CHAPTER XL.
THE EFFECT OF GOOD FORTUNE: LAW.
LAW had left Mr. Ashford, not knowing, as the vulgar have it, if he stood on his head or his heels. He had somewhat despised the Minor Canon, not only as a clergyman and an instructor, intending to put something into Law’s luckless brains, yet without force enough to do it effectually, but as a man, much too mild and gentle to make any head against the deceitfulness of mankind, and all those guiles and pretences in which an unwilling student like Law knows himself so much more profoundly informed than any of his pastors and teachers can be. The sense of superiority with which such a youth, learned in all manner of “dodges” and devices for eluding work, contemplates the innocent senior who has faith in his excuses, was strong in Law’s mind towards his last tutor, who was so much less knowing than any of the others, that he had taken him “for nothing,” without even the pay which his earlier instructor, Mr. Langton, had been supposed to receive: supposed—for Captain Despard was paymaster, and he was not any more to be trusted to for recollecting quarter-day than Law was to be trusted to for doing his work. But Mr. Ashford had never said anything about pay. He had taken Law for his sister’s sake, “for love,” as the young man said lightly; taken him as an experiment, to see what could be made of him, and kept him on without a word on either side of remuneration. This curious conduct, which might have made the pupil grateful, had no such result, but filled him instead with a more entire contempt for the intellects of his benefactor. It is easy, in the estimation of young men like Law, to be learned and wise in book-learning, yet a “stupid” in life; and if anything could have made this fact more clear, it would have been the irregularity of the business transaction as between a non-paying pupil and a “coach” who gave just as much attention to him as if he had been an important source of revenue. “What a soft he must be! What a stupid he is,” had been Law’s standing reflection. But he had liked all the same the object of his scorn, and had felt “old Ashford” to be “very jolly,” notwithstanding his foolish believingness, and still more foolish indifference to his own profit. It was this which had made him go to the Minor Canon with such a frankness of appeal—but he had not been in the least prepared for the reply he received. It took away his breath. Though it was a superlative proof of the same “softness” which had made Mr. Ashford receive a pupil who paid him nothing, the dazzled youth could no longer regard it with contempt. Though he was tolerably fortified against invasions of emotion, there was something in this which penetrated to his heart. Suddenly, in a moment, to be lifted out of his dull struggle with books which he could not understand, and hopeless anticipation of an ordeal he could never pass, and to have the desire of his heart given to him, without any trouble of his, without price or reward, was all very wonderful to Law. At first he could not believe it. To think “old Ashford” was joking—to think that a man so impractical did not put the ordinary meaning into his words—this was the first natural explanation; but when the Minor Canon’s first recollection that “he knew a man” brightened into the prospect of money to pay the young emigrant’s passage, and an actual beginning of his career, Law did not know, as we have said, whether he was standing upon solid ground or floating in the air. The happiness was almost too much for him. He went up to London next day by Mr. Ashford’s suggestion, and, at his cost, to learn all particulars about the voyage, but kept his own secret until it had gained so much of solid foundation as the actual sight of a ship which was bound for Australia, a printed account of the times of sailing, and fares, and an outfitter’s list of indispensables, could give; then, still dazzled by the sudden fulfilment of his wishes, but feeling his own importance, and the seriousness of his position as a future emigrant, Law had endeavoured to find an opportunity of communicating the great news to Lottie, but had failed, as has been seen. And having thus failed, and seeing in her none of the eager desire to know what he was about, which he thought would have been natural in circumstances so profoundly interesting, Law got up from the table and went out with a certain sense of injury in his mind. He saw there was “something up” in respect to his sister herself, but he did not take very much interest in that. Yet he thought it curiously selfish of her, almost incomprehensibly selfish, to ask no question, show no concern in what was happening to him. He had said, “I am going to Australia!” but had he said, “I am going to play football,” she could not have taken it more calmly; and she had never asked a question since. What funny creatures women are, one time so anxious about you, another time caring nothing, Law said to himself; but he was not at all conscious that it might have been natural for him too to take some interest in Lottie’s affairs. He did not. It was some rubbish, he supposed, about that fellow Ridsdale. He thought of the whole business with contempt. Far more important, beyond all comparison, were those affairs which were his own.
