Chapter XXVII: The Third Letter to a London Friend

Dear Jack, If this letter is wild, and incoherent, and rhapsodical, be sparing of your astonishment and blame. A scribe in my state of mind is not responsible for his epistles. Therefore be patient and read this letter carefully, for herein you will find a reason for these excuses. If you do not find my explanation all-sufficient, then you are not the sympathetic friend I took you for. What, indeed, is the use of friendship if it does not encourage and sympathize and congratulate? Were you in love--which you are not, judging from your cynical letters--I would patiently listen to your maunderings, so hearken to mine. If you wonder at this preamble learn the reason in three sentences. I love her! She loves me! We are engaged. Here I consider you have an ample explanation.

Now, do not repeat that time-honoured sneer, "I told you so," and chuckle cynically over my capture by Cupid. It is true that he has chained me, but I glory in such bonds. Did you but see her face and hear her voice you would no longer wonder at my surrender. Who conquers Mars may be beaten by Venus. There is a classical nut for your cracking.

Doubtless you consider events have moved speedily, seeing I have thus wooed and won my future wife in so short a space of time. You are perfectly right in such supposition. The events of a year have been crammed into seven days. Every hour has brought forth a surprise, and the result is--as above. My position has been anything but pleasant of late; but now I trust my troubles are over, though, according to the unfulfilled portion of Mother Jericho's prophecy, the worst are still to come. A pleasant prospect, truly! but one rendered endurable by my present happiness.

Miss Linisfarne is the parent of my troubles and happiness. I told you about her in my last letters. A faded beauty in ill-health, who is my tenant at the Court. Ignorant of my identity, she thought I was simply a decayed gentleman, reduced to poverty and to the shelter of a caravan. With that inconsistency which is so noticeable a feature of the sex, she ignored my vagabondage, and, in the character of a broken-down gentleman, invited me to the Court. For some inexplicable reason she took a violent fancy to me, and ultimately proposed to marry me. You look surprised, and frown,--the first, at the information; the second, that I should impart it to you, and thus betray a woman's folly.

As a matter of fact, unless I tell you all I can tell you nothing, and so must be content to accept your censure. I would not speak of such a thing to others; but to you, who are my second self, and have been the receptacle of my confidences since we were at Eton, I am surely justified in making the revelation. And, after all, my friend, you can put away those wire-drawn notions of honour, as Miss Linisfarne is not worthy of being considered in any way. She is a base and designing woman. You must agree with this estimate of her character--harsh though it seems--when I tell you that she tried to lower Meg in my eyes, and almost succeeded in blackening my character to Meg. Such uncalled-for malignancy is, to my mind, worthy of blame. She must be beaten with her own weapons, punished for her spiteful behaviour, and generally condemned--at all events in this letter, which is strictly confidential.

It is useless for me to attempt to fathom her character. Originally it may have been a noble one, but twenty years of solitude have warped it strangely. Dr. Merle, who is the father of Meg, made a confession to me the other day. He heard a rumour that I was to marry Miss Linisfarne, and thereupon came to tell me that I was not to do so. He justified this declaration by the confession that his real name was Mallard--that he had been engaged to Miss Linisfarne twenty years ago, and that she had ruined his life. More than this he refused to tell me, but said Tinker Tim could reveal all. The gipsy declined confession until I married Meg; so, as I intend to do so shortly, I hope to be fully informed of all these mysteries. As I surmised, there is a connection between Tim and Dr. Merle and Miss Linisfarne; but what it is I cannot guess, so must possess my soul in patience until the gipsy chooses to open his mouth.

After my interview with Merle--or Mallard, as that is his real name--I received a message from Miss Linisfarne asking me to call and see her. I went unwillingly, as I was by no means prepossessed in her favour by the revelation of the doctor. The interview was of the most painful character. She said that Meg was engaged to a certain Byrne of Silkstone, and finally offered me her hand, her name, and her wealth. I refused all three, and, not knowing how to extricate myself from so awkward a position, uttered the name of Mallard. Its effect was magical. She fainted, and I, having committed her to the care of her housekeeper, hastened away. I need hardly say that nothing will induce me to set foot again in her house.

Much perplexed at my position, I consulted Mr. Jarner, as he is gifted with good common sense, and is remarkably shrewd in giving advice. He ascribed her strange conduct to hysteria, and said there was no truth in her assertion that Meg was engaged--nay, more, that Byrne of Silkstone was a myth. Why Miss Linisfarne should tell such falsehoods and offer to marry me I cannot say; but, as I remarked before, it is useless to attempt to fathom her character. My own opinion is, that seclusion has tended to unhinge her mind and destroy her self-control. No sane person would have acted as she has done. From charity, therefore, let us give her the benefit of the doubt, and say that she is mad.

Yet there is a method in her madness which is hurtful to those whom she designs to injure. I am one of those unfortunates. When she found that I refused to marry, her love changed to hate, and she is a living example of the truth of Congreve's couplet--

"Heav'n has no rage like love to hatred turned,
Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned."

With a view, therefore, to blast my happiness, she sought Meg, and lied to her as she did to me. Declared that I wished to marry her for the sake of her wealth, that I was a base villain, an escaped criminal, a nameless outcast, and made me out to be the most abandoned of mankind. Meg retorted with spirit, and defended me, but could not help thinking that there might be some truth in these accusations. I can hardly blame her for such belief. She knew nothing, or comparatively nothing of me, whereas Miss Linisfarne has been her friend and benefactress for years.

