Читать книгу A Slave of the Ring - J. Monk Foster - Страница 5

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A FEW minutes after the time named by Paul Massilon, Mary Stanley made her way at a quiet pace along the wide unpaved footpath which ran alongside the river Douglas. She was going in the direction of the weir which the miner had named as their meeting place, and although she was purposely late she was not afraid that Paul would not be awaiting her coming.

She knew that Massilon was in love with her—had been in love with her for many months, and, although her dearest affections and aspirations were fixed upon another man, Paul Massilon was not aware of it, nor had she any intention of telling him now.

Mary Stanley was perhaps the handsomest of the many handsome girls in Ashlynton. She was a blonde of the most pronounced type, with a clear, creamy complexion, big grayish-blue eyes, soft masses of reddish-gold hair which curled naturally about her wide, white brow, and pretty pink ears; she had pouting red lips that seemed made for kissing, a finely cut nose, and a tall, shapely figure moulded on voluptuously flowing lines.

For the rest she was a little over twenty-two and a born coquette, and never so happy as when she had some of the handsomest and most eligible young fops of the town hanging about her. She was fully aware of her loveliness, and meant to turn it to her own profit in the end.

She was ambitious to marry well and leave her dull, laborious, and somewhat sordid existence behind her. During the past year or two she had had the refusal of many an honest working fellow who had succumbed easily to her rare beauty, but to one and all her answer had been 'No;' and it had been spoken very emphatically.

She was too shrewd a creature to resign her freedom for the sake of becoming the wife of a mere toiler; when she did accept an offer and submit herself to marital bondage her cage must be a gilded one.

But somehow, hitherto the fish she desired to catch had refused to swallow the bait her beauty dangled before their noses. The eligible young swells of Ashlynton—the gilded sons of mine-owners, cotton spinners, brewers, and rich traders—had refrained from asking the question she cared for them to ask.

She was a fine, dashing girl, you know, and no end of fun to flirt with, but not the sort exactly that one cared to marry. Beautiful as Mary Stanley was, she was but a factory lass, after all. That was how the gilded youth of the thriving Lancashire town spoke of the girl to one another in confidence.

The pretty wench was too cunning not to have an intuition of this, and still she did not despair of effecting her purpose some day, and ere long. Even now, she thought as she walked measuredly along the river path, one of the smartest young fellows in the town was in love with her—had asked her to meet him, in all likelihood to ask her to become his wife.

But if Paul Massilon was good-looking and clever, he lacked the riches for which the heart of the girl craved. He had yet to fight for fortune, and she had no over-mastering desire to share his struggles. Perhaps, lacking any better offer, she might accept his hand and heart and home.

'Mary, I thought you were not coming.'

The speaker was the man of whom the girl had been thinking. Turning a corner of the wall which divided the river walk from the adjoining fields, Paul had almost collided with the slowly sauntering figure before he recognised who it was.

'Coming where, Paul?' she queried, in a tone, and with a face which betrayed a mild astonishment. 'I am not aware that I promised to come anywhere.'

'But you have come!' he cried gladly. 'Forgive me for being impatient. I ought to have known that you would come when I impressed upon you so strongly that I had something I wished to tell you, Mary.'

'I remember now, Paul,' she said, airily, 'but I had quite forgotten all about it,' she added, with ready mendacity. 'The fact is that I shouldn't be here at all only I have to see Maggie Rutter, who lives in the houses further up the river beside the old forge.'

'Is that true?' he asked, gravely, a solemn aspect on his fine, dark face, and a fire glowing in his black eyes.

'Of course it is!' she snapped out.

For a couple of moments they stood there, face to face, in silence, the dark shallow stream flowing silently by on one hand, the brown sodden upland stretching out on the other, countless stars scintillating overhead, and a silvery slice of moon climbing the southern sky.

'Well,' he said at last, with an evident effort, 'in that case I will say good night to you.'

'But if you wish so much to tell me something, why not tell me now as I happen to be here?' she demanded, her voice softening suddenly as her face was thrust a little towards him as if in eagerness to know his message.

'May I walk with you as far as Forge Cottages?' he asked quietly.

'Of course you may, if you wish to,' was her alert response, and as she spoke she put her hand upon his arm, and they turned towards the place where he had asked her to meet him a quarter of an hour earlier.

