THE RECTOR
The day was as as the one. Soon after Miss Matilda, having and through a lessons, and the piano for an hour, in a terrible with me and it, her would not give her a holiday, had herself to her places of resort, the yards, the stables, and the dog-kennels; and Miss Murray was gone to a with a new for her companion, me in the hard at work upon a water-colour which I had promised to do for her, and which she upon my that day.
At my a little terrier. It was the property of Miss Matilda; but she the animal, and to sell it, that it was spoiled. It was an excellent dog of its kind; but she it was fit for nothing, and had not the to know its own mistress.
The was she had purchased it when but a small puppy, at that no one should touch it but herself; but soon of so and a nursling, she had to my to be allowed to take of it; and I, by nursing the little from to adolescence, of course, had its affections: a I should have valued, and looked upon as all the trouble I had had with it, had not Snap's him to many a word and many a and pinch from his owner, and were he not now in of being "put away" in consequence, or transferred to some rough, stony-hearted master. But how I help it? I not make the dog me by treatment, and she would not him by kindness.
However, while I thus sat, away with my pencil, Mrs. Murray came, half-sailing, half-bustling, into the room.
"Miss Grey," she began, "dear! how can you at your such a day as this?" (She I was doing it for my own pleasure.) "I wonder you don't put on your and go out with the ladies."
"I think, ma'am, Miss Murray is reading; and Miss Matilda is herself with her dogs."
"If you would try to Miss Matilda a little more, I think she would not be to in the of dogs and and grooms, so much as she is; and if you would be a little more and with Miss Murray, she would not so often go in the with a book in her hand. However, I don't want to you," added she, seeing, I suppose, that my and my hand with some emotion. "Do, pray, try not to be so touchy—there's no speaking to you else. And tell me if you know where Rosalie is gone: and why she to be so much alone?"
"She says she to be alone when she has a new book to read."
"But why can't she read it in the park or the garden?—why should she go into the and lanes? And how is it that that Mr. Hatfield so often her out? She told me last week he'd walked his by her all up Moss Lane; and now I'm sure it was he I saw, from my dressing-room window, walking so past the park-gates, and on the where she so goes. I wish you would go and see if she is there; and just her that it is not proper for a lady of her rank and to be about by herself in that manner, to the of anyone that to address her; like some neglected girl that has no park to walk in, and no friends to take of her: and tell her that her papa would be angry if he of her Mr. Hatfield in the familiar manner that I she does; and—oh! if you—if any had but a mother's watchfulness—half a mother's care, I should be saved this trouble; and you would see at once the of your upon her, and making your company to— Well, go—go; there's no time to be lost," she, that I had put away my materials, and was waiting in the for the of her address.
According to her prognostications, I Miss Murray in her just without the park; and, unfortunately, not alone; for the tall, of Mr. Hatfield was slowly by her side.
Here was a for me. It was my to the tête-à-tête: but how was it to be done? Mr. Hatfield not to be away by so person as I; and to go and place myself on the other of Miss Murray, and my presence upon her without noticing her companion, was a piece of I not be of: neither had I the to from the top of the that she was wanted elsewhere. So I took the of walking slowly but them; resolving, if my approach failed to away the beau, to pass by and tell Miss Murray her wanted her.
She looked very as she strolled, along under the horse-chestnut trees that their long arms over the park-palings; with her closed book in one hand, and in the other a of myrtle, which her as a very plaything; her from her little bonnet, and by the breeze, her with vanity, her eyes, now her admirer, now at her sprig. But Snap, me, her in the of some half-pert, half-playful repartee, by of her dress and thereat; till Mr. Hatfield, with his cane, a upon the animal's skull, and sent it to me with a that the great amusement: but me so near, he thought, I suppose, he might as well be taking his departure; and, as I to the dog, with to my of his severity, I him say: "When shall I see you again, Miss Murray?"
"At church, I suppose," she, "unless your to you here again at the moment when I to be walking by."
"I always manage to have here, if I when and where to you."
"But if I would, I not you, for I am so immethodical, I can tell to-day what I shall do to-morrow."
"Then give me that, meantime, to me," said he, and in earnest, his hand for the of myrtle.
"No, indeed, I shan't."
