Lord Silverbridge, when he left Mr. Boncassen, wandered about the park by himself. King Cophetua married the beggar’s daughter. He was sure of that. King Cophetua probably had not a father; and the beggar, probably, was not high-minded. But the discrepancy in that case was much greater. He intended to persevere, trusting much to a belief that when once he was married his father would “come round.” His father always did come round. But the more he thought of it, the more impossible it seemed to him that he should ask his father’s consent at the present moment. Lady Mabel’s presence in the house was an insuperable obstacle. He thought that he could do it if he and his father were alone together, or comparatively alone. He must be prepared for an opposition, at any rate of some days, which opposition would make his father quite unable to entertain his guests while it lasted.
But as he could not declare his wishes to his father, and was thus disobeying Isabel’s behests, he must explain the difficulty to her. He felt already that she would despise him for his cowardice—that she would not perceive the difficulties in his way, or understand that he might injure his cause by precipitation. Then he considered whether he might not possibly make some bargain with his father. How would it be if he should consent to go back to the Liberal party on being allowed to marry the girl he loved? As far as his political feelings were concerned he did not think that he would much object to make the change. There was only one thing certain—that he must explain his condition to Miss Boncassen before she went.
He found no difficulty now in getting the opportunity. She was equally anxious, and as well disposed to acknowledge her anxiety. After what had passed between them she was not desirous of pretending that the matter was one of small moment to herself. She had told him that it was all the world to her, and had begged him to let her know her fate as quickly as possible. On that last Monday morning they were in the grounds together, and Lady Mabel, who was walking with Mrs. Finn, saw them pass through a little gate which led from the gardens into the Priory ruins. “It all means nothing,” Mabel said with a little laugh to her companion.
“If so, I am sorry for the young lady,” said Mrs. Finn.
“Don’t you think that one always has to be sorry for the young ladies? Young ladies generally have a bad time of it. Did you ever hear of a gentleman who had always to roll a stone to the top of a hill, but it would always come back upon him?”
“That gentleman I believe never succeeded,” said Mrs. Finn. “The young ladies I suppose do sometimes.”
In the meantime Isabel and Silverbridge were among the ruins together. “This is where the old Pallisers used to be buried,” he said.
“Oh, indeed. And married, I suppose.”
“I dare say. They had a priest of their own, no doubt, which must have been convenient. This block of a fellow without any legs left is supposed to represent Sir Guy. He ran away with half-a-dozen heiresses, they say. I wish things were as easily done now.”
“Nobody should have run away with me. I have no idea of going on such a journey except on terms of equality—just step and step alike.” Then she took hold of his arm and put out one foot. “Are you ready?”
“I am very willing.”
“But are you ready—for a straightforward walk off to church before all the world? None of your private chaplains, such as Sir Guy had at his command. Just the registrar, if there is nothing better—so that it be public, before all the world.”
“I wish we could start this instant.”
“But we can’t—can we?”
“No, dear. So many things have to be settled.”
“And what have you settled on since you last spoke to me?”
“I have told your father everything.”
“Yes;—I know that. What good does that do? Father is not a Duke of Omnium. No one supposed that he would object.”
“But he did,” said Silverbridge.
“Yes;—as I do—for the same reason; because he would not have his daughter creep in at a hole. But to your own father you have not ventured to speak.” Then he told his story, as best he knew how. It was not that he feared his father, but that he felt that the present moment was not fit. “He wishes you to marry that Lady Mabel Grex,” she said. He nodded his head. “And you will marry her?”
“Never! I might have done so, had I not seen you. I should have done so, if she had been willing. But now I never can—never, never.” Her hand had dropped from his arm, but now she put it up again for a moment, so that he might feel the pressure of her fingers. “Say that you believe me.”
“I think I do.”
“You know I love you.”
“I think you do. I am sure I hope you do. If you don’t, then I am—a miserable wretch.”
“With all my heart I do.”
“Then I am as proud as a
