had left its smouldering remorse at Westby’s heart. Perhaps this feeling unduly blinded him to other considerations; for instance, Lilian had confessed to him the nature and quality of her love for Newton. Was it altogether satisfactory that she should marry under such circumstances? But, in answer to this, he could never break from his mind the recollection of Lilian as a child; and, as far as he could judge, the old impulsiveness of her nature was unchanged—at one moment attracted by the novelty of his own grim countenance, at another dazzled by the advantages of Newton’s offer. And then he knew that Newton was such a good fellow, possessing such an excellent heart, that any woman might be fortunate in his love. Beyond all this, Lilian had pledged herself to Newton, and when he thought of this pledge he forgot all else but his own remorse at the idea that he should have been on the point of inducing her to break that pledge; and just with the same feeling with which he despised himself, did he contemplate the idea of Lilian breaking her engagement.
It was the greatest satisfaction to Westby, when, after a hard day’s work at final arrangements, he was enabled to send a telegram to Newton, at Boulogne, stating that he might safely return to England; for, beyond his feeling of gratification at bringing the lovers together again, he felt relieved at the idea of Newton’s affairs being wound up, his assiduity on their behalf having seriously interfered with his professional labours.
