The White Virgin

“Tell me, then,” he said hoarsely, “the worst.”

“I have no worst to tell, sir,” said Clive quietly. “You have been anxious, then, about the mine?”

“Yes; I couldn’t help it, my dear sir,” said the Major nervously. “This sort of thing is new to me, and it means so much. But there is something wrong about it.”

“Nothing whatever, sir.”

“Thank God,” muttered the Major.

“So far from there being anything wrong, sir, I had a letter this evening announcing, on the basis of our success here, that in a few days the shareholders will receive an interim dividend of twenty per cent, which means, sir, one-fifth of your investment returned already.”

“My dear Reed, you amaze me. It is marvellous. But never mind that now. You said you came upon grave business.”

“Yes, sir,” said Clive, after a pause, “very grave business to me.”

“Yes. Pray speak. You are in want of a little money?”

“No, sir, I do not want money; I want time.”

“What is the matter, then? Your voice is quite changed.”

Clive was silent again for a few moments, and then, after glancing at the window, he said in a low voice —

“Major Gurdon, the time has come for me to know whether I am to visit here again.”

“Come here again? I do not quite understand you, sir. Pray speak out.”

“I will, sir,” said Clive earnestly. “I love your child.”

“We all do, sir,” said the Major coldly. “Who could help it?”

“Yes, who could help it?” said Clive, in a tone of voice which told how deeply he was moved. “And now, as an honourable man, I ask you, sir, whether I am still to visit here, or my visits are to cease?”

“Have you told Dinah what you have told me?”

“Not a word, sir.”

“That’s right!”

“How could I without your leave?”

“True! Well, Mr Reed, I will be frank with you. A short time back I had not thought of such a thing. I welcomed you here selfishly, as a visitor who would relieve some of the monotony of my existence. Then, sir, I began to like you, and then by slow degrees I began to see that I had either made a great error, or else fate was working, as she always does, silently. I have been much exercised in my mind as to what I should do, and ended by acting on the defensive, leaving the enemy to declare his plans.”

“And am I the enemy of your peace, sir?”

“Mr Reed, you are, I fear, the enemy of my daughter’s peace, and I say to you, sir, as one who has shown himself to be a man of honour, if there is anything likely to militate against my child’s happiness, for heaven’s sake, sir, speak out, and let this end at once.”

“You say you will be frank with me, sir; I will be frank with you. Not many months back I was engaged to be married.”

“And broke it off?” said the Major sharply.

“No, sir; I was a poor weak lover, I suppose. Too much immersed in business. The lady chose again, or, poor girl, was tricked into another engagement, and is married. I came down here, half mad with despair, to forget my cares in work; and instead I have awakened to the fact there is still happiness for me if I can win it.”

“Ah!” said the Major. “In plain English, then, sir, you wish to speak to Dinah?”

“Yes.”

“You are aware, I suppose, that she has nothing but her own sweet nature with which to endow a man.”

“I never asked myself that question, sir.”

“Of course, at my death she will have a few thousands, upon whose interest we live.”

“Will she?” said Clive quietly.

“Yes; and you, Mr Reed, it is my duty as a father to ask you a question or two. Will your position as manager of this mine enable you to keep her, not in affluence, but modest comfort?”

“I think so, sir,” said Clive, smiling.

“That’s well. But there, if – I say if this goes on, she shall have half my shares at once. A fair white virgin shall go to the altar with so many ‘White Virgins’ in her train.”

“My dear Major Gurdon,” said Clive, grasping the old officer’s hand, “don’t you know?”

“Know – know, sir! What?”

“That exactly one-third of the ‘White Virgin’ shares are mine, beside a great deal of property my father left. I suppose I am what people call a very rich man.”

“What!” cried the Major, literally dazed, “and you work like you do?”

“And why not? It is for myself – for the shareholders – for you. It was my father’s wish, sir, that this mine should prove to be a great success, and it is my sacred duty to make it so.”

“But – but, my dear Reed, you must be a millionaire!”

“I suppose so,” said Clive quietly.

“Then it will be impossible. My poor child could not marry so wealthy a man.”

“Then I must make myself poor,” said Clive. “Bah! what has money to do with it? Major Gurdon, I came down here to find rest and peace; let me find happiness as well, and that the world is not all base.”

“I hardly dare give consent,” faltered the Major. “You are the first, sir, who has ever approached her in this way, and I could not help seeing how day by day she has brightened and seemed to grow more restful and content. It has been as if she felt that with you near she could be at rest, that you were at hand to protect her, and that the poor old father was growing to be nobody now. Ah! Reed, she has ceased to care for me as she used.”

“Father!”

“You there, Dinah? You heard what we said?”

“I heard you tell Mr Reed something that you cannot mean.”

“You heard no more?”