“I’m not thinking very much about it, Mrs Greenow; that’s the truth,” said the Captain. “I daresay the wine is very good of its kind.” Then there was another period of silence between them.
“I suppose you find it rather dull, living in lodgings; don’t you?” asked the Captain.
“I don’t know quite what you mean by dull, Captain Bellfield; but a woman circumstanced as I am, can’t find her life very gay. It’s not a full twelvemonth yet since I lost all that made life desirable, and sometimes I wonder at myself for holding up as well as I do.”
“It’s wicked to give way to grief too much, Mrs Greenow.”
“That’s what my dear Kate always says to me, and I’m sure I do my best to overcome it.” Upon this soft tears trickled down her cheek, showing in their course that she at any rate used no paint in producing that freshness of colour which was one of her great charms. Then she pressed her handkerchief to her eyes, and removing it, smiled faintly on the Captain. “I didn’t intend to treat you to such a scene as this, Captain Bellfield.”
“There is nothing on earth, Mrs Greenow, I desire so much, as permission to dry those tears.”
“Time alone can do that, Captain Bellfield;—time alone.”
“But cannot time be aided by love and friendship and affection?”
“By friendship, yes. What would life be worth without the solace of friendship?”
“And how much better is the warm glow of love?” Captain Bellfield, as he asked this question, deliberately got up, and moved his chair over to the widow’s side. But the widow as deliberately changed her position to the corner of a sofa. The Captain did not at once follow her, nor did he in any way show that he was aware that she had fled from him.
“How much better is the warm glow of love?” he said again, contenting himself with looking into her face with all his eyes. He had hoped that he would have been able to press her hand by this time.
“The warm, glow of love, Captain Bellfield, if you have ever felt it—”
“If I have ever felt it! Do I not feel it now, Mrs Greenow? There can be no longer any mask kept upon my feelings. I never could restrain the yearnings of my heart when they have been strong.”
“Have they often been strong, Captain Bellfield?”
“Yes; often;—in various scenes of life; on the field of battle—”
“I did not know that you had seen active service.”
“What!—not on the plains of Zuzuland, when with fifty picked men I kept five hundred Caffres at bay for seven weeks;—never knew the comfort of a bed, or a pillow to my head, for seven long weeks!”
“Not for seven weeks?” said Mrs Greenow.
“No. Did I not see active service at Essiquebo, on the burning coast of Guiana, when all the wild Africans from the woods rose up to destroy the colony; or again at the mouth of the Kitchyhomy River, when I made good the capture of a slaver by my own hand and my own sword!”
“I really hadn’t heard,” said Mrs Greenow.
“Ah, I understand. I know. Cheesy is the best fellow in the world in some respects, but he cannot bring himself to speak well of a fellow behind his back. I know who has belittled me. Who was the first to storm the heights of Inkerman?” demanded the Captain, thinking in the heat of the moment that he might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb.
“But when you spoke of yearnings, I thought you meant yearnings of a softer kind.”
“So I did. So I did. I don’t know why I have been led away to speak of deeds that are very seldom mentioned, at any rate by myself. But I cannot bear that a slanderous backbiting tongue should make you think that I have seen no service. I have served her Majesty in the four quarters of the globe, Mrs Greenow; and now I am ready to serve you in any way in which you will allow me to make my service acceptable.” Whereupon he took one stride over to the sofa, and went down upon his knees before her.
“But, Captain Bellfield, I don’t want any services. Pray get up now; the girl will come in.”
“I care nothing for any girl. I am planted here till some answer shall have been made to me; till some word shall have been said that may give me a little hope.” Then he attempted to get hold of her hand, but she put them behind her back and shook her head. “Arabella,” he said, “will you not speak a word to me?”
“Not a word, Captain Bellfield, till you get up; and I won’t have you call me Arabella. I am the widow of Samuel Greenow, than whom no man was more respected where he was known, and it is not fitting that I should be addressed in that way.”
“But I want you to become my wife,—and then—”
“Ah, then indeed! But that then isn’t likely to come. Get up, Captain Bellfield, or I’ll push you over and then ring the bell. A man never looks so much like a fool as when he’s kneeling down,—unless he’s saying his prayers, as you ought to be doing now. Get up, I tell you. It’s just half past seven, and I told Jeannette to come to me then.”
There was that in the widow’s voice which made him get up, and he rose slowly to his feet. “You’ve pushed all the chairs about, you stupid man,” she said. Then in one minute she had restored the scattered furniture to their proper places, and had rung the bell. When Jeannette came she desired that tea might be ready by the time that the young ladies returned, and asked Captain Bellfield if a cup should be set for him. This he declined, and bade her farewell while Jeannette was still in the room. She shook hands with him without any sign of anger, and even expressed a hope that they might see him again before long.
“He’s a very handsome man, is the Captain,” said Jeannette, as the hero of the Kitchyhomy River descended the stairs.
“You shouldn’t think about handsome men, child,” said Mrs Greenow.
“And I’m sure I don’t,” said Jeannette. “Not no more than anybody else; but if a man is handsome, ma’am, why it stands to reason that he is handsome.”
“I suppose Captain Bellfield has given you a kiss and a pair of gloves.”
“As for gloves and such like, Mr Cheesacre is much better for giving than the Captain; as we all know; don’t we, ma’am? But in regard to kisses, they’re presents as I never takes from anybody. Let everybody pay his debts. If the Captain ever gets a wife, let him kiss her.”
On the following Tuesday morning Mr Cheesacre as usual called in the Close, but he brought with him no basket. He merely left a winter nosegay made of green leaves and laurestinus flowers, and sent up a message to say that he should call at half past three, and hoped that he might then be able to see Mrs Greenow—on particular business.
“That means you, Kate,” said Mrs Greenow.
“No, it doesn’t; it doesn’t mean me at all. At any rate he won’t see me.”
“I dare say it’s me he wishes to see. It seems to be the fashionable plan now for gentlemen to make
