A Doubtful Loss

Chapter I

It was in dreary October, when the year turning from the work with which it has been busy for nine long months, gives rest to the fallow earth to recover for its next year's harvest. But Autumn this year is late. The leaves have hardly commenced to fall; the dews of the morning are not yet replaced by keen hoar frosts, and gardens have not begun to put on that garb of wretchedness so general in October. Thus in the garden Of John Cousins the shrubs still retained their foliage, the old fashioned beds were still gay with flowers, whilst the trees were loaded with ripe fruit. Altogether this garden was very pretty and quaint, though there were but few people in Burnchester to admire it. The Clouseleys, John Cousins, and his daughter Marjorie were perhaps the only persons who did admire it. The remainder of the so-called " quality", who resided in and about the country town of Burnchester, were either not florists, or preferred the more modern flower-beds laid out with geometrical exactness, sur rounded by their nice little gravelled paths.

Marjorie did not; that is perhaps the reason why she was never seen in them. Hollyhock garden, as it was called, was her Paradise. Here she spent the greater part of the day when her father was busy at his mill, that rumbled on in its old fashioned way not more than a stone's throw from the garden gate. It had rumbled on like this for more than fifty years, not as the property of Mr. Cousins, the name by which it was now known, but as belonging to Stevens and Coates, from whom John Cousins, liking the old town, the mill, the garden and what he saw of the people, bought it twenty years before this story commences, with a house, which being connected to the offices was joined to the mill, and sur rounded on two sides by the garden. Fifty yards further down the road was the Doc tor's house, from which the town straggled in one long street to the Slue, a muddy little stream, that flowed just fast enough to keep the water just not quite stagnant, and seemed to be there as a freak of nature, or to supply the mill, for which purpose it had to be pumped such a long way as to become a serious expense at the time when competition and a bad situa tion were apt to contract profit to an uncomfortable extent.

When John Cousins with his two years old child Marjorie had taken possession of this mill and house, he had intended to have somewhat altered the arrangement of the front entrance, which communicated both to the residence and the office in such a manner as to be very inconvenient. That was twenty years ago, and nothing A Doubts til Loss. 4 had yet been commenced, and lately he had even ceased to speak of this discomfort. Perhaps he was becoming used to it, or perhaps he was thinking more of the mill with its old-fashioned methods, and its awkward pumping apparatus. And here in the garden wandering up and down its little paths and byways was Marjorie, idling away this beautiful autumn afternoon, now pausing here to pull a flower, or there, some fruit, and waving an old sun-bonnet with a listless, dreamy air.

She looked so peaceful, so happy and so lovely and withal so contented ! What pret tier picture than this girl could be desired? Her steps seem purposeless as she tra verses and retraverses the old-world place. And yet there is purpose in her walks, for she ever and anon glances to where yonder road gleams white beyond the gar den wall, as she waits so impatiently for Charlie Clouseley, her lover. He was to come this afternoon, and read with her. He could get in by the gate at the bottom end of the garden and need not come through the house where he might meet her father. Not that it would matter. Oh no! But it was only a week ago that he had begun to come so regularly, though she had known him all her life. Last week her father had gone away for a few days : such an unusual event was this, that she had felt lonely; so Charlie came to help her to while away the time, when they discovered that they had loved each other since they were children, and now he could not stay away.

Her father returned two days ago, but Charlie had not seen him yet. She would speak to him about it that afternoon and have him come through the house in future, for Charlie had first suggested the garden gate. At last he came. He was early, but Marjorie had been waiting more than an hour and felt sure he was late. She ran quickly down to meet him at the little gate. She was quite girlish in her treatment of him. There was no coquetry, no attempted belief that he meant nothing to her. Brought up in the country, as she had been, never having known a mother, she had, until now, only had her father upon whom to pour the love that welled up in her young and ardent nature. Now that Charlie Clouseley had taught her how to love, he had suddenly opened out to her astonished mind its real meaning and how much love she had to lavish upon him.

Beneath that girlish manner, those laugh ing eyes, and that profusion of soft brown hair there was a something only observ able after you had known her for some time ; a something that denoted a mind above the trivialities of life ; a something that might only be a characteristic gravity, or it might be indicative of some secret trouble. However, it was there, and Charlie had noticed it. He was commonplace. Only a short, by no means good-looking man, some twenty four years of age. Nor was he very intellectual. His face denoted the com fortable easy way of living of one who had every ordinary wish gratified by a father, who though not wealthy, was still very well off. Many were surprised to hear that he had succeeded in winning Marjorie, but then she was only herself commonplace in appearance.