"Do! pray do! I shall be the most of men if you don't. You cannot be so as to me a so easily and yet so prized!" he as as if his life on it.
By this time I a very yards of them, waiting his departure.
"There then! take it and go," said Rosalie.
He the gift, something that her and her head, but with a little laugh that her was affected; and then with a withdrew.
"Did you see such a man, Miss Grey?" said she, to me; "I'm so you came! I I should of him; and I was so of papa him."
"Has he been with you long?"
"No, not long, but he's so impertinent: and he's always about, his or his his in these parts, and for me, and upon me he sees me."
"Well, your thinks you ought not to go the park or garden without some discreet, person like me to you, and keep off all intruders. She Mr. Hatfield past the park-gates, and me with to you up and to take of you, and to "
"Oh, mamma's so tiresome! As if I couldn't take of myself. She me about Mr. Hatfield; and I told her she might trust me: I should my rank and station for the most man that breathed. I wish he would go on his to-morrow, and me to be his wife, that I might just her how she is in that I ever—Oh, it me so! To think that I be such a as to in love! It is the of a woman to do such a thing. Love! I the word! As to one of our sex, I think it a perfect insult. A I might acknowledge; but for one like Mr. Hatfield, who has not seven hundred a year to himself with. I like to talk to him, he's so and amusing—I wish Sir Thomas Ashby were as nice; besides, I must have somebody to with, and no one else has the to come here; and when we go out, won't let me with but Sir Thomas—if he's there; and if he's not there, I'm hand and foot, for somebody should go and make up some story, and put it into his that I'm engaged, or likely to be engaged, to somebody else; or, what is more probable, for his old mother should see or of my ongoings, and that I'm not a fit wife for her excellent son: as if the said son were not the in Christendom; and as if any woman of common were not a world too good for him."
"Is it so, Miss Murray? and your know it, and yet wish you to him?"
"To be sure, she does! She more against him than I do, I believe: she it from me I should be discouraged; not how little I about such things. For it's no great matter, really: he'll be all right when he's married, as says; and make the best husbands, knows. I only wish he were not so ugly—that's all I think about: but then there's no choice here in the country; and papa will not let us go to London "
"But I should think Mr. Hatfield would be better."
"And so he would, if he were lord of Ashby Park—there's not a of it: but the is, I must have Ashby Park, it with me."
"But Mr. Hatfield thinks you like him all this time; you don't how he will be when he himself mistaken."
"No, indeed! It will be a proper for his presumption—for to think I like him. I should nothing so much as the from his eyes."
"The sooner you do it the then."
"No; I tell you, I like to myself with him. Besides, he doesn't think I like him. I take good of that: you don't know how I manage. He may to think he can me to like him; for which I shall him as he deserves."
"Well, mind you don't give too much for such presumption—that's all," I.
But all my were in vain: they only her more to her and her from me. She talked no more to me about the Rector; but I see that her mind, if not her heart, was upon him still, and that she was upon another interview: for though, in with her mother's request, I was now the of her for a time, she still in in the and that in the nearest to the road; and, she talked to me or read the book she in her hand, she to look her, or up the road to see if anyone was coming; and if a by, I tell by her of the equestrian, he might be, that she him he was not Mr. Hatfield.
"Surely," I, "she is not so to him as she herself to be, or would have others to her; and her mother's is not so as she affirms."
Three days passed away, and he did not make his appearance. On the of the fourth, as we were walking the park-palings in the field, each with a book (for I always took to provide myself with something to be doing when she did not me to talk), she my by exclaiming—
"Oh, Miss Grey! do be so as to go and see Mark Wood, and take his wife half-a-crown from me—I should have or sent it a week ago, but forgot. There!" said she, me her purse, and speaking very fast "Never mind it out now, but take the and give them what you like; I would go with you, but I want to this volume. I'll come and meet you when I've done it. Be quick, will you—and—oh, wait; hadn't you read to him a bit? Run to the house and some of a good book. Anything will do."
I did as I was desired; but, something from her manner and the of the request, I just I the field, and there was Mr. Hatfield about to enter at the gate below. By sending me to the house for a book, she had just my meeting him on the road.
"Never mind!" I, "there'll be no great done. Poor Mark will be of the half-crown, and of the good book too; and if the Rector Miss Rosalie's heart, it will only her a little; and if they do married at last, it will only save her from a fate; and she will be a good partner for him, and he for her."
