Do not take any further steps about the money, as I am quite determined not to accept it. I hope it will not be sent, as there would only be the trouble of repaying it. I do not think that it would do for me to live at Llanfeare, as I should have no means of supporting myself, let alone the servants. The thing is of course out of the question. You tell me that I ought to be ashamed of myself for certain words that I spoke to you. They should not have been spoken. I am ashamed of myself, and I now send you my apology.
The reader may perhaps understand that these words were written by her with extreme anguish; but of that her Cousin Henry understood nothing.
XII
Mr. Owen
In this way Isabel spent four very uncomfortable weeks in her new home before Mr. Owen returned to Hereford. Nor was her discomfort much relieved by the prospect of his return. She knew all the details of his circumstances, and told herself that the man would be wrong to marry without any other means than those he at present possessed. Nor did she think of herself that she was well qualified to be the wife of a poor gentleman. She believed that she could starve if it were required of her, and support her sufferings with fortitude. She believed that she could work—work from morning till night, from week to week, from month to month, without complaining; but she did not think that she could make herself sweet as a wife should be sweet to a husband with a threadbare coat, or that she could be tender as a mother should be tender while dividing limited bread among her children. To go and die and have done with it, if that might be possible, was the panacea of her present troubles most commonly present to her mind. Therefore, there was no comfort to her in that promised coming of her lover of which the girls chattered to her continually. She had refused her lover when she held the proud position of the heiress of Llanfeare—refused him, no doubt, in obedience to her uncle’s word, and not in accordance with her own feelings; but still she had refused him. Afterwards, when she had believed that there would be a sum of money coming to her from her uncle’s will, there had been room for possible doubt. Should the money have proved sufficient to cause her to be a relief rather than a burden to the husband, it might have been her duty to marry him, seeing that she loved him with all her heart—seeing that she was sure of his love. There would have been much against it even then, because she had refused him when she had been a grand lady; but, had the money been forthcoming, there might have been a doubt. Now there could be no doubt. Should she who had denied him her hand because she was her uncle’s heiress—on that avowed ground alone—should she, now that she was a pauper, burden him with her presence? He, no doubt, would be generous enough to renew his offer. She was well aware of his nobility. But she, too, could be generous, and, as she thought, noble. Thus it was that her spirit spoke within her, bidding her subject all the sweet affections of her heart to a stubborn pride.
The promised return, therefore, of Mr. Owen did not make her very happy.
“He will be here tomorrow,” said her stepmother to her. “Mrs. Richards expects him by the late train tonight. I looked in there yesterday and she told me.” Mrs. Richards was the respectable lady with whom Mr. Owen lodged.
“I dare say he will,” said Isabel wearily—sorry, too, that Mr. Owen’s goings and comings should have been investigated.
“Now, Isabel, let me advise you. You cannot be so unjust to Mr. Owen as to make him fancy for a moment that you will refuse your uncle’s money. Think of his position—about two hundred and fifty a year in all! With your two hundred added it would be positive comfort; without it you would be frightfully poor.”
“Do you think I have not thought of it?”
“I suppose you must. But then you are so odd and so hard, so unlike any other girl I ever saw. I don’t see how you could have the face to refuse the money, and then to eat his bread.”
This was an unfortunate speech as coming from Mrs. Brodrick, because it fortified Isabel in the reply she was bound to make. Hitherto the stepmother had thought it certain that the marriage would take place in spite of such maiden denials as the girl had made; but now the denial had to be repeated with more than maiden vigour.
“I have thought of it,” said Isabel—“thought of it very often, till I have told myself that conduct such as that would be inexpressibly base. What! to eat his bread after refusing him mine when it was believed to be so plentiful! I certainly have not face enough to do that—neither face nor courage for that. There are ignoble things which require audacity altogether beyond my reach.”
“Then you must accept the money from your cousin.”
“Certainly not,” said Isabel; “neither that nor yet the position which Mr. Owen will perhaps offer me again.”
“Of course he will offer it to you.”
“Then he must be told that on no consideration can his offer be accepted.”
“This is nonsense. You are both dying for each other.”
“Then we must die. But as for that, I think that neither men nor young women die for love nowadays. If we love each other, we must do without each other, as people have to learn to do without most of the things that they desire.”
“I never heard of such nonsense, such wickedness! There is the money. Why should you not take it?”
“I can explain to