Healthy, sweet, and modest, yes : but handsome, clever or at all unusual, no. So they were really well suited ; and it would be a good match, for Marjorie was Mr. Cousins' only daugh ter and Charlie was Mr. Clouseley's only son. Together the Clouseley estates, the Hall, and the mill would amount to a very fair fortune, and as they both loved each other, all seemed as it should be. Nothing had yet been said to John Cousins about their engagement, but he was supposed to have tacitly agreed to that which gave his daughter so much joy. Charlie had never even asked for Mar jorie's hand, but then he had shown in a thousand other ways that he wished to be her devoted husband. He had at last decided to definitely ask Mr. Cousins for Marjorie. Though only commonplace, there was gradually stealing over his mind a sensa tion almost akin to disgust at the com paratively idle and useless life he was leading.

Perhaps Marjorie's influence had begun to affect him, or her liveliness, for she never seemed still five minutes together, whilst he was rather indolent. Whatever the cause, it troubled him, and he only desired her to direct and he felt sure that he would at once alter his manner of life to harmonize with hers. So as Charlie walked up the road to meet Marjorie both had something to ask, and were in consequence graver than usual. " You do look good," he ejaculated, as he noticed her unusual seriousness. "Oh, but I'm not," she laughingly an swered. "I had intended to do such a lot of work this afternoon, but could not get you out of my head." They were sitting side by side in the little summer house. "I suppose the memory of me is not conducive to work," he replied, somewhat pensively. "Do you know, Marjorie, I have been thinking what an awfully useless life mine seems to be.

I don't think I have ever been of any good to anyone." "What about me?" she asked. "And besides, I believe I know something you will have to do soon. Oh, don't look surprised ! Father has some work for you, something about the mill. You know he has been to see some new machinery, and he intends to make some alterations. I only remember part of what he said, but he mentioned you as helping him." "Nothing would please me better," said Charlie, giving her an affectionate little hug as a reward for the good news. " It would be just the thing for us, but I cannot imagine what use he will make of me. I have never done anything connected with business and expect I shall prove an awful duffer at it." They continued to discuss with enthusiasm the probability of what Charlie's occupation would consist, until the after noon slipped away and a servant came out to tell Marjorie that her father was waiting dinner.

As Charlie could not stay, she wished him good-bye at the garden gate and ran quickly to her father, quite forget ting that she had never asked Charlie to see him about their engagement. Nor did Charlie remember his unfulfilled resolution until he arrived at the Hall, when his thoughts returned to the chief reason for his visit to Marjorie that day. "Well," thought he, " that opportunity is gone, but to-morrow I will see Mr. Cousins and ask for his dear little Marjorie." He told his father during dinner, what he intended to do, and received his warm approval. Mr. Clouseley had noticed the attachment between the young people and was eagerly waiting for the matter to come to some conclusion, having very little doubt that Mr. Cousins would gladly receive Charlie as his son-in-law.

Chapter II

One afternoon, some few days later, John Cousins was sitting in his office slowly turning over the leaves of his ledger, but, though he could hardly distinguish the headings in the quickly fading light, no lamp had been brought in. The well-furnished office was very old fashioned and must have been in use many years. Its occupant, a man con siderably over fifty years of age, was still in his prime and looked as one who had many years yet to live. Though not stout, he was somewhat heavily built, and carried himself with a military erectness, which whilst it seemed to suit his face, showed unmistakable signs that he was well-used to the world's trials. Equable but firm in temper, the deep furrows across his forehead did not in any way add to his age. He looked younger than he was. As he continued to turn over page after page of the huge book before him, it became evident that the occupation was not very satisfactory.

A vexed ex pression began to assert itself, changing, as he still turned on, to harassed glances. Gradually he came to the last page, when he closed the book with a bang that shook the desk. "Something must be done, and that at once," he said, drumming uneasily on the binding of the ledger. "Mr. Clouseley to see you, sir," said Jones, the head clerk, as he showed Charlie into the office. "Good-afternoon, Charlie," said Mr Cousins, stretching out his hand to him "You may take this ledger, Jones, and go I shall not require you again to-night." As he left the room Mr. Cousins turned towards his visitor, who was standing, un- ' o' easily, near the table. "Won't you take a seat?" said he. "I have not seen you to speak to since I returned." Charlie looked decidedly uncomfortable. The dusk — for the sun had quite disap peared, and the twilight was growing dimmer every moment — gave the office a very gloomv appearance.