Mark Wood was the I mentioned before. He was now away. Miss Murray, by her liberality, the of him that was to perish; for though the half-crown be of very little service to him, he was of it for the of his wife and children, so soon to be and fatherless. After I had sat a minutes, and read a little for the and of himself and his wife, I left them; but I had not fifty yards I Mr. Weston, on his way to the same abode. He me in his quiet, way, stopped to about the condition of the man and his family, and with a of unconscious, to took from my hand the book out of which I had been reading, over its pages, a but very remarks, and it; then told me about some he had just been visiting, talked a little about Nancy Brown, a upon my little friend the terrier, that was at his feet, and upon the of the weather, and departed.
I have to give a detail of his words, from a that they would not the reader as they did me, and not I have them. No; I them well; for I them over and over again in the of that day and many ones, I know not how often; and every of his deep, clear voice, every of his quick, eye, and every of his pleasant, but too smile. Such a will look very absurd, I fear: but no matter: I have it: and they that read it will not know the writer.
While I was walking along, happy within, and pleased with all around, Miss Murray came to meet me; her step, cheek, and that she, too, was happy, in her own way. Running up to me, she put her arm through mine, and without waiting to breath, "Now, Miss Grey, think honoured, for I'm come to tell you my news I've a word of it to anyone else."
"Well, what is it?"
"Oh, such news! In the place, you must know that Mr. Hatfield came upon me just after you were gone. I was in such a way for papa or should see him; but you know I couldn't call you again, and so!—oh, dear! I can't tell you all about it now, for there's Matilda, I see, in the park, and I must go and open my budget to her. But, however, Hatfield was most audacious, complimentary, and tender—tried to be so, at least—he didn't succeed very well in that, it's not his vein. I'll tell you all he said another time."
"But what did you say—I'm more in that?"
"I'll tell you that, too, at some period. I to be in a very good just then; but, though I was and enough, I took not to myself in any possible way. But, however, the to my of his own way, and at length upon my so far—what do you think?—he actually me an offer!"
"And you "
"I proudly myself up, and with the my at such an occurrence, and he had nothing in my to his expectations. You should have how his fell! He perfectly white in the face. I him that I him and all that, but not possibly to his proposals; and if I did, papa and be to give their consent."
"‘But if they could,' said he, ‘would yours be wanting?'
"‘Certainly, Mr. Hatfield,' I replied, with a which all at once. Oh, if you had how he was—how to the earth by his disappointment! really, I almost him myself.
"One more attempt, however, he made. After a of duration, which he to be calm, and I to be grave—for I a to laugh—which would have all—he said, with the of a smile—‘But tell me plainly, Miss Murray, if I had the of Sir Hugh Meltham, or the of his son, would you still me? Answer me truly, upon your honour.'
"‘Certainly,' said I. ‘That would make no whatever.'
"It was a great lie, but he looked so in his own still, that I not to him one upon another. He looked me full in the face; but I my so well that he not I was saying anything more than the truth.
"‘Then it's all over, I suppose,' he said, looking as if he have died on the spot with and the of his despair. But he was angry as well as disappointed. There was he, so unspeakably, and there was I, the of it all, so to all the of his looks and words, so cold and proud, he not but some resentment; and with he began—‘I did not this, Miss Murray. I might say something about your past conduct, and the you have me to foster, but I forbear, on condition—'
"‘No conditions, Mr. Hatfield!' said I, now at his insolence.
"‘Then let me it as a favour,' he replied, his voice at once, and taking a tone: ‘let me that you will not mention this to anyone whatever. If you will keep about it, there need be no on either side—nothing, I mean, what is unavoidable: for my own I will to keep to myself, if I cannot them—I will try to forgive, if I cannot the of my sufferings. I will not suppose, Miss Murray, that you know how you have me. I would not have you aware of it; but if, in to the you have already done me—pardon me, but, or not, you have done it—and if you add to it by to this affair, or it at all, you will that I too can speak, and though you my love, you will my—'
"He stopped, but he his lip, and looked so that I was frightened. However, my me still, and I answered disdainfully; ‘I do not know what you I have for it to anyone, Mr. Hatfield; but if I were to do so, you would not me by threats; and it is the part of a to attempt it.'
