Chapter VII: Paula Leaves Deepdale

Mrs Measures would have followed Paula Stafford to the schoolhouse that very evening if her husband had not prevented it. He had told the girl to take a couple of days to think over the matter, and he would not let his wife interfere with her till the time was up. Meanwhile he felt very depressed about it all. He had not the least suspicion that the teacher had been guilty of any impropriety, but her reticence and obstinacy puzzled and grieved him. Doubtless she had some good reason for refusing to speak, but that assurance would not satisfy his churchwardens, and he foresaw that he should lose an admirable assistant in the school, and one which he should not easily replace. Mrs Measures, on the contrary, anticipated no such evil consequences, and rallied her husband on his want of circumspection.

‘Can’t you see, dear,’ she said, ‘that she only held her tongue in order to annoy Mr Gribble? And I don’t wonder at it. Such a presuming, impertinent, arbitrary little man as he is. I often question, Edward, why you permit him to hold his office. He is quite unfit for it.’

‘I don’t see that, Mary. He is very zealous, and in this instance, although he is hard and suspicious, he is perfectly just. Miss Stafford should _not_ receive any visitors whose names she is ashamed to acknowledge.’

‘Who said she was _ashamed_ to acknowledge them? Why, Edward, you are becoming as hard as Mr Gribble. Miss Stafford confessed openly that Hal Rushton had been with her. It was only the sailor whose identity she preferred to keep to herself.’

‘And what business can she have with _sailors_? I don’t quite like it, Mary. I wish it had never occurred.’

‘So do I, but I cannot regard it as such a terrible misfortune. I am going to call on Miss Stafford after school this evening, and I am sure she will tell me everything that is necessary for us to know.’

‘I hope so, my dear. I shall have a very poor opinion of her else. She seemed very determined the other day, but she may have thought better of it since.’

Mrs Measures felt quite sure of it, and rapped at the schoolhouse door that evening in full faith that everything would have been set right before she left it again. It was just past five o’clock. The scholars had not been dismissed above a few minutes, and the woman whose business it was to keep the schoolroom clean was already opening the windows and sweeping away the dust caused by their fidgeting little feet. She curtsied as she saw the vicar’s wife, and remarked that it was a beautiful day, and there hadn’t been but a handful of scholars in for afternoon school. Mrs Measures had hardly time to notice her remark before Miss Stafford herself had opened the side door in answer to her knock. She was looking very pale, and her eyes were red with weeping, but she coloured faintly when she saw who was standing there.

‘Mrs Measures,’ she faltered, ‘I am so sorry. My room is so untidy. It is hardly fit to ask you in to.’

‘Never mind untidiness,’ replied Mrs Measures cheerfully, as she stept over the threshold. ‘I did not come to look at your room, my dear, but to talk to yourself.’ But as she caught sight of the school teacher’s boxes, and all the preparations for packing them strewn about the room, she looked surprised. ‘Why, what is this? Surely you are not making ready to leave us?’

‘Indeed, I am, Mrs Measures. I told Mr Measures the other evening that he might as well give me my notice at once, as there is nothing for me to do but to go.’

‘But, my dear,’ said the vicar’s wife, taking possession of a chair, ‘this is childish of you. Even if you eventually decide to leave us, you must take a month’s notice. You are entitled to it.’

‘I do not wish to take it, Mrs Measures. I am going at once. There is nothing left here for me to do. There were not more than a dozen children at school this afternoon, and they behaved so impertinently that it is evident I have lost my control over them. I was going to write to the vicar to-night, and ask him to find a substitute for me at once. I cannot submit to be insulted by my own scholars.’

‘Most certainly not,’ cried the lady warmly, ‘and I only wish the vicar had been by to hear it. But now, let us have a talk together over this affair. It seems that the only obstacle to an understanding between us is your refusal to give up the name of the stranger who visited you on that unfortunate evening. Now, is your objection to do this quite insuperable? Will you not confide it to _me_?’

