It was late that night when Major Garrow went to his bedroom, but his wife was still up, waiting for him. “Well,” said she, “what has he said to you? He has been with you above an hour.”
“Such stories are not very quickly told; and in this case it was necessary to understand him very accurately. At length I think I do understand him.”
It is not necessary to repeat at length all that was said on that night between Major and Mrs. Garrow, as to the offer which had now for a third time been made to their daughter. On that evening, after the ladies had gone, and when the two boys had taken themselves off, Godfrey Holmes told his tale to his host, and had honestly explained to him what he believed to be the state of his daughter’s feelings. “Now you know all,” said he. “I do believe that she loves me, and if she does, perhaps she may still listen to you.” Major Garrow did not feel sure that he “knew it all.” But when he had fully discussed the matter that night with his wife, then he thought that perhaps he had arrived at that knowledge.
On the following morning Bessy learned from the maid, at an early hour, that Godfrey Holmes had left Thwaite Hall and gone back to Liverpool. To the girl she said nothing on the subject, but she felt obliged to say a word or two to Bella. “It is his coming that I regret,” she said;—”that he should have had the trouble and annoyance for nothing. I acknowledge that it was my fault, and I am very sorry.”
“It cannot be helped,” said Miss Holmes, somewhat gravely. “As to his misfortunes, I presume that his journeys between here and Liverpool are not the worst of them.”
After breakfast on that day Bessy was summoned into her father’s bookroom, and found him there, and her mother also. “Bessy,” said he, “sit down, my dear. You know why Godfrey has left us this morning?”
Bessy walked round the room, so that in sitting she might be close to her mother and take her mother’s hand in her own. “I suppose I do, papa,” she said.
“He was with me late last night, Bessy; and when he told me what had passed between you I agreed with him that he had better go.”
“It was better that he should go, papa.”
“But he has left a message for you.”
“A message, papa?”
“Yes, Bessy. And your mother agrees with me that it had better be given to you. It is this,—that if you will send him word to come again, he will be here by Twelfth-night. He came before on my invitation, but if he returns it must be on yours.”
“Oh, papa, I cannot.”
“I do not say that you can, but think of it calmly before you altogether refuse. You shall give me your answer on New Year’s morning.”
“Mamma knows that it would be impossible,” said Bessy.
“Not impossible, dearest.”
“In such a matter you should do what you believe to be right,” said her father.
“If I were to ask him here again, it would be telling him that I would—”
“Exactly, Bessy. It would be telling him that you would be his wife. He would understand it so, and so would your mother and I. It must be so understood altogether.”
“But, papa, when we were at Liverpool—”
“I have told him everything, dearest,” said Mrs. Garrow.
“I think I understand the whole,” said the Major; “and in such a matter as this I will not give you counsel on either side. But you must remember that in making up your mind, you must think of him as well as of yourself. If you do not love him;—if you feel that as his wife you should not love him, there is not another word to be said. I need not explain to my daughter that under such circumstances she would be wrong to encourage the visits of a suitor. But your mother says you do love him.”
“I will not ask you. But if you do;—if you have so told him, and allowed him to build up an idea of his life-happiness on such telling, you will, I think, sin greatly against him by allowing a false feminine pride to mar his happiness. When once a girl has confessed to a man that she loves him, the confession and the love together put upon her the burden of a duty towards him, which she cannot with impunity throw aside.” Then he kissed her, and bidding her give him a reply on the morning of the new year, left her with her mother.
She had four days for consideration, and they went past her by no means easily. Could she have been alone with her mother, the struggle would not have been so painful; but there was the necessity that she should talk to Isabella Holmes, and the necessity also that she should not neglect the Coverdales. Nothing could have been kinder than Bella. She did not speak on the subject till the morning of the last day, and then only in a very few words. “Bessy,” she said, “as you are great, be merciful.”
“But I am not great, and it would not be mercy.”
“As to that,” said Bella, “he has surely a right to his own opinion.”
On that evening she was sitting alone in her room when her mother came to her, and her eyes were red with weeping. Pen and paper were before her, as though she were resolved to write, but hitherto no word had been written.
“Well, Bessy,” said her mother, sitting down close beside her; “is the deed done?”
“What deed, mamma? Who says that I am to do it?”
“The deed is not the writing, but the resolution to write. Five words will be sufficient,—if only those five words may be written.”
“It is for one’s whole life, mamma. For his life, as well as my own.”
“True, Bessy;—that is quite true. But equally true whether you bid him come or allow him to remain away. That task of making up one’s mind for life, must at last be done in some special moment of that life.”
“Mamma, mamma; tell me what I should do.”
But this Mrs. Garrow would not do. “I will write the words for you if you like,” she said, “but it is you who must resolve that they shall be written. I cannot bid my darling go away and leave me for another home;—I can only say that in my heart I do believe that home would be a happy one.”
It was morning before the note was written, but when the morning came Bessy had written it and brought it to her mother.
“You must take it to papa,” she said. Then she went and hid herself from all eyes till the noon had passed. “Dear Godfrey,” the letter ran, “Papa says that you will return on Wednesday if I write to ask you. Do come back to us,—if you wish it. Yours always, Bessy.”
“It is as good as though she had filled the sheet,” said the Major. But in sending it to Godfrey Holmes, he did not omit a few accompanying remarks of his own.
An answer came from Godfrey by return of post; and on the afternoon of the sixth of January, Frank Garrow drove over to the station at Penrith to meet him. On their way back to Thwaite Hall there grew up a very close confidence between the two future brothers-in-law, and Frank explained with great perspicuity a little plan which he had arranged himself. “As soon as it is dark, so that she won’t see it, Harry will hang it up in the dining-room,” he said, “and mind you go in there before you go anywhere else.”
“I am very glad you have come