And when he went out, a little angry, irritated, but full of excitement and elation, and eager to find somebody who would take due interest in the story of his good fortune, where could Law’s footsteps stray but to the place where they had turned so often in his idleness and hopelessness? He had gone once before since the visit of Polly, and had been confronted by Mrs. Welting, now established in the workroom, to the confusion of all the little schemes of amusement by which the girls had solaced the tedium of their lives. “Mother” had been glad enough to be allowed to look after her house in quiet, and the rest of the family, without troubling herself about her girls. But the sharp prick of Polly’s denunciation had given Mrs. Welting new ideas of her duty. Would she let it be said by an artful creature like that, who had done the same thing herself, as her daughters were laying themselves out to catch a gentleman? Not for all the world! She would not have a girl of hers marry a gentleman, not for anything, Mrs. Welting said. She forbade the little expeditions they were in the habit of making in turns for thread and buttons. She would not allow even the Family Herald. She scolded “for nothing at all,” resenting her compulsory attendance there, and banishment from her domestic concerns. The workroom was quite changed. There was no jollity in it, no visitors, not half so much chatter as had been carried on gaily while Polly was paramount. “She took all the good herself, but she never could bear seeing anyone else happy,” Emma said, who was doubly aggrieved. And it could not be said that the work improved under this discipline. The moment altogether was not happy; and when Law, by dint of wandering about the windows, and whistling various airs known to the workroom, made his presence known, Emma, when her mother withdrew, as she did perforce as the evening got on, and it became necessary to look after the family supper, the younger children, and her lodgers—came cautiously out to meet him, with a cloak about her shoulders. “I haven’t got a moment to stay,” Emma said. “Mother would take off my head if she found me out!” Yet she suffered herself to be drawn a few steps from the door, and round the corner to the riverside, where, on this wintry evening, there was nobody about, and the river itself in the darkness was only discernible by the white swell and foam round the piers of the bridge, by which it rushed on its headlong passage to the weir. Here, now going, now coming, a few wary steps at a time, awaiting a possible warning from the window of the lighted workroom, the two wandered in the damp darkness, and Emma, opening large eyes of astonishment, heard of all that was about to happen. “Old Ashford has behaved like a brick,” Law said. “He is going to give me introductions to people he knows, and he means to give me my passage-money too, and something to begin upon!”
“Lor!” cried Emma, “what is it for? Is he going to marry your sister?” Her attention was awakened, but she did not think she had anything to do with it; she was so much afraid of not hearing any possible tap on the window, or not having time to run home before her absence was discovered.
“Now look here, Emma,” said Law. He did not speak with any enthusiasm of tenderness, but calmly, as having something serious to propose. “If I go away, you know, it’s for life; it’s not gone to-day and back to-morrow, like a soldier ordered off to the Colonies. I’m going to make my living, and my fortune, if I can, and settle there for life. No, nobody’s knocking at the window. Can’t you give me your attention for a moment? I tell you, if I go, it’s for life.”
“Lor!” said Emma, startled. “You don’t mean to say as you’ve come to say good-bye, Mr. Law? and you as always said you were so true. But I do believe none of you young men ever remembers nor thinks what he’s been saying,” she added with a half whimper. A lover’s desertion is never a pleasant thing in any condition of life.
“It’s just because of that I’m here,” said Law, sturdily. “I remember all I’ve ever said. I’ve come to put it to you, Emma, straightforward. I am going away, as I tell you, for life. Will you come with me? that’s the question. There is not very much to spare, and there’s the outfit to get, but it will go hard if I can’t draw old Ashford for your passage-money,” said the grateful recipient of the Minor Canon’s bounty; “and it would be a new start and a new life, and I’d do the best I could for you. Emma, you must make up your mind quick, for there isn’t much time. The boat sails—well, I can’t exactly tell you when she sails; but in a fortnight or so——”
“A fortnight!” Emma cried, with a sense of dismay.
“Yes. We needn’t have a very grand wedding, need we? Emigrants must be careful both of their money and their time.”
“Emigrants? I don’t know what you mean by emigrants—it don’t sound much,” said the girl, with a cloud upon her face.
“No, it is not very fine. It means people that are going to settle far away, on the other side of the world. Australia is—I don’t know how many thousand miles away.”
“Can you go there by land?” said Emma. “You needn’t laugh—how was I to know? Oh, I can’t abide going in a ship.”
“That’s a pity, for you can’t go in anything else. But it’s a fine big ship, and every care taken. Look here, Emma, you must make up your mind. Will you go?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” cried Emma; “I can’t tell; how long would you be in the ship? It isn’t what I ever expected,” she said in a plaintive voice. “A hurry, and a fuss, and then a long sea-voyage. Oh, I don’t think I should like it, Mr. Law.”
“The question is, do you like me?” said Law, with a little thrill in his deep yet boyish bass. “You couldn’t like the parting and all that—it wouldn’t be natural; but do you like me well enough to put up with it? I don’t want you to do anything you don’t like, but when I go it will be for good, and you must just make up your mind which you like best—to go with me, though there’s a good deal of trouble, or to stay at home, and good-bye to me for ever.”
At this, Emma began to cry. “Oh, I shouldn’t like to say good-bye for ever,” she said; “I always hated saying good-bye. I don’t know what to do; it would be good-bye to mother, and Ellen, and them all. And never to come back again would be awful! I shouldn’t mind if it was for a year or two years, but never to come back—I don’t know what to do.”
“We might come home on a visit, if we got very rich,” said Law, “or we might have some of the others out to see us. ”
“Oh, for a visit!” said Emma. “But they’d miss me dreadful in the workroom. Oh, I wish I knew what to say.”
“You must choose for yourself—you must please yourself,” said Law, a little piqued by the girl’s many doubts; then he softened again. “You know, Emma,” he said, “when a girl gets married it’s very seldom she has her own people near her, and I don’t know that it’s a good thing when she has. People say, at least, husband and wife ought to be enough for each other. And, supposing it was only to London, it would still be away from them.”