For a moment Paula was irresolute. Why should she not tell this kind friend everything, and secure a woman’s sympathy and advice? But to what end? She had lost her lover, and her situation (for without the one she could never retain the other), and what good should she gain by leaving her sad history behind her to serve food for Deepdale gossip? So she stood there silently and shook her head.

‘It seems incomprehensible to me,’ continued the vicar’s wife in a vexed tone, ‘that you should be so obstinate about it. I feel sure there was nothing wrong in his visit; but why should you keep his name and business such a mystery?’

‘I daresay it _does_ seem incomprehensible to you, madam,’ said Paula sadly, ‘but perhaps your life has led to no necessity for concealments.’

‘No, indeed; but why should yours? Such a girl as you are too--’

‘Oh, I am not such a girl as you think me, and my past life has been both unhappy and eventful. It is unnecessary you should know mine. This man was connected with it, and to disclose his business with me would be to tell a great deal that concerns myself alone. Is not this sufficient,’ replied Paula, ‘and especially since I shall leave Deepdale so soon and for ever?’

She had finished the sentence with difficulty, and at the close of it she burst into tears. Mrs Measures was affected. She thought the teacher had suffered some disappointment in love.

‘My poor child,’ she said affectionately, ‘you are unhappy, I can see that, and I feel for you.’

Paula’s answer was to fling herself at the knees of the vicar’s wife.

‘Oh, madam, I _am_ unhappy--deeply, miserably so--though not from my own fault so much as from that of others. Pity me if you will, but pray do not condemn me. In a few days I shall be far away from Deepdale, and I would like to think that you at least did not believe me to be in the wrong. That man was connected with my past life. He brought me a message from a person whom I never wished to hear from again--whom I never shall see again. To disclose his name would be to give up a clue to a past I am doing my utmost to forget. That is the sole reason of my silence. Do you believe me?’

‘Yes, my dear, I do believe you, and I am very sorry for you. You were born for better things than this. Edward and I always said so from the beginning.’

‘Oh, no; I am obliged to work, for I have others dependent on me, and I have been grateful for the peace and kindness I have met with here. But now it is over. I must leave Deepdale, and the sooner I go the better. How soon do you think that Mr Measures will set me free?’

Mrs Measures sighed.

‘I cannot say. What he will do without you I do not know. But it is folly to throw away your legal notice and salary.’

‘I want neither. I have sufficient money to get back to my friends, and I cannot stay a day longer than is necessary.’

‘_Where_ are your friends? _Who_ are they?’ demanded Mrs Measures.

‘My mother lives in Devonshire,’ replied Paula vaguely.

The vicar’s wife was not satisfied with the interview, and felt she had signally failed in her mission. She knew no more than when she entered the schoolhouse, and it was evident that Miss Stafford intended to leave them. So she said, with rather less interest,--

‘Of course, we cannot keep you here against your will, my dear, but I think you would be wise to reconsider your decision. Why not stay out your month? There is no knowing what might happen in the interim. Let me tell the vicar that you will do so much.’

‘No, no,’ cried Paula feverishly; ‘I feel that I must go without delay. I shall be miserable till I am out of the place. There are other reasons--’

‘_Other reasons?_’ repeated Mrs Measures inquisitively.

‘Yes--no. I hardly know what I am talking about. This business has completely upset me,’ replied Paula. ‘Only--I must go home to my mother. I must go at once. I cannot stay here a day longer.’

‘Very well,’ said her visitor, rising, ‘then I will tell Mr Measures your decision. He will be very disappointed, I know; but, of course, we cannot interfere with your private feelings. Good-bye, my dear. I am sorry--_very_ sorry--but we must hope it is all for the best.’