'You must know, Mary,' he began presently, 'that I have always been fond of you since we were almost children together.'

'Of course, Paul; and didn't I always like you as well?' she responded.

'For the last two or three years my liking, Mary, has changed into something very different. You know that, too, I think?'

'What do you mean, Paul?'

'I mean that I love you now, and that I want you to be my dear wife some day. During the last few years I have always thought of you when I was studying and preparing myself for the higher and better position I mean to fill some day. I have succeeded to a certain extent already, Mary, as you know. I have earned a mine manager's certificate, and am already an under-manager. But I have done more. I have won a little distinction in another and even a more difficult field. Some of the little mining tales and sketches I have written have appeared in the London magazines and have been very favourably noticed. Some day, before long, I think I may reasonably look forward to making a name for myself in literature. What I have done has been done for your sake, almost more than my own. Will you help me to succeed further by becoming my wife?'

He had delivered himself of this long speech in a quiet dispassionate way, after the manner of one who is simply stating a scientific truth or philosophic theory; but in the deep undercurrents of his sternly repressed tones she could read all that was in his heart—could almost feel the throb and surge of his strong-willed passionate nature in his carefully syllabled words.

'Paul!' she answered very lowly and tenderly, 'I'm sorry—very sorry, and yet glad.'

'Sorry, yet glad! What do you mean? If you are sorry you do not love me! If glad, why?'

'I do not love you. I like you very much; still, I am glad to know that you love me, Paul!' she cried, and her slim fingers closed tightly upon his arm. 'It may seem selfish—no, it is selfish!' she went on with great frankness, 'but I can't help it. I don't love you, I think—but I am pleased to know that you love me!'

He stared at her mutely for a moment, and his face attested his wonder. She did not love him, and yet was glad that his heart and hopes were centred in her. What could it mean?

'I almost expected this, Mary!' he said in a space with a voice that audibly trembled. 'You are so beautiful, and there are so many in the town who admire, perhaps love, you too. I cannot blame you even if you love some——'

'I love no one, Paul,' she cried warmly. 'I like you very much, but liking is'nt love.'

'You are sure, Mary, that your heart is given to no other man?' he asked eagerly, the ray of hope that was burning now in his heart glowing now in his face.

'I like no one so much as you, Paul! Honestly and truly, I don't,' she cried very earnestly.

'Yet you refuse to be my wife,' he said, without the least tinge of bitterness in his tone.

'Because I shouldn't be true to myself,' she retorted; 'if I promised to become your wife when I am not sure that I love you. It would be wrong, Paul, to do that!'

Her slim fingers tightened again upon his sleeve, and her gloriously fair face was turned appealingly to his own. His heart leapt, his pulses throbbed at her clamant utterance and tender look; and he was satisfied, for he felt that his battle was more than half won.

'Yes, Mary,' he answered, pleasantly, 'if you are not quite sure of your feelings it is better, most assuredly, to say so.'

'But you are not vexed with me, Paul, are you, because I could not give you another and a clearer answer, to your proposal?' she pleaded again with her voice and face.

'I should be a fool if I were!' he cried with deliberation. 'I respect, admire, and love you a hundred times more, Mary, on account of your sincerity. Besides, your answer satisfies me that you do love me although you are not aware of the fact yourself.'

'Don't be too sure of that, Paul,' was her arch retort, and a fair, saucy face was held invitingly up to him as if the pouting red lips were seeking to be caressed.

Probably she would not have been annoyed had he kissed her and pressed her in his strong arms, but he made no attempt upon her maidenly reserve. Paul was a man of serious temperament, and to him love was the holiest of mundane things. A maiden's caresses were too sacred to be stolen by any living being save the man she had voluntarily enshrined in the inmost temple of her soul.

'I am satisfied to wait, Mary,' he resumed, 'until the state of your own mind is no longer a secret to you. And till that time I shall go on working and striving to make myself worthy of the incomparably lovely woman I hope some day, before long, to call by the sacred name of wife!' he said proudly.

'But if after all I do not learn to love you, Paul?' she asked with a mischievous and gratified look in her eyes.