“Oh, but it would be different,” cried Emma; “if one could come back now and again, and see them all; but to live always hundreds of thousands of miles away.”
“Not hundreds of thousands; but a long voyage that takes months——”
“Months!” Emma uttered a cry. “Too far to have mother if you were ill,” she said, casting her mind over the eventualities of the future; “too far, a deal too far for a trip to see one. I don’t think it would be nice at all. Mr. Law, couldn’t you, oh, couldn’t you stop at home?”
“Perhaps you’d tell me what I should do if I stayed at home,” said Law, not without a touch of contempt. “It’s more than I can tell. No, I can’t stay at home. There is nothing I could do here. It is Australia or nothing, Emma; you must make up your mind to that.”
“Oh, but I don’t see why you shouldn’t stay in London; there are always places to be got there; you might look in the papers and see. Mother used to get the Times from the public-house, a penny an hour, when Willie was out of a place. Did you ever answer any advertisement, or try—really try?”
“All that is nothing to the purpose,” said Law, with some impatience. “The advertisements may be all very well, but I know nothing about them. I am going to Australia whether or not. I’ve quite made up my mind. Now the thing is, will you come too?”
Emma did not know what answer to make. The going away was appalling, but to lose her gentleman-lover, though he was banished from the workroom, was a great humiliation. Then she could not but feel that there was a certain excitement and importance in the idea of preparing for a sudden voyage, and being married at seventeen, the first of the family. But when she thought of the sea and the ship, and the separation from everything, Emma’s strength of mind gave way. She could not do that. The end was that, driven back and forward between the two, she at last faltered forth a desire to consult “Mother” before deciding. Law, though he was contemptuous of this weakness, yet could not say anything against it. Perhaps it was necessary that a girl should own such a subjection. “If you do, I can tell you beforehand what she will say,” he cried. “Then Ellen; I’ll ask Ellen,” said Emma. “Oh, I can’t settle it out of my own head.” And then the girl started, hearing the signal on the window, and fled from him, breathless. “Mother’s come to shut up,” she said. Law walked away, not without satisfaction, when this end had been attained. He was more anxious to have the question settled than he was anxious to have Emma. Indeed, he was not at all blind to the fact that he was too young to marry, and that there were disadvantages in hampering himself even in Australia with such a permanent companion. Then, too, all that he could hope for from Mr. Ashford was enough for his own outfit and passage, and he did not see how hers was to be managed. But, still, Law had been “keeping company” with Emma for some time, and he acknowledged the duties of that condition according to the interpretation put upon it in the order to which Emma belonged. Clearly, when good fortune came to a young man who was keeping company with a young woman, it was right that he should offer her a share of it. If she did not accept it, so much the better; he would have done what honour required without any further trouble. As Law walked up the hill again, he reflected that on the whole it would be much better if he were allowed to go to Australia alone. No one could know how things would turn out. Perhaps the man Mr. Ashford knew might be of little use, perhaps he might have to go from one place to another; or he might not succeed at first; or many things might happen which would make a wife an undesirable burden. He could not but hope that things might so arrange themselves as that Emma should drop back into her natural sphere in the workroom, and he be left free. Poor little Emma! if this were the case, he would buy her a locket as a keepsake off Mr. Ashford’s money, and take leave of her with comfort. But in the other case, if she should make up her mind to go with him, Law was ready to accept the alternative. His good fortune put him doubly on his honour. He would prefer to be free, yet, if he were held to it, he was prepared to do his duty. He would not let her perceive that he did not want her. But, on the whole, he would be much better satisfied if “Mother” interfered. Having disposed of this matter, Law began to think of his outfit, which was very important, wondering, by the way, if Emma went, whether her family would provide hers? but yet keeping this question, as uncertain, quite in the background. He recalled to himself the list he had got in his pocket, with its dozens of shirts and socks, with no small satisfaction. Was it possible that he could become the owner of all that? The thought of becoming the owner of a wife he took calmly, hoping he might still avoid the necessity; but to have such a wardrobe was exciting and delightful. He determined to get Lottie to show him how to mend a hole and sew on a button. To think that Lottie knew nothing about his plans, and had never asked him what he meant, bewildered him when he thought of it. What could be “up” in respect to her? Something like anxiety crossed Law’s mind; at least, it was something as much like anxiety as he was capable of—a mingling of surprise and indignation; for were not his affairs a great deal more important than anything affecting herself could be? This was the idea of both. Law was going to Australia, but Lottie was going to be married, a still more important event! and each felt that in heaven and earth no other such absorbing interest existed. It must be said, however, for Lottie, that Law’s whispered communication counted for nothing with her, since she knew no way in which it could be possible. Wild hopes that came to nothing had gleamed across his firmament before. How could he go to Australia? As easy to say that he was going to the moon; and in this way it took no hold upon her mind; while he, for his part, had no clue whatever to the disturbing influence in Lottie’s thoughts.