Unfortunately for Miss Linisfarne and fortunately for myself, I chanced to meet Meg at the Gates of Dawn, and speedily disabused her mind of all those malignant accusations. I denied that I had asked Miss Linisfarne to marry me because I wanted her money, and, in proof of the absurdity of such an idea, confessed my name and rank. Before doing so, however, I asked Meg to be my wife, and she, believing my bare word, accepted my offer. Can you wonder, then, that I should love and honour and esteem a woman who was prepared to marry a nameless outcast for his own worth? She is as simple and loving as a child, and I consider myself the most fortunate of men in winning her golden heart. What is rank, or title, or wealth compared with such pure love! She loves me, not my worldly advantages. Confess now, cynic as you are, that I have chosen wisely. Ah, Jack, the noblest gift that God can bestow on a man is the gift of a pure good woman's heart. I have gained this pearl without price, and henceforth have nothing better to gain from heaven.

Meg was somewhat alarmed at finding I was King Cophetua in disguise. The title frightens her, and she is afraid she will not be worthy of such high rank. Not worthy, indeed! Could I place a crown instead of a coronet on her brow, it would be far below her deserts. She is a noble brave pure woman, who will enable me to fight the battle of life, and do what good lies in my power. I have no fear of her sinking under the burden of nobility, as did that puling minx who married the Lord of Burleigh. When Meg becomes more accustomed to the idea, when she is my wife, you will see that she will bear her honours nobly. Her beauty, her heart, her talents, her charms all fit her for such a station. Even you, Jack, fastidious as you are, will confess that I have the fairest and most loyal wife in the three kingdoms--ay, in the world.

But enough of these rhapsodies, of which you must be tired. Let me descend from heaven to earth, and talk of meaner things. Dr. Merle gave his consent in a scared sort of way, and did not seem to know what to make of it. He is a poor feeble creature, with a brain sodden with the drug he takes. Notwithstanding my offer to provide for him, he declared his intention of remaining at Farbis, which, after all, I think is the best place for him. He is more fitted for a hermitage than for the world, as his vice has overmastered his brain and mind and has ruined his will and self-control. Every time I see him, I wonder how such a puny creature ever became the father of Meg. The late Mrs. Merle, or rather Mrs. Mallard, must have been a fine creature. I asked Meg about her, but she does not remember her mother, who died during her infancy. As Meg is close on twenty, this remark proves to me that Merle was not so inconsolable over the treachery of Miss Linisfarne as he pretends to be, for he must have married very soon after she jilted him. I can only suppose that he was disappointed in his wife, and, when she died, came to Farbis with his child to be in the neighbourhood of his first love. Yet he never attempted to see her, nor does Miss Linisfarne know that Dr. Merle is the lover of her youth. From his speedy marriage and subsequent retirement to Farbis you can see how feeble is his character. There is not a drop of his blood in the veins of Meg. That true fearless nature must be inherited from her mother. But how could a woman like Meg have married a rat like Merle! This thing puzzles me greatly.

Mr. Jarner was delighted with my success, and congratulated me on gaining the heart of Meg. He considers me the most fortunate of men, and insisted on my drinking the best half of a bottle of port, in honour of the event. He is a splendid old man, and quite a character. With all his love of horses and dogs and sporting, he is deeply religious, and holds a fairer creed than many of those who use their outward holiness to cloak a mean soul. None other than he shall marry Meg and I. If you like to come down and be best man, just say so. I assure you Jarner is a parson worth meeting.

I don't know if Miss Linisfarne has learned of our engagement. She must be greatly angered at the downfall of her scheme to part us. At all events, she gives no sign, but remains shut up at the Court. Meg is sorry for her, as is only natural; but I cannot feel it in my heart to pity so malignant a creature. Unless, indeed, she is mad, which puts a different complexion on the affair.

As soon as my engagement was an accomplished fact, I went in search of Tinker Tim to tell him of it, and ask for an explanation of the mysteries. Unfortunately he has gone away on business connected with his fighting propensities, and will not be back for a week. However, I saw Mother Jericho, and told her of the accomplishment of her prophecy. She chuckled and leered like a wicked old fairy godmother, then damped my joy by hinting that my troubles were not yet over.

"A false father, a false mother. Fire and flame, and brave deeds," she croaked,--"all these must be before you take your dearie to church. But you'll win through it all, and be happy. Your children and grandchildren shall sit on your knee, and she shall be by your side for forty years and more."

Can you conceive anything more perplexing? Having seen the first part of her prophecy fulfilled, I am bound to believe the second. Evil is coming, but it can only come through Miss Linisfarne. She is malignant enough for anything, but at present gives no sign of her intentions. What do you make of the prophecy, Jack? "False father, false mother, fire and flame, and brave deeds." It is a riddle of the Sphinx. I can only leave its solution to Tim; but, at all events, I am happy to think that peace will come in the end. One does not appreciate joy without sorrow, so I am willing to undergo the troubles prophesied by the sibyl for the sake of being blessed with the last part of the prediction. All these ills are to take place before marriage, and, as I propose to be wedded in the autumn, there is not much time for their fulfilment. "False father, false mother, fire, flame, and brave deeds"--I leave the solution to your quick wits, my friend.

Here I must close this long letter. Write and congratulate me, and say if you will come down to assist at the termination of my strange wooing. I am so happy, Jack, that I can write no more, so must leave you to guess the joy of your attached friend--

ARDLEIGH.