"‘Pardon me, Miss Murray,' said he, ‘I have loved you so intensely—I do still you so deeply, that I would not you; but though I have loved, and can love any woman as I have loved you, it is that I was so ill-treated by any. On the contrary, I have always your the and most and of God's creation, till now.' (Think of the saying that!) ‘And the and of the lesson you have me to-day, and the of being in the only on which the of my life depended, must any of asperity. If my presence is to you, Miss Murray,' he said (for I was looking about me to how little I for him, so he I was of him, I suppose)—‘if my presence is to you, Miss Murray, you have only to promise me the I named, and I will you at once. There are many ladies—some in this parish—who would be to accept what you have so under your feet. They would be naturally to one has so my from them and me to their attractions; and a single hint of the truth from me to one of these would be to such a talk against you as would your prospects, and your of success with any other you or your might design to entangle.'
"‘What do your mean, sir?' said I, to with passion.
"‘I that this from to end to me like a case of flirtation, to say the least of it—such a case as you would it to have through the world: with the and of your female rivals, who would be too to the matter, if I only gave them a to it. But I promise you, on the of a gentleman, that no word or that to your shall my lips, provided you will—'
"‘Well, well, I won't mention it,' said I. ‘You may upon my silence, if that can you any consolation.'
"‘You promise it?'
"‘Yes,' I answered; for I wanted to of him now.
"‘Farewell, then!' said he, in a most doleful, heart-sick tone; and with a look where against despair, he and away: longing, no doubt, to home, that he might himself up in his study and cry—if he doesn't into he there."
"But you have your promise already," said I, at her perfidy.
"Oh! it's only to you; I know you won't repeat it."
"Certainly, I shall not: but you say you are going to tell your sister; and she will tell your when they come home, and Brown immediately, if you do not tell her yourself; and Brown will it, or be the means of it, the country."
"No, indeed, she won't. We shall not tell her at all, unless it be under the promise of the secrecy."
"But how can you her to keep her promises than her more mistress?"
"Well, well, she shan't it then," said Miss Murray, snappishly.
"But you will tell your mamma, of course," I; "and she will tell your papa."
"Of I shall tell mamma—that is the very thing that me so much. I shall now be able to her how she was in her about me."
"Oh, that's it, is it? I was what it was that you so much."
"Yes; and another thing is, that I've Mr. Hatfield so charmingly; and another—why, you must allow me some of female vanity: I don't to be without that most of our sex—and if you had Hatfield's in making his and his proposal, and his of mind, that no of conceal, on being refused, you would have allowed I had some to be gratified."
"The his agony, I should think, the less your for gratification."
"Oh, nonsense!" the lady, herself with vexation. "You either can't me, or you won't. If I had not in your magnanimity, I should think you me. But you will, perhaps, this of pleasure—which is as great as any—namely, that I am with myself for my prudence, my self-command, my heartlessness, if you please. I was not a taken by surprise, not a confused, or awkward, or foolish; I just and spoke as I ought to have done, and was my own throughout. And here was a man, good-looking—Jane and Susan Green call him handsome—I they're two of the ladies he would be so to have him; but, however, he was a very clever, witty, companion—not what you call clever, but just to make him entertaining; and a man one needn't be of anywhere, and would not soon of; and to the truth, I liked him—better even, of late, than Harry Meltham—and he me; and yet, though he came upon me all alone and unprepared, I had the wisdom, and the pride, and the to him—and so and as I did: I have good to be proud of that."
"And are you proud of having told him that his having the of Sir Hugh Meltham would make no to you, when that was not the case; and of having promised to tell no one of his misadventure, without the of your promise?"
"Of course! what else I do? You would not have had me—but I see, Miss Grey, you're not in a good temper. Here's Matilda; I'll see what she and have to say about it."
She left me, at my want of sympathy, and thinking, no doubt, that I her. I did not—at least, I I did not. I was sorry for her; I was amazed, at her vanity; I why so much should be to those who so a use of it, and to some who would make it a to themselves and others.
But, God best, I concluded. There are, I suppose, some men as vain, as selfish, and as as she is, and, perhaps, such may be useful to them.
