England -- Fiction; Orphans -- Fiction; Runaway children -- Fiction; Young men -- Fiction
"We both think it will be wiser," I said, talking to her as if she were
an elder sister, though of late there had grown up in me a feeling that
she looked upon me as if I were her son.
"Marriage must be a happy state, Antony, when both love, and have trust
the one in the other."
I looked at her, feeling in pain, for I dared not speak, knowing that
she must be thinking of poor Hallett; and as I looked I could not help
noticing how the silver hairs were beginning to make their presence
known, and how much she had changed.
"You think it strange that I should talk like this, do you not?"
I could not answer.
"Yes, I see you do," she said, smiling. "Antony, I have had another
offer of marriage."
"_You_ have!" I exclaimed. "From whom? Who has asked you?"
I felt almost indignant at the idea; and my indignation became hot rage
as she went on.
"John Lister has asked me again to be his wife."
"The scoundrel! the villain!" I exclaimed.
"Hush, Antony," she said quietly, as she laid her thin white fingers
upon my lips. "He says that he has bitterly repented the past; that he
is a changed man, and he begs me not to blight the whole of his life."
"You? Blight his life!" I exclaimed hotly. "He has blighted yours."
She did not speak for a few moments, and then she startled me by her
words.
"He is coming here to-day to ask for my answer from my lips. He begged
that I would not write, but that I would see him, and let him learn his
fate from me."
"But you surely will not see him?" I exclaimed.
"I have told him that I will. He will be here, Antony, almost
directly."
I was for the moment stunned, and could do nothing but gaze helplessly
in Miss Carr's face, for the question kept asking itself, "Will she
accept him?" and it seemed to me like an insult to the dead.
She returned my gaze with a quiet look, full of mournfulness, and as the
minutes flew on, I felt a kind of irritation growing upon me, and that I
should be bitterly hurt if she should be weak enough to accept John
Lister.
"She will consider it a duty, perhaps," I thought; "and that she does it
to save him, now that he has repented and become a better man."
My ponderings were brought to an end by the servant bringing in a card,
and I rose to go, but she laid her hand upon my arm.
"Going, Antony?" she said.
"Yes," I replied angrily, and I pointed to the card.
"Sit down, Antony," she said, smiling; "I wish you to be present."
"No, no, I would rather not," I exclaimed.
"I beg that you will stay, Antony," she said, in a tone of appeal that I
could not have disobeyed, and I petulantly threw myself back in a chair,
as the door opened, and John Lister was announced.
He came forward eagerly, with extended hands, as Miss Carr rose, but
changed colour and bowed stiffly as he saw me.
Recovering himself, however, he took Miss Carr's extended hand, raised
it to his lips, and then drew back as if waiting for me to go.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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