And with this well-meant but unsatisfactory aphorism Mrs Measures took her leave. She was sincerely hurt at the upshot of her visit, and her faith in her _protégée_ was somewhat shaken. Paula’s impetuous words had rendered the mystery still more mysterious. What could there be so dreadful in her past that she feared the discovery of a clue to it? Her half-explanation had made the matter worse instead of better, and Mrs Measures determined to keep that part of their interview to herself. As she was strolling thoughtfully towards the vicarage she encountered Hal Rushton, wandering in an aimless way about the village, with a couple of Irish setters at his heels. He had been gloomy and depressed ever since the conversation with his stepmother at the breakfast table that morning, wondering what he could do to stop the scandal concerning Paula, or if he could make up his mind to see her again and warn her of the detriment to her character. When he perceived the vicar’s wife, he doffed his hat and slightly smiled. Everyone in Deepdale loved Mrs Measures except the late Mrs Snaley.

‘Well, Mr Rushton,’ she commenced kindly, ‘and how are you getting on? I have just come from seeing Miss Stafford at the schoolhouse. I am sorry to say she holds to her decision, and is determined to leave us. It is a great pity. It will leave a kind of blot upon her name for ever. Now, _you_ are a friend of hers. I wonder if you could induce her to think better of it.’

Hal began to stammer at once.

‘_I_, Mrs Measures. If _you_ have failed, it is hardly likely _I_ should succeed. But she will not get leave, I suppose, under a month?’

‘Indeed, she will. She is going at once, without notice or salary. I found her already packing her trunks. She seems terribly upset, and very unhappy. Poor girl, I fancy her life has not been a very bright one.’

‘Did she tell you anything about it?’ inquired Hal.

‘Not in so many words, but she hinted a great deal. And vexed as I am at her obstinacy in leaving Deepdale, I cannot help thinking of the time she has passed with us with admiration. How faithfully she has worked in the schoolroom, sparing neither time nor trouble. Mr Measures will feel lost when she is gone. And all the time the poor child has been toiling for others who are dependent on her, and with some carking care or anxiety hidden in her breast. I am very sorry there should be anything to conceal in her life, but I admire her beyond expression for having battled against it as she appears to have done.’

‘And all the thanks she has got for it is having her character vilified from one end of Deepdale to the other,’ exclaimed young Rushton excitedly.

‘That is her own fault, Mr Rushton,’ replied Mrs Measures; ‘however innocent she may be, where there is concealment, people _will_ suspect there is something wrong. And her friends, even, do not seem to stand up for her. She appears to be very much alone. She told me she was going to her mother in Devonshire, but she did not tell me her name or address.’

‘Her name, we must conclude, is Mrs Stafford,’ remarked Hal drily.

‘So I should have said yesterday, but I could not help observing this evening that several of the articles of clothing strewn about the room were marked with the initials P. B. Perhaps I am wrong to think that “Stafford” may be only an assumed name; but where there has been one deception, there may have been another. But she is evidently in great distress, poor girl, and God forbid that I should judge her. I only feel great pity, and great regret. But I mustn’t keep you any longer, Mr Rushton. Only, if you should see Miss Stafford, and feel justified in approaching the subject, _do_ try and make her see the sense of not rushing off in such a hurry, which is sure to make the scandal about her ten times worse.’

