“Stick to that, my dear, and you won’t get into a scrape again. Now, look here. This man can never be made to marry you, anyhow.”
“I wouldn’t touch him with a pair of tongs, if he were kneeling at my feet!”
“That’s right; stick to that. Of course, you wouldn’t now, after all that has come and gone. No girl with any spirit would.”
“He’s a coward and a thief, and he’ll be—damned for what he has done, some of these days!”
“T‑ch, t‑ch, t‑ch! That isn’t a proper way for a young lady to talk. That’s cursing and swearing.”
“It isn’t cursing and swearing;—it’s what the Bible says.”
“Then we’ll leave him to the Bible. In the meantime, Mr. Gibson wants to marry someone else, and that can’t hurt you.”
“He may marry whom he likes;—but he shan’t marry Bella—that’s all!”
“It is Bella that he means to marry.”
“Then he won’t. I’ll forbid the banns. I’ll write to the bishop. I’ll go to the church and prevent its being done. I’ll make such a noise in the town that it can’t be done. It’s no use your looking at me like that, Uncle Jonas. I’ve got my own feelings, and he shall never marry Bella. It’s what they have been intending all through, and it shan’t be done!”
“It will be done.”
“Uncle Jonas, I’ll stab her to the heart, and him too, before I’ll see it done! Though I were to be killed the next day, I would. Could you bear it?”
“I’m not a young woman. Now, I’ll tell you what I want you to do.”
“I’ll not do anything.”
“Just pack up your things, and start with me to Gloucester tomorrow.”
“I—won’t!”
“Then you’ll be carried, my dear. I’ll write to your aunt, to say that you’re coming; and we’ll be as jolly as possible when we get you home.”
“I won’t go to Gloucester, Uncle Jonas. I won’t go away from Exeter. I won’t let it be done. She shall never, never, never be that man’s wife!”
Nevertheless, on the day but one after this, Camilla French did go to Gloucester. Before she went, however, things had to be done in that house which almost made Mrs. French repent that she had sent for so stern an assistant. Camilla was at last told, in so many words, that the things which she had prepared for her own wedding must be given up for the wedding of her sister; and it seemed that this item in the list of her sorrows troubled her almost more than any other. She swore that whither she went there should go the dresses, and the handkerchiefs, and the hats, the bonnets, and the boots. “Let her have them,” Bella had pleaded. But Mr. Crump was inexorable. He had looked into his sister’s affairs, and found that she was already in debt. To his practical mind, it was an absurdity that the unmarried sister should keep things that were wholly unnecessary, and that the sister that was to be married should be without things that were needed. There was a big trunk, of which Camilla had the key, but which, unfortunately for her, had been deposited in her mother’s room. Upon this she sat, and swore that nothing should move her but a promise that her plunder should remain untouched. But there came this advantage from the terrible question of the wedding raiments—that in her energy to keep possession of them, she gradually abandoned her opposition to her sister’s marriage. She had been driven from one point to another till she was compelled at last to stand solely upon her possessions. “Perhaps we had better let her keep them,” said Mrs. French. “Trash and nonsense!” said Mr. Crump. “If she wants a new frock, let her have it; as for the sheets and tablecloths, you’d better keep them yourself. But Bella must have the rest.”
It was found on the eve of the day on which she was told that she was to depart that she had in truth armed herself with a dagger or clasp knife. She actually displayed it when her uncle told her to come away from the chest on which she was sitting. She declared that she would defend herself there to the last gasp of her life; but of course the knife fell from her hand the first moment that she was touched. “I did think once that she was going to make a poke at me,” Mr. Crump said afterwards; “but she had screamed herself so weak that she couldn’t do it.”
When the morning came, she was taken to the fly and driven to the station without any further serious outbreak. She had even condescended to select certain articles, leaving the rest of the hymeneal wealth behind her. Bella, early on that morning of departure, with great humility, implored her sister to forgive her; but no entreaties could induce Camilla to address one gracious word to the proposed bride. “You’ve been cheating me all along!” she said; and that was the last word she spoke to poor Bella.
She went, and the field was once more open to the amorous Vicar of St. Peter’s-cum-Pumpkin. It is astonishing how the greatest difficulties will sink away, and become as it were nothing, when they are encountered face to face. It is certain that Mr. Gibson’s position had been one most trying to the nerves. He had speculated on various modes of escape;—a curacy in the north of England would be welcome, or the duties of a missionary in New Zealand—or death. To tell the truth, he had, during the last week or two, contemplated even a return to the dominion of Camilla. That there should ever again be things pleasant for him in Exeter seemed to be quite impossible. And yet, on the evening of the day but one after the departure of Camilla, he was seated almost comfortably with his own Arabella! There is nothing that a man may not do, nothing that he may not achieve, if he have only pluck
