Mayne Reid - The Finger of Fate - A Romance

It seemed so in the case of Henry Harding. In the month of May his passion for Belle Mainwaring had reached the point that should end in a declaration; and upon this he had determined. With the outside world it was still a question whether his love was reciprocated, though it was generally thought that the coquette had been at length captured, and by Henry Harding. The eligibility of the match favoured this view of the case, though, to say the truth, not more than the personal appearance of the man.

At this time the younger son of General Harding was just entering upon manhood, and possessed a face and figure alike manly and graceful. The only blemish that could be brought against him was of a moral nature – as already mentioned, a proneness to dissipation. But time might remedy this; and even as things stood it did not so materially damage him in the eyes of his lady acquaintances – more than one of whom would have been willing to take Miss Mainwaring’s chances. The light in which Belle regarded him may be best learnt from a conversation that, about this time, took place. It was over the breakfast-table in her mother’s cottage, the speakers being her mother and herself.

“And you would marry him?” interrogated Mrs Mainwaring, after some remark that had introduced the name of Henry Harding.

“I would, mamma; and, with your leave, I will.”

“What about his leave?”

“Ha! Ha!” laughed Belle with a confident air. “I think I may count upon that. He has as good as given it.”

“Already! But has he really declared himself – in words I mean?”

“Not exactly in words. But, dear ma, since I suppose you will insist upon knowing my secrets before giving your consent, I may as well tell you all about it. He intends to declare himself soon; this very day if I am not astray in my chronology.”

“What reason have you for thinking so?”

“Only his having hinted that he had something important to say to me – time fixed for a call he is to make this afternoon. What else could it be?”

Mrs Mainwaring made no reply, but sat thoughtful, as if not altogether pleased with the communication her daughter had made.

“I hope, dear mamma, you are contented?”

“With what, my child?”

“With – with – well, to have Henry Harding for your son-in-law. Does it satisfy you?”

“My dearest child,” answered the Indian officer’s widow, with that cautious air peculiar to her country – she was Scotch. “It is a serious question this; very serious, and requires careful consideration. You know how very straitened are our circumstances – how your poor dear father left little to support us – having but little to leave?”

“I should think I do know,” peevishly interposed Belle. “Twice turning my ball dresses, and then dyeing them into wearing silks, has taught me all that. But what has it to do with my marrying Henry Harding? All the more reason why I should. He, at all events, is not likely to be troubled with straitened circumstances.”

“I am not so sure of that, my child.”

“Ah! you know something about his expectations then? Something you have not told me? Is it so, mamma?”

“I know very little. I wish it were otherwise, and I could be sure.”

“But his father is rich. There are but two sons; and you have already told me that the estate is not entailed, or whatever you call it. Of course he will divide it equally between them. Half would satisfy me.”

“And me too, child, if we were sure of half. But there lies the difficulty. It is the fact of the estate not being entailed that makes it. Were that done, there would be none.”

“Then I could marry Henry?”

“No, Nigel.”

“Oh, mamma! what do you mean?”

“The estate would then be Nigel’s by the simple law of entail. As it is now, it is all uncertain how they will inherit. It will depend on the will. It may go by a caprice of their father – and I know General Harding well enough to believe him capable of such caprice.”

In her turn Belle became silent and thoughtful.

“There is reason to fear,” continued the match-making, perhaps match-spoiling, mother, “that the General may leave Henry nothing, or at most only a maintenance. He is certainly very much dissatisfied with his conduct, and for a long time has been vainly endeavouring to change it. I won’t say the young man is loose in his habits; if he were, I would not hear of him for your husband. No, my child, poor as we are, it needn’t come to that.”

As the widow said this she looked half interrogatively towards her daughter, who replied with a smile of assenting significance.

“Henry Harding,” continued the cautious mother, “is too generous – too profuse in his expenditures.”

“But, mamma, would not marriage cure him of that? He would then have me to think of, and take better care of his money.”

“True, true; supposing him to be possessed of it. But therein lies the doubt – the difficulty, I may call it – about the prudence of your accepting him.”

“But I love him; I do indeed!”

“I am sorry for that, my child. You should have been more cautious, until better assured about his circumstances. You must leave it to time. You will, if you love me.”

“And if, as I have told you – this afternoon – what answer?”

“Evasive, my dear. Nothing easier. You have me to fall back upon. You are my only child; my consent will be necessary. Come, Belle! you need no instructions from me. You will lose nothing by a little procrastination. You have nothing to fear from it, and everything to gain. Without it, you may become the wife of one poorer than ever your father was; and, instead of having to turn your silk dresses, you may have none to turn. Be prudent, therefore, in the step you are about to take.”

Belle only answered with a sigh; but it was neither so sad or so deep as to cause any apprehension to her counsellor; while the sly look that accompanied it told, that she determined upon being prudent .

General Harding was accustomed to spend much time in his studio, or library it might be called – since it contained a goodly number of books. They were mostly volumes that related to Oriental subjects, more especially works upon India and its campaigns; but there were also many devoted to science and natural history, while scattered here and there upon tables were odd numbers of the Oriental Magazine , the Transactions of the Asiatic Society , and the Calcutta Englishman . There were also large pamphlets in blue parliamentary covers, that related only to the affairs of the Hon. E.I.C.

In poring over these volumes, the retired militaire was accustomed to pass much of his time. The subjects, with the descriptions attached, recalled scenes in his past life, the souvenirs of which gave him pleasure, enabling him to while away many an hour that, amidst the seclusion of the Chiltern Hills, might have otherwise hung rather heavily on his hands. Each new book about India was sure to find its way into the General’s library, and, though never a very keen sportsman, he could enjoy the descriptions of hunting scenes to be found in the pages of “Markham” and the “Old Shikaree,” since in both there is something to interest not only the sportsman but the student of Nature.

On a certain morning he had entered his studio, but with no intention of devoting himself to the tranquil study of his books. On the contrary, he did not even seat himself, but commenced pacing the floor with a quick step; while his clouded brow denoted agitation of mind. Every now and then he would stop, strike his clenched hand against his forehead, mutter a few words to himself, and then move on again. Among his mutterings could be distinguished some words that guided to the subject of his thoughts. The names “Nigel” and “Henry” constantly occurring, told that both his sons had a share in his cogitations, though chiefly the latter, whose cognomen was most frequently pronounced.