She and I Volume II Part 12

The suspense is killing me:--anxiety and uncertainty are driving me mad!

Tell me, Min--dear as you are to me, I ask it for the last time-- whether you will promise to be my wife? Only give me a grain of hope, that I may have something to look forward to; something to work for; some object in life? At present, I have nothing; and, my existence is a burden to me!"

"Can we not be friends still, Frank?" she asked, sadly.

"No, Min," I answered; "_I_ cannot promise any longer what I feel unable to perform. You must be everything to me or nothing! I would lay down my life for you, darling! Won't you give me some hope?"

"Oh, Frank! do not torture me,"--she exclaimed, in a choking voice--"I have pledged my word, and I cannot break it."

"Better to break my heart than your mother's selfish command!" I said, bitterly, knowing, now, how she had probably been bound down to refuse me, should I again offer my love.

O wise, far-reaching, far-seeing Mrs Clyde!

"Do not be so unkind to me, Frank," said Min, half sobbingly, after a little time, during which I tried to keep down my own emotion; and, I felt a warm little tear drop on the hand in which I still clasped hers in a lingering clasp--"I have been a friend, though, to you; have I not, Frank?" she asked me.

"Tell me, Min," I said, making a last appeal; "do you love me--have you ever loved me? Let me have some consolation, to comfort me!"

"I must not say anything, must not promise anything. I have given my word to mamma. But, oh, Frank! do not be angry with me. Let us be friends still, won't you?"

"No," said I, sternly--I wondered afterwards at my cruelty; but, I was goaded on to desperation, and hardly knew what I was saying.--"We part for ever now, Min! Your mother may certainly procure you a wealthier suitor, but none who can love you as truly as I do, as I have done!

Good-bye. I dare say you will soon be happy with some one else; but, perhaps, you will think sometimes of him whom you have discarded, whose heart you have broken, whose life you have wrecked?--No, I do not want you to think of me at all!" I added, pa.s.sionately, at the last--and then, I left her.

What a walk home I had, in the early dawn!

I would not take a cab, although several pa.s.sed me. I wanted to be alone in my misery; and so, I walked the whole way to Saint Canon's-- three miles if it were an inch, over a rough, newly-stoned road, too, and in patent-leather boots with paper soles! I never thought of that, however, nor felt the stones, notwithstanding that my boots were entirely worn out when I reached home. I might have been walking along on a Brussels carpet, for all that I knew to the contrary!

My thoughts were agony:--my mind, a perfect h.e.l.l; and, that dreadful _Mabel_ waltz seemed to be continually running through my brain, tinkling the death knell of all my hopes!

The tune always recurs to me, whenever my memory goes back to the night of that miserable evening party, with all its attendant scenes and circ.u.mstances; and, I hate it!

Two bars of it whistled now, no matter where I heard them, or in what company I might chance to be, would bring me mentally face to face with my misery again!

O Min, Min!

She never knew how I loved her, or she would never have rejected me like this!

This was my consolation--ample, wasn't it?

CHAPTER SEVEN.

HER LETTER.

Ay de mi! Un anno felice, Parece un soplo ligero: Pero sin dicha un instante, Es un siglo de tormente.

"--And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send, though ink be made of gall!"

It was broad daylight when I got home.

I did not go to bed; but, pa.s.sed the weary morning hours in walking up and down my room, chewing the bitter cud of hopeless fancy, and in a state of excitement almost approaching to madness.

At last, the time arrived for me to start to town to my office.

"Hey, humph! what is the matter, Mr Lorton?"--growled old Smudge to me, as I proceeded to sign the attendance book before the fatal black line was drawn against the late comers--"Look ill, look ill! hey? Late hours, late hours, young man, young man; dissipation, and all the rest of it, hey? _I_ know how it will end--same as the rest, same as the rest!"--and he chuckled to himself over some blue book in his corner, as if he had, in the most merry and unbending mood, "pa.s.sed the time of day" with singular bonhomie!

I only gave him a gruff good-morning, however. I walked listlessly to my desk, where he presently also came, to take me to task about some account I had checked--so as to tone down any presumptuous feelings I might have in consequence of his graciousness:--the "balance" was, thus, "pretty square" between us.

I never found the office-work so tedious, my fellow-clerks so wearisome, nor the whole round of civil service life so dreadfully "flat, stale, and unprofitable," as on that miserable day after the party!

The day seemed as if it would never come to an end.

The wretched hours lengthened themselves out, with such indiarubber-like elasticity, that, the interval between ten and four appeared a cycle of centuries!

I was longing to be free, in order to carry out a determination to which I had come.

I had resolved to see Mrs Clyde and plead my cause again with her; for, I had observed from Min's manner, that it was not _her_ objection to me personally, but, her promise to her mother which had prevented her from lending a favourable ear to my suit.

Four o'clock came at last--thank heaven!

I rushed out of the office; procured a hansom, with the fastest horse I was able to pick out in my hurry; and, set out homewards.

I arrived within the bounds of Saint Canon's parish within the half- hour, thanks to the "pour boire" that I held out, in antic.i.p.ation of hurry, to my Jehu.

A few minutes afterwards, I called at The Terrace.

The ladies were both out, the servant said.

I called again, later on.

Still "not at home," I was told; although, I knew they were in. I had watched both Min and Mrs Clyde enter the house, shortly before my second visit. I was evidently intentionally denied!

I went back to my own home. I spent another hour or two, walking up and down my room in the same cheerful way in which I had pa.s.sed the morning; and then--_then_, I thought I would write to Mrs Clyde.

Yes, that would be the best course.

I sat down and penned the most vivid sketch of my present grief, asking her to reconsider the former decision she had given against me. I was certain, I said, that it was only through _her_ influence that Min had rejected me; and I earnestly besought her good will. I was now in a better position, I urged, than I had been the previous year, my income being nearly doubled--thanks to Government and what I was able to reap from my literary lucubrations:--what more could she require? Besides, my a.s.sets would increase, at the least, by the ten pound bonus which a grateful country annually aggregates to the salary of its victims each year--not to speak of the fortune I might make by my "connection with the press!" In fact, I said everything that I could, to colour my case and get judgment recorded in my favour.

But, my toil was all in vain!

I sent over my letter by a servant, with instructions to leave it at the door; while, I, waited in all the evening expecting an answer, in breathless suspense.

None came; but, next morning I received back my own despatch enclosed in another envelope, unopened, unread.

I went down to the office that day in quite a cheerful mood again, I can tell you!

How I did enjoy Brown's balderdash; the witty sallies of Smith; Robinson's repartees; Jones' jocosities!

When, after my official labours, I returned again to Saint Canon's that evening, I made another attempt to see Mrs Clyde.