Hal’s heart began to beat rapidly as Mrs Measures left him. Paula going to leave Deepdale so soon, and without giving him a chance perhaps of speaking to her again. Upon the instant he began to view her conduct on the last occasion of their meeting in a more favourable light. He had been terribly hurt and disappointed by the disclosure she had made to him--_so_ disappointed, indeed, that for the moment he had thought she was not worthy that he should speak to her again. But he had been miserable ever since. He had regretted his harsh words as soon as they were uttered, and the idea that all intercourse between them was over was torture to him. For, after all, had she done him so great an injury by not telling him of her marriage before? Had he ever approached the subject of her past life with her, or hinted that he intended to ask her to share his future? And since there was a reason for concealing she was a widow, what right had he to suppose that she would confide to him--until the proper time came--what she had kept a secret from everybody else? _When_ the moment arrived, when further concealment would have been deception, she had told it to him frankly. And, in return, instead of pitying, he had reviled her. What a brute she must think him. Was there any chance she would forgive so great an affront? Mrs Measures’ words had made him look upon it all so differently. The poor girl, with her spirits and health broken from the unhappiness of the past, working bravely at an uncongenial occupation for the sake of her child and her mother--both, perhaps, dependent on her--and he had been unkind to her, and added to her burden, when all the time it was because he loved her with such a jealous passion that he could not bear to think she had ever belonged to another man. But he would conquer all such petty feelings; he would pour out his love upon her, freely and unconditionally, if she would only forgive him for the past. With this intention Hal Rushton began to walk rapidly towards the schoolhouse. He was very much in love with Paula Stafford. It is doubtful, under any circumstances, whether he could have borne their estrangement much longer, but now his heart was burning to make the quarrel up again. As he passed the latticed window, which was thrown open to the evening air, he caught a glimpse of her figure, bent over one of her travelling trunks, and his pulses beat faster at the sight of her. He went round to the door. It was unlatched. He pushed it open, and stood upon the threshold, with a face full of entreaty.

‘Paula,’ he murmured in a low voice, ‘Paula, forgive me!’

She turned at the sound, and flushed scarlet.

‘There is nothing to forgive,’ she answered sadly. ‘I was bound to tell you the truth, and I am sorry that it wounded you. But it is better so. You know now what I am. I could not have accepted your offer unless you knew it.’

‘But I had no right to speak to you as I did. It was jealousy made me do so--jealousy to think that any other man had ever claimed the privileges I aspire to. I have been miserable ever since. I have been unable to eat or drink for thinking of the happiness I have lost. Paula, forgive me. Forget the words I said. They were not my true sentiments. I cannot live without you, darling. Had you been married twenty times, I would still say, “Come to me and, be my wife, and let me try to make you forget the unhappiness of the past.”’

He pleaded so earnestly, and his words caused such a revulsion in her feelings, that Paula sat down on the box she had been packing and began to cry.

‘Oh, my miserable life,’ she moaned, ‘the fatal mistake that bound me to that man--how the shadow of it has pursued me ever since. Even here, where I thought I was so safe, it has settled down upon me, and broken up the little peace and happiness that I possessed.’

‘No, no, Paula, don’t say that,’ exclaimed Hal Rushton, as he entered the room and knelt beside her. ‘Don’t let it break it up. Take me back to your heart again, unworthy as I am to ask it, and let us be to each other as we were before.’

He pulled her hands down from before her face, and kissed her tears away, and she had not the moral courage to prevent him.

‘But nothing is changed, Hal, remember,’ she said after a while. ‘I am still that hateful thing to you--a woman who has been married--who has borne a child--and nothing can ever undo it. You had better let me go, and set your heart upon some fresh young girl instead.’

‘I don’t want any fresh young girl. I want only _you_,’ he answered fondly. ‘I have been trying to argue the matter out with myself the two last days, and I have utterly failed. You are the only woman in the world that can make me happy, and I would marry you, whatever you had done, and whatever you had been. Do you understand me plainly? It must be you, and you only, or I will die a bachelor. Give me your promise back again, Paula, and say that you will be my wife.’

‘I am afraid,’ she sighed, ‘you have frightened all my courage away. Let me go home to my mother, and when I have talked the matter over with her I will write you my decision.’

‘But you won’t go away _now_?’ he exclaimed eagerly. ‘You won’t rob me of your presence just as it has become such a joy to me? Oh, Paula, no! Stay with us, darling, a little while, and then you shall give up this detestable occupation for ever. Mrs Measures met me as she was returning home, and begged me to persuade you, if possible, to relinquish your intention to leave Deepdale--at all events until this scandal has somewhat blown over.’

Paula drew herself up rather proudly.

