Chapter 12 A Young Mutineer by L. T. Meade
HILDA'S ENGAGEMENT RING
My heart is heavy for scorn,
Mine eyes with impatient tears,
But heaven looks blue through the cherry-blooms,
And preaches away my fears.
--EMILY PFEIFFER.
Contrary to the doctor's fears, and in accordance with Hilda's hopes, Judy grew better. A weight had been lifted from her heart--her starved affections were nourished and soothed once more. Hilda scarcely ever left her room, and Hilda's presence was perpetual sunshine to the child.
No one could possibly have behaved better than Quentyns did during this trying time. A certain feeling of compunction had visited him when he discovered how real Judy's illness was. He was assailed by a momentary pricking of his conscience, but as the little girl quickly grew better, and was soon pronounced by the doctor to be quite out of danger, it was but natural that an active man of the world like Quentyns should wish to return to town, should find the quiet Rectory simply unendurable, and also that he should wish to take his young wife with him.
The Quentyns arrived at Staunton Rectory on a certain Wednesday, and on the following Sunday evening Quentyns thought the time had arrived for him to speak to Hilda about their return to town. He had not seen much of her during the days which had intervened, and he was obliged now to send Babs with a message to Judy's room to ask his wife to come to him.
Hilda was reading aloud to Judy when Babs entered the room, and said in her important, calm way:
"Jasper wants you, Hilda, and you are to go to him this minute."
Hilda could read beautifully, and Judy had lain in a dream of rapture, listening to the beloved voice as it told the old story of Christian and his pilgrimage. Now the wistful, distressed look crept back into her face.
"Never mind, dear," said Hilda, bending forward and kissing the child. "I shall not be long away."
Quentyns was waiting for his wife in the large conservatory which opened into the drawing room. It was nearly empty of flowers and plants now, but was still a pleasant place to lounge about in.
"Well, my love," he said in his pleasant tone. "Why, how pale you look, Hilda. I am not going to scold you, darling--oh, no, not for the world; but I haven't got too much of your society during these last few days. I don't blame you, and I am not jealous; but if you _could_ spare me half an hour now, there are one or two things I want to talk over with you."
"Of course I can spare you half an hour, Jasper, or an hour for that matter, if you want it," replied Hilda cheerfully. "Judy is much, much better to-night, and I am feeling quite happy about her."
Hilda slipped her hand through her husband's arm as she spoke; he gave the little hand an affectionate squeeze and drew his wife close to his side.
"I am glad Judy is better," he said. "What I have to propose will be quite convenient then, Hilda. I want to go back to town by the first train in the morning. I have heard from Rivers, and----What is it, my love? You really do look very pale. You are overdoing yourself, and I cannot allow it. Now that Judy is better you must rest. I shall get Dr. Pettifer to look you up and give you a tonic when we get back to town."
"Stop, Jasper," said Hilda suddenly. "I am not tired nor worn out in any way. I look pale now because my heart beats--because----Jasper, I cannot go to town with you to-morrow. I know you must go; of course, I quite understand that; but I am not going--not until Judy is well enough to be moved."
Quentyns did not reply for several seconds, then he said in a gentle tone, which did not betray an atom of his true feeling:
"I half expected you to say something of this sort, Hilda; I cannot pretend that I am not sorry. The fine weather is coming on; the London season will soon be at its height. I do not mean for a moment to imply that we can avail ourselves of what is termed a season in town, but for a poor and struggling man it is essential that he should leave no stone unturned to introduce himself to those persons who can and will help him. The influential sort of people who can materially assist me in my career are now in London, Hilda. You, my darling, are an excuse for many valuable introductions. You see, therefore, that not alone from an affectionate point of view you ought now to be with me. But," continued Jasper, looking straight ahead of him, and fixing his fine, intelligent eyes on the distant landscape, "I waive all that. I understand that you do not wish to leave Judy until she is fit to be moved to the seaside. If she maintains the progress she is now making, Dr. Harvey will probably allow Aunt Marjorie to take her away at the end of the week. I shall have you home on Saturday at the latest, Hilda."
"Yes," said Hilda. "I hope so, but--but, Jasper, you still fail to understand me. When Judy goes away, she is not going to the seaside--she is coming with me to London--to Philippa Terrace. It is a promise, and I--I won't--I can't go back from it. I stand or fall by my promise, Jasper--I wish to say so now once for all."
"You stand or fall by your promise!" repeated Quentyns. "What an extraordinary remark. One would suppose, my darling, that I was an ogre or the worst sort of tyrant. I always told you that Judy should come to stay with us for a few weeks when we had a room to receive her in. If matters progress as satisfactorily as I hope, we shall have a snug, prettily furnished, little spare room by the end of the present season. I promise you, Hilda, that Judy shall be its first tenant."
Hilda laid her hand with a sort of trembling, nervous impatience, on her husband's arm.
"I have made a mistake--I have been a coward," she said. "Even now, Jasper, you don't a bit understand me. Long ago, when mother died, she left Judy in my charge. I ought never to have married and left her. Judy is not an ordinary child, and she suffered. When I went away her heart was starved. She could not live with a starved heart. In my absence, my little Judy nearly died. She is better now--she is recovering because I am with her. I am never going to leave her again while she lives."
"Hilda, what nonsense you talk," said Quentyns, with temper in his tone. "If Judy lives to grow up, she will marry like other girls--and will leave you of her own accord."
"If she does," replied Hilda, "that alters the case, but until she leaves me by her own wish or marries, she is in my charge. I will not be parted from her, Jasper. I shall not return to Philippa Terrace until I can bring her with me."
"Is that really your final decision?" said Quentyns--he turned round now and looked at his wife; his face was very cold, its expression carefully veiled. He was intensely anxious not to show even a trace of ill-temper. His words were guarded. "Is that your final decision, Hilda?" he said, and there was a fine withering sort of sarcasm in his voice. "Do you mean seriously to desert the husband you married not three months ago for the sake of a child's whim? Is that the way you keep your marriage vow?"
"No, no, Jasper! I want to be true to you both. I made two vows, and I want to keep them both. Help me, Jasper; I am not a bit a strong-minded girl, I am just very loving. My heart is full of love to you and to Judy. Help me to do this--help me to love you both, to serve you both. Go back to town to-morrow and furnish the spare room, and I will bring Judy back with me on Friday or Saturday."
"I said I should not run in debt. I have no more money to spend on furniture at present. You don't really care for me, Hilda, or you would never speak as you do. But, once for all, I will not be drawn into a path which simply means ruin for the sake of any woman, and for the ridiculous fancies of any child. I will buy no furniture until I can pay for it. That ends the matter, my dear. If you are determined to stay at the Rectory for the summer, they will all, I am sure, be charmed to have you, and I will try and run down as often as I can. I need not say that I think you are making a most grave mistake, but a willful woman must e'en have her way, I suppose. Ah, and here comes the Rector, he has just returned from evening service."
Quentyns went toward the door of the conservatory, which he flung open. Mr. Merton was just entering his drawing room.
"One moment, Jasper--one moment," said Hilda; she rushed after her husband, her face was like death, her eyes were blazing with passion.
"Your cruel words make anything possible," she said. "I made two vows before God, and I will keep them both. There, this was costly, I presume. You spent money on it--sell it again, and buy the furniture that you will not go in debt for."
She thrust her engagement ring into Quentyns' hand and rushed away.