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Chapter XXVII Major Milward Asks Questions

A vacillating man or a jealous woman stands at every turning-point in the world's history. The combination of the two offers as good an invitation to disaster as this planet affords.

Geoffrey Hernshaw, a prey to irrational scruples, Eve Milward, as unreasonably jealous of a past episode in her lover's career, had succeeded in irretrievably muddling their lives. And they accomplished this result, as was natural to their dispositions, the one by delay, the other by precipitate action. But while the consequences of delay are frequently remediable, those of impulsive action are far less so; thus it was finally not the man but the woman that tied the skein of their lives in an insoluble tangle. And in any attempt to undo the knot the girl had to do with a nature stronger than her own, with one, moreover, for whom all scruples, whether of honour, or conscience, or humanity had alike ceased to exist. For with the strong nature there is no half-way house where he may break his journey and juggle with things good and evil in the hope of deluding himself, his world, and his God. He goes at once page 302to the end of the road and there demands his price, cost what it may. And while the girl had no knowledge of the toils in which she had become enmeshed, she read clearly in every action of her betrothed husband the irrevocable nature of the bond she had fashioned. She was bound to respect him; his good looks, his strength, his undeviating resolution, his gentle tolerance of her moods, his devotion, all were alike admirable; nowhere within the compass of the horizon he framed for her could she find ground for complaint. And the cruelty of the situation consisted in this: that all that was best in her nature, her courage, her purity, her tenderness, conspired with the evil in him to hold her unresisting, to make her his wife.

There were those around her who would have welcomed and embraced the opportunity for interference who were kept inactive by her silence. Major Milward, while unable to find reasons for the belief that was in him, considered the match a mistake. While some of the best friends of his life had been clergymen, he had the non-believer's prejudice against the Church as a body and objected to see his daughter pass over, as it were, to the arms of the enemy. On the top of this general aversion was a particular dislike for the man of her choice. How this originated he considered it futile to inquire; feelings of the sort were matters of instinct and defied analysis. Admitting that Fletcher had the education and manners of a gentleman, that he was imposing in appearance, and probably destined to some eminence in his profession, there remained an indefinable something, whether a lack or a super-abundance, which put him outside the pale of those page 303—and they were many—for whom the Major could entertain a strong liking. And there was no lukewarmness about Major Milward; he either liked or disliked, and whichever way it happened to be, the fact was impossible of concealment. He flattered himself to the contrary, considering a certain ultrapoliteness a perfect cloak to his feelings; but the ruse had long since become transparent to all but himself. Consequently the person concerned recognised the situation, and provided for it by a studious avoidance of debateable matter. Beyond this merely personal objection, which would never of itself have resulted in action, lay one of much greater importance which did indeed seem to call for interference on the part of a parent to whom his daughter's fate was a matter of moment.

Marriage is either a sacrament or a sacrilege. A natural girl must look forward to her marriage day either with joy and fear or fear and disgust. Which then of these alternatives lay behind the girl's mask of tranquil indifference? For indifferent it was impossible she could be; no young maiden ever yet contemplated the approach of this crisis in her life with indifference. And if not indifferent, reasoned the Major, what then? Was it consistent with her disposition to conceal her happiness? Was it consistent with the existence of happiness that her voice should lose its clear ring, her step grow listless, her cheek thin and pale? One day he found himself asking whether it were consistent with happiness that a gleam of something like terror should leap into her eyes at a casual allusion to the near approach of her wedding-day. There seemed but one answer to that, and the Major threw away his cigar.

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'Evie,' he said, 'come into my den for a few minutes; there is something I should like to say to you.'

Eve followed him in silence, and sat listlessly down on the leather couch. It was not an unusual thing for her to visit the room on matters connected with the management of the homestead, and she had no suspicion of what was coming.

Major Milward wheeled a chair in front of her, and seating himself deliberately, took out his cigar-case; but though he opened it he went no further.

'I have been thinking, Evie,' he said, 'over this suggested marriage of yours, and—though perhaps a little late in the day—I have arrived at a conclusion concerning it. I don't like it. I think it had better not be.'

Every vestige of colour left the girl's face at this direct utterance, and for a moment she sat speechless.

'Plain words are the best,' the Major continued. 'I dislike Mr. Fletcher; I disliked him the moment I first saw him; I like him less every time I see him. Naturally you would prefer that your husband should be esteemed by his father-in-law. The plain inference then is that you are proposing to marry the wrong man.'