'Don't speak of that, Mary,' he added quickly, and with a thrill of passion in his tones. 'I have said I am satisfied to wait! We will let it end there for the present.' Then he added in an altered voice, 'By the way, Mary, I have managed to do something already for your father and your brother.'

'What is it? They were going to work as I came to meet you,' she cried.

'You were coming to meet me after all then?' he exclaimed, with a little burst of glad mirth. 'You pretty rogue! And you wanted to make me believe that you were only coming this way to visit you friend Maggie!'

'So I am, Paul. Wait here a minute until I come back. Ha! ha! ha!'

She slipped, through his outstretched arms like a lithe snake, and laughing merrily bounded towards the row of houses which stood a score of yards away; and he awaited her return, feeling absolutely assured now, that Mary Stanley's love was won.

When Mary came back after an interval of some minutes' duration a pretty workmate of hers was at her side. Even at that moment the handsome and ambitious factory lassie could not resist the temptation of showing her friend that the new under-manager of Myrelands' collieries was at her beck and call.

A little later Paul and Mary were retracing their steps along the riverside, and he was telling her what he had done that day to further the interests of her father and brother.

On making their way in the morning through a number of places which gave off a considerable amount of firedamp, the chief manager, Mr. Baldwin, had determined to cut a new gallery in order to ventilate in a more effectual manner that portion of the mine. He had told his subordinate to select suitable men for the work and push on with it night and day. Afterwards he, Paul, had sought out Job and Ben Stanley, and offered them the contract of cutting the new gallery at a good price. They had jumped at his offer, and had gone to work that night as she had told him.

'Oh, Paul!' the delighted girl cried in her pleasure, 'how good of you to do it. I don't know how to thank you sufficiently!'

'You are pleased, Mary,' he answered proudly, 'and that is sufficient reward!'

'I do hope that father and Ben will justify your choice, Paul,' she said in a manner that implied her doubt. 'They drink sometimes, you know, neglect their work; and then——'

'I believe they will do justice to themselves, and to me as well, on this occasion, Mary,' Paul replied with a smile. 'I know them both fairly well, I think, and their ways are not unfamiliar to me. After all they are only like other pitmen! They work hard, live hard, and drink hard when they've money. But I told them straight how things stood, and they promised never to touch a drop or lose a shift until the job is finished. After they carry out this job satisfactorily I shall be able to put something good in their way, Mary.'

Again she thanked him with honest and very evident sincerity; and so talking and chatting they gained the street and bridge under which the river ran right through the town. Here they stayed for some time, for neither of them seemed in a hurry to repair homeward, and when at length they were shaking hands and saying good-night they were both a trifle startled to see a miner come tearing along the street.

The man was running past when the light of the street lamp fell on his face, enabling Paul to recognise him.

'Hello! Shannon!' Paul cried out loudly. 'What the mischief's the matter that you are running like that?'

The runner paused as if shot, and drew up hot and gasping beside Paul and the girl, crying excitedly:

'Yo're wanted, Mester Mass'lon at once. Ah were gooin' to yore heawse for yo'!'

'What's up, and where am I wanted?'

'At th' pit—at th' pit!' the man gasped out. 'The White Crow has fired!'

'My God!' Paul exclaimed, with a leaping heart and white face. 'And the men, Shannon, the men! Are they saved?'

'There's nobody saved yet! And the pit is blocked up,' was the solemn answer.

'Run back and say I am coming!' said Paul, and then as the miner sped back he turned to Mary Stanley, who was clinging mutely to his arm.

'Cheer up, Mary,' he said soothingly, as his arm wound itself protectingly around the half-fainting girl's waist. 'Perhaps it is not so bad as it looks.'

'The White Crow, he said, didn't he, Paul?' she asked, with wide fear-filled eyes. 'Oh, Paul! Paul! that is where my father and brother are to-night. What shall I do? What shall I do?'

'Calm yourself, dear!' he urged her, tenderly. 'There is reason to hope for the best yet. Cling to my arm, Mary, and I will see you home.'

'No, no!' she cried firmly, and her limp figure grew suddenly rigid. 'Go to the pit—you are wanted there! But, oh, Paul! do save them if you can. Now kiss me and go!'

He kissed her white cheek with his dry lips, and then hurried away, leaving Mary standing there wide-eyed and commanding.