He had come intending to ask for Mar jorie, and now that he had arrived — the determination had taken him three days' thought — he could hardly return without making his request. Mr. Cousins turned his chair round so as to place what little light there was upon his visitor's face, whilst he remained in the shade. He could see that he was agitated, and half guessed the cause of his visit. Charlie dashed at the subject with an evident desire to get it over and settled. "I have come," he said, in an excited voice, "I have come to ask you to permit me to marry Marjorie. You must know, sir, that we love each other very much and both wish to be married. Will you give us your consent?" Short as was this request, it was deliv ered in so agitated a voice as to require no eloquence to convey the intense feeling and sincerity that animated the speaker.

John Cousins did not reply. He did not even stir. He seemed to have heard nothing. Charlie half rose from his chair, fearing that his companion must be ill, not to have heard him, but Mr. Cousins waved him back, and in a voice half choked with emotion, gasped : "I'm all right. Stay where you are. This must receive careful thought. I did not anticipate such a request. Come again in a few days — Oh, come to dinner to morrow night — and I will give you my answer." And he rose to shake Charlie's hand. "You must not see Marjorie until you have my answer. Promise me." This was readily done, and Charlie, only too glad to get away from what he ex pected would be a very uncomfortable interview, went home congratulating him self upon the speedy despatch of the most important and trying matter that he had ever had to undertake.

Not so John Cousins. No sooner was Charlie out of the office, than he locked the door and half falling into his chair, sobbed like a little child for some minutes. When he recovered he sent for Marjorie, as he often did after his business was over. She was shocked to find her father looking very dejected and ill. She ran to his outstretched arms and anxiously en quired the cause of his bad looks. Not indeed without reason : for John Cousins appeared at least ten years older than before his brief interview with Charlie. "Nothing, Marjorie. I am only a little tired," he replied to her enquiries, trying hard to appear before her as usual, but quite failing to make her think that fatigue was the cause ; for she knew his ways well and knew that he would have to be very tired to look as he now did.

Seeing at once that he did not wish to be questioned, she seated herself near him, as was her wont, and patiently waited until he should tell her what he thought fit. She had always been his companion, sharing his joys and disappointments more as a wife than a daughter. They made a strange contrast, these two, as they sat together in the dim old office : the man sitting back with a weary careworn look upon his face, playing gently with the hair of the girl who gazed lovingly into his face, whilst she held tightly his hand between hers. " Marjorie," he began, " Charlie has asked me for you. He wants to marry you. Do you want to marry him?" "Yes, father," she replied, "I love him very dearly. May I marry him?" And suddenly noticing the pained look upon his face she threw her arms round his neck.

" Father, don't you want me to marry him?" John Cousins had not answered aloud, but Marjorie ever quick to note his wishes, read in his face that he did not. "But oh, I do love him so!" she said. Yet this was only a sigh, a very heart broken sigh, true, but it was soon over, and Marjorie, alternately hugging and kissing her father, begged him to look happy. " Marjorie," said he, " forget Charlie. For get all about him. I do not wish you to marry him. You will think me cruel — that I cannot help. You must never marry him ;" he sighed heavily, as he looked lovingly into her sad face. "Why, father?" she shyly asked. "I can never explain," he burst out ;" I wish to heaven I could. It has nothing to do with what you know — nothing," and clinching his fists, he sprang away from her embrace, and walking hurriedly up and down the office, broke out in renewed and pas sionate tears.

Marjorie had never seen her father like this before. It frightened her, as well it might ; his passion seemed to her to suggest something very awful, some reason quite incomprehensible. She ran to him, and tried to soothe his sobs, until worn out, he sank wearily into his chair, and asked her to leave him. He insisted, so she slowly left him, her mind a perfect whirlwind of afflicting emotions, the chief being her love for her father and fear on his account and terror of what Charlie would say to her when he heard her father's answer.

Chapter III

As Charlie Clouseley drove over to Burn chester the following evening, he could not help thinking that there could be but little chance of failure in his suit for Marjorie. He was quite sure that any objection Mr. Cousins might make could have no refer ence to himself, and in that thought he derived no small comfort. But whatever he might have to