Even in her agitation Eve was moved to amusement by this amazing deduction. 'Is it not possible,' she asked with a trembling smile, 'that you are unjust to Mr. Fletcher?'

'Quite,' admitted the Major calmly. 'I am sure it is to be hoped so, but the fact remains.'

'I am sorry, dear, because, as you say, the fact does remain.' page 305'You would not marry against my wishes, Eve?'

Eve shook her head, watching him with a tender, derisive smile. 'You dear old silly,' she said, 'do you think that you can make me believe that you and I are going to quarrel about any man that ever lived? Besides, that is all finished and done with, and if you had wanted to act the stern parent you should have taken up the rôle at the beginning. You have missed your cue, you poor dear, and now you can't come into the play at all.'

The stern parent was compelled to admit the poverty of his case. He drew forth a cigar, half raised it to his lips, then paused and eyed it critically. 'Apart from my feelings,' he said, 'are you certain that your own sentiments towards Mr. Fletcher are such as—such as——'

'Quite certain,' interrupted Eve, brightly and breathlessly. She rose, seated herself on the arm of his chair, and putting her arm round his neck, laid her cheek against his. 'Now,' she said, 'you are going to be a good boy and not ask any more teasing questions. You're about to make up your mind that everything is going forward beautifully, that I am doing just what I please and because I please. And whatever you see or you feel or you think, you are going to be quiet and say nothing. Is that right? Now you shall have your cigar.' She slid down in front of him, placed the cigar in his mouth, struck a match from a box on the table and watched the tobacco glow until it was a little round moon of incandescence, then she looked into his eyes. 'You poor old silly,' she said, taking the cigar out and kissing him and restoring it to page 306its place, 'why should I marry him if I did not wish it?'

'Why indeed, Evie?'

'Then don't you see it follows that I do wish it? That I have set my heart on it? That—that, in short, it is best to let me have my own way.'

The Major shook his head as he rose and moved towards the verandah. 'There is one thing I do see, Evie,' he said. 'We have not yet gauged the loss we sustained when your mother died, and probably we never shall.' With which tacit acknowledgment of defeat he stepped down on to the lawn and made his way through the shrubberies to the beach.

He recognised the unlikelihood of his being able to break down the delicate guard with which the girl hedged herself and parried attack. A woman, he supposed, would take the field with finer weapons and an infinitely greater chance of success. She would know the ways of her sex; how to set about gaining access to the citadel quietly, a thing a man could only hope to assay by brute force. Then why not call in the assistance of a woman? He came to an abrupt halt, debating the matter rapidly in his mind. He could send her to Mrs. Gird; she was a wise woman, one who could be trusted to get to the bottom of the affair and suggest a remedy if required. Yes, he could do that. Or again, he could despatch the girl to her married sister in Auckland; perhaps, on the whole, that would be better. The change of scene might count for something; and Catharine was experienced in life, had a family of her own—the youngest girl must be almost grown up. 'Dear me, yes. Poor little Kate must page 307be nearly fifty now. Ah! well——' The Major's thoughts rambled off to his first wife and the early days when his daughter Catharine had been a little child playing on these identical sands. Forty years ago and more, and yet it had gone by almost unnoted. He came back with a start to his present difficulty. He thought he would send the girl to Auckland. Before doing so he would write fully to Catharine, giving her all the particulars, including doubts and surmises. What were the particulars? Suddenly there came into his mind an inference he had drawn from a chance remark of Sandy's. The inference was his own, of course, yet it was to some extent supported by what he, the Major, had seen with his own eyes. It was a delicate problem. He glanced with some trepidation at the store, but he advanced deliberately towards it.

Major Milward's tactics belonged to the 'Up-guards-and-at-'em' order. He believed in the now discredited frontal attack and in other exploded methods which demand great qualities in the assailant and allow little for exceptional advantages possessed by the attacked. His purpose was always obvious, but the directness with which he sought to attain it had the effectiveness of novelty in a world seeking preferably to gain its ends by strategy.

He marched through the store to the office and seated himself at his desk. 'Geoffrey,' he said, 'put down your pen for a moment; I want a few minutes' talk with you.'

Geoffrey complied, turning his back to the writing-stand and looking down expectantly at his employer.

The Major removed his cigar and inspected it page 308dubiously. 'I am going to ask you one or two questions,' he said at length, 'which you may answer or not as you see fit. I shall not take offence if you choose to keep silence; at the same time, I am not prompted by idle curiosity, and frank answers would certainly put me under an obligation to you.'

'I think I can promise you shall have them, Major Milward.'