‘I am sorry I cannot comply with Mrs Measures’ request. I told her so only just now. The scandal _is_ scandal, and I shall treat it with the contempt it deserves, but I cannot remain here to be insulted either by the churchwardens or my scholars. The school is in absolute revolt. I can maintain no authority nor order amongst the children, therefore I prefer to give up my salary and situation without further delay. I told Mrs Measures that I should start to-morrow.’

‘_To-morrow?_’ echoed the young man in a voice of despair. ‘You will leave me so soon? Oh, you are cruel, Paula!’

‘I think not, Hal. I think I am kind, instead. I want to give you time to think this matter over quietly, and to be sure you know your own mind. And I will think it over also, and decide if I shall be wise in trusting my future happiness to such a jealous fellow as you are.’

But she smiled as she said the words, and Hal Rushton knew that their difference was over.

‘I _am_ jealous,’ he sighed, ‘horribly and unreasonably jealous. I have been so from a child. When my father married again, and brought Mrs Snaley and her son into the house, Heaven only knows what I suffered. But I can never be jealous again of you, Paula. I know the worst now, and I feel that in yourself you will never give me cause for experiencing such a feeling.’

Paula coloured, and began to busy herself with the box.

‘I shall never get my packing done in time if I chatter so much to you,’ she said. ‘If you want to make yourself very useful, Hal, you might find out what time the train for London leaves Haltham to-morrow morning, and if Mr Waters can spare his tax-cart to take me and my luggage into town in time to catch it.’

‘Mr Waters’ tax-cart will do no such thing,’ exclaimed her lover. ‘If you are determined to go, _I_ shall drive you into Haltham myself.’

‘And leave another scandal on my name in Deepdale. Will that be wise, Hal?’

‘I shall meet the scandal (if any) with the refutation that you are my promised wife.’

‘No, Hal, you must not do that until we have met again. I am _not_ your promised wife. I _was_ last Tuesday, but you threw back my promise in my face, and I refuse to renew it so hastily. You must know my whole history before we plight our troth again. You might hear something else to trouble you. And so we will part good friends, I hope, but free as air.’

‘And when are we to meet again?’ inquired Hal somewhat sulkily.

‘Very soon, I hope. I will go down to Grassdene, and have a little rest and peace with my mother. I want rest, Hal, after the worry and excitement of the last week. And when I have consulted her, I will write to you, and if you are of the same mind--’

‘Well, what if I am of the same mind?’ he said interrogatively.

‘You shall come and fetch me, if you will,’ she answered in a low voice.

He caught her suddenly in his arms, and strained her to his breast.

‘If I will--if I will--’ he repeated joyously, as he kissed her soft lips. ‘You know that I will--that I would fetch you away to-day if you would only give your consent to it.’

‘That would be a little too soon,’ said Paula; ‘besides, I will not promise anything more till you have seen my mother and poor little Paul.’

‘Is that your child? But why do you call him “poor little Paul?”’ he asked.

‘You will understand when you see him, Hal. Don’t talk of it more to-night. But remember what I said on Tuesday evening I meant, and however we may decide to act in the future, I shall be your true friend as long as my life lasts.’

She gave him her hand as she spoke, and Hal Rushton raised it reverently to his lips, and felt that, whatever the secrets of this woman’s past might be, she was worthy in herself of all honour and esteem. He lingered about her for a little while longer, hoping to extract some fresh promise from her lips, but she was firm in her resolve, and he bid her good-night with a lighter heart, indeed, but still somewhat sobered by her decision. He was so fearful lest on cool deliberation she should find that she could live without him. She refused his escort into Haltham the next day, but she could not prevent his being on the platform of the railway station to see her off, nor providing her with every comfort he could think of to lessen the fatigue of the journey. Mr and Mrs Measures were exceedingly sorry to see her go, and the parishioners of Deepdale were indignant at her taking the law into her own hands, but neither of them could prevent her departure. The last thing Paula saw, as the train moved slowly out of the station, was the handsome face of Hal Rushton smiling a farewell, and she could not help wondering to herself if she should ever see it again with such a confident, hopeful smile upon its features.