'Thank you for that, though I do not exact any kind of promise. But enough of preliminaries. Now tell me, if you will, was there at any time anything in the nature of love-making between you and Eve?'

Geoffrey's face, which had hitherto shown only interested expectation, faded suddenly at the words.

'Understand me,' went on the Major quickly, 'I am not here in the capacity of the outraged parent. I have no earthly right to ask you this question, and I throw myself entirely on your generosity in propounding it. Well, then, what do you say? Or do you say nothing?'

'I would answer it,' Geoffrey replied in a hard, dry voice, 'but it covers a large field, and neither yes nor no would be a completely truthful response. You see, sir,' he interrupted himself with a wry smile, 'it takes two to make love. I can answer for myself but not for Miss Milward.'

'Then the love-making was all on one side?—On which?'

'There can only be one answer to that question. I had everything to gain, your daughter nothing.'

Major Milward looked at him keenly and motioned to a seat in front of him. 'Sit down. Well, and you asked her to marry you?'

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'No, sir.'

'Nevertheless, you led her to believe that you wished it?'

'She may have drawn that conclusion.'

'What prevented you asking her?'

'Her engagement to another man.'

'Ah, that! But, returning a little, did she lead you to understand that your advances were not acceptable?'

'No, sir.'

'Did she encourage you?'

'Certainly not.'

'Yet I suppose you had formed some sort of idea as to your chance? What result did you anticipate?'

'I was not without hopes. At the end, to be honest, I thought, such is man's vanity, that I had only to say the word. In that, as it happened, I was vastly mistaken.'

'You say "at the end." What do you mean by "the end"?'

'A few minutes before she engaged herself to Mr. Fletcher,' Geoffrey replied, his eyes hard and bright.

Major Milward drew back with a sudden frown. 'Consider what you are saying,' he said slowly.

Geoffrey shrugged his shoulders. 'I am sorry if my answer displeases you,' he said. 'I have never said or implied that Miss Milward was under any obligation of confidence towards me. I merely reproduce events to the best of my recollection and in response to your wish.'

The Major nodded and sat for awhile in silence, his brows contracted. At length he raised his page 310eyes apologetically to the face of his companion. 'Forgive me,' he said, 'his last and most glaring impertinence, but it has occurred to me, considering the—the—hesitation, shall we say, with which you have prosecuted this courtship that there may be some previous entanglement—not necessarily insuperable, of course—to account for your actions?'

'Nothing of the kind. I give that a flat and absolute denial.'

'To be sure. But now, is it not possible that the existence of a rumour more or less to the effect I have suggested may account for what subsequently occurred?'

'Miss Milward has not honoured me with her confidence in the matter. I have no knowledge of what she may have heard or believed.'

'Is there not, as a matter of fact, a rumour of the kind I have mentioned?'

'Quite possibly there is.'

'Then what, if any, are the real facts upon which it is based?'

'Pardon me, Major Milward, but on that point I must decline to enlighten you.'

'Quite so; but why? In view of the denial you have just given it would seem the sensible thing to give me the facts.'

'Well, sir, even a poor devil like myself has his pride. If your suggestion is correct, Miss Milward has chosen to convict me unheard. Be it so. The thing itself I am prepared to thrust down the throat of any man who will be so obliging as to affirm it to be the truth, but I am not disposed to hunt in the kennels after every rumour set going with the object of doing me an injury. Much less will I set about page 311collecting evidence to disprove an allegation the nature of which I have not even yet definitely learned.'

'Who is it you charge with the intent to do you an injury?'

'You mistake me, I make no charge. I am as completely in the dark as to the meaning of the thing as you are yourself.'

'But that strikes me as incredible. Come, are you not a little hipped in this matter, and inclined to stand off from those who would be willing to help you? Why not give me the facts as you know them, and also the conclusion you draw from them? I have two good reasons for asking: one, it would be no kindness to mention just now, but the other is a very real desire to assist you to the best of my ability. I need not say that any confidence you repose in me is absolutely sacred. I think this somewhat trying little conversation should have convinced you that whatever may be the case with others I at least am disposed to act the part of a friend.'

Geoffrey looked at him with troubled brows. 'I do feel that, sir,' he said, 'and I am not ungrateful for it. But in this case my self-respect is at hazard. In a matter so vital I cannot allow another to do for me what I am unable to achieve myself. How could I—but why speak of it further? Every spark of manly feeling in me must die outright if at this crisis I yield the direction of my life to others.'

The Major rose slowly to his feet. A sense of danger, of the imminence of catastrophe prompted him to proceed with the interview, yet every feeling page 312of generosity in his nature seemed to forbid further question. He stood for awhile irresolute.

'It is not for me to dispute the excellence of the rule that a man should manage his own affairs,' he said at last; 'and it is only in the attempt to arrange what I conceive to be mine that I am brought into contact with yours. Yet there are exceptions to every rule, and in this case there is not a shadow of doubt in my mind that an absolutely clean breast all round would bring your difficulties as well as mine to an end. However, you have made your decision; to a certain extent it commands my sympathies, and I will not seek to dissuade you from it.' He paused a moment in the doorway as though half expecting a reply, then he added with a cheerful kindliness: 'In all the difficulties which have confronted me throughout life I have always taken the direct path and endeavoured as far as possible that my judgment should not be clouded by feeling. There have been breakages in consequence no doubt, and sometimes the indirect way might perhaps have been better; but, on the whole, I have found the plan to work excellently.' He paused again without looking round, then went slowly out, leaving Geoffrey in a brown study in the middle of the floor.

Always the same cry. Always the same idea clothing itself in different words, and always for him the same sense of physical powerlessness combating the desire to follow its mandates. The 'strong grasp' and now the 'direct path,'—did they not represent an idea only, having no parallel in fact? The crowning delusion lending an appearance of reality to the whole elaborate phantasma-page 313goria. Was it not all a delusion that man possessed a free choice in his actions, that he determined them for himself and so hour by hour framed his life? What choice had the moon whether she should circle round the earth, the seed where it should grow, the man if he should be born? Did not the idea of free will in a creature so abject as man destroy the very foundation of optimism? Freedom to do as our, natures compelled us! Freedom to follow with accelerated feet the path that our fathers had worn! There was the rub.

The direct path! Where then was it? Should he go whining to the girl that she be pleased to name the charge under which he stood convicted and sentenced: to encounter again the flash of contemptuous scorn that had enveloped him on the night of the dance? Should he go to Mr. Fletcher, demanding a repetition of the calumny of whose original utterance he had no tittle of proof? Should he attempt to reason with the madman, who without the support of one contributory circumstance had formulated this outrageous charge against him? That was no doubt the direct course. The noisome waters should be dammed at the fount, not at any intermediate point in the channel. But what use? Even supposing the man were capable of listening to reason, the harm was done. Probably the story was all over the county and accepted, as such a commonplace story would be, by every one who heard. The opinion of the county was nothing to him. He would not stir two steps to disabuse the mind of the best man in it. The greatest harm it could do was done, and since that could not be undone, nothing should be.

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Nevertheless he might see Wickener and endeavour to gauge the extent and origin of his madness. He should have leapt from his horse and demanded an explanation then and there on their first encounter. An immense astonishment and disgust took possession of him as he reflected on the manner in which his own unreadiness had contributed to the growth of this impalpable thing. The veriest chimera of a madman's brain had developed this horrible power of mischief. He stood brooding on the extraordinary nature of the catastrophe. He recalled what he knew of Wickener, remembering him as a schoolboy, cleverish, civil, astonishingly resolute; as a man, good-natured, generous, not easily roused, an excellent companion; there had been no indication of madness in those days. He recalled Mrs. Wickener, Clara—no, Laura—a little, soft-eyed woman with nondescript hair and features, pretty, kitten-like. He had seen a good deal of her for a year or so. Had called two or three times while Wickener was away in the East. Never remembered to have been alone with her. What next? The next was contained in a postscript to one of his uncle's letters. It spoke of a visit from Wickener, of domestic trouble in the latter's household, obscurely hinted at. Wickener seemed particularly anxious for Geoffrey's precise address. That was the whole of it—except what the words implied. The thing had perplexed and annoyed him at the time. He had taken the first opportunity of writing to Wickener, an ordinary friendly letter, giving his address with some minuteness at the top of the sheet. There had been no reply to this, but in the interim a communication reached him from his eldest cousin, page 315giving the particulars of Wickener's visit in fuller detail, and containing the astounding statement that he (Geoffrey) was declared to be the author of the mischief. Then nothing further until the meeting on the bush road.

What an unhappy chance that Eve should have been with him on that occasion! For a glance at the man's face was sufficient. It was not the easy-going friend of his youth who stood by the roadside but a creature utterly different. Man, the fighting animal, detects an enemy at a glance, and even had he not been forewarned he must have suffered a check at that smiling countenance. But he was forewarned. He knew what must leap forth at any challenge from him, and however false the accusation might be, it was not seemly that the innocent girl at his side should be a witness to the encounter; and so he rode by. Rode by and left his enemy master of the situation. Rode by and threw up the game, wrecked his life, perhaps hers, and all for what? 'My God, for what?'

The girl would have stood by him then. She would have taken his word against that of a mere stranger. And it would have been possible to discuss the whole thing with her, to face it openly. Even the later chance of her half-proffered sympathy he had shrunk from. If it were the right thing to leave the man alone at the moment, it was the height of folly to allow the girl to remain in ignorance an instant after the danger threatened.

A cynical philosopher has recorded that we reserve our keenest remorse for our good deeds, and Geoffrey certainly stood in this unhappy position that he must curse himself for actions which were the page 316outcome of delicate and conscientious motives. Nor did the knowledge of the Tightness of his intentions afford him any consolation; he saw only with increased self-contempt that he himself had come to disaster where nine other men would have walked sure-footed.

Major Milward, having met with rebuff from both sides, set himself to solve the difficulty by himself. It seemed to him that the only chance of quickening the girl's sense of the importance of the step she was taking was to provide a complete change in her surroundings. This he could do partially by filling the house with guests or completely by sending the girl to Auckland. He would have preferred the former course, not only for the reason that he was fond of company, but also because he knew that he should miss his daughter sorely, but the preference warned him to decide on the other alternative, and he accordingly issued his fiat.

There was a ring of finality in the Major's voice when he had completely made up his mind on any matter which the station would as soon have thought of disputing as of questioning the right of the tides to ebb and flow at certain hours, and Eve, after a quick glance, accepted the inevitable and began at once to make her preparations. Mr. Fletcher received the news in grave silence, but he offered no objection, and indeed there was a subtle indication of relief in his manner as though he also recognised something untenable in the present position.

And so when the next little steamer crossed the plunging bar it carried Eve Milward with it. And two or three weeks later Mr. Fletcher, responding page 317to some professional call, also stepped on to the boat at Rivermouth and made the same journey.

For a week or two Catharine's reports contained little of moment. She was making the most, on the girl's account, of the social advantages possessed by an established resident in the little city. Eve seemed in good spirits, and the writer had found nothing in her manner corroborative of the gloomy views expressed by her father. Then Mr. Fletcher's arrival was noted, his appearance and manner commented on and approved. It was plain that he was devoted to Eve, and the girl might certainly have done worse in a place like Hokianga. Mrs. Angus spoke of that county of pioneers with the disrespect of the wife of a member of the Legislative Council who had spent twenty years on intimate terms with Governors and Ministers in the shelter of colonial cities. A week later Mr. Fletcher bulked still more largely. He had been invited to stay at their Remuera home, and they had consequently seen a good deal of him, all—it must be said—to his advantage. Candidly, did her father not think that the advanced views he held in matters of religion had perhaps in this case prejudiced him? Mr. Angus had had a little talk with the Primate. Mr. Fletcher's ability was fully recognised. He had shown a tendency at one time to become too—well, enthusiastic; but this was believed to be wearing off, and certainly the excellent little sermon he had preached on Sunday evening at St. Mark's had been entirely free from blood and fire and similar vulgarities. As for Eve, she seemed entirely satisfied. She had a religious tendency, very becoming in the wife of a parson—this was only one of the many page 318suitabilities of the match. As concerning anything between Eve and the Mr. Hernshaw, in response to her father's repeated entreaties—though much against her judgment—she had broached the matter to the girl. Fortunately the conversation had resulted in nothing worse than a headache for Eve. Let her assure him once for all that he was mistaken. She had Eve's definite statement that there had never been anything between them. Mr. Hernshaw was not a man she would care to marry in any case. Eve spoke very coolly indeed of his protégé, and seemed to think it quite on the cards that the writer's information had come from that gentleman himself. 'So, my dear father,' concluded the lady, 'I think we may dismiss the Hernshaw bogey with a clear conscience and make up our minds that things are very well as they are.'

A conclusion which in the end Major Milward was compelled to adopt. His plan had failed, but perhaps after all he was mistaken and it was best that it should fail. He asked himself candidly, as his daughter advised, whether or no his opinions had prejudiced him, and being a broad-minded man, admitted that it might be so.

Only sometimes, waking too early in the dark dawns, when life in the abstract seems too difficult to face, he saw again the gleam of terror in his daughter's eyes, and then with a groan he would ask himself whether on this occasion he had not himself shunned the practice he had urged on his storekeeper. And before he had answered the question the day of Eve's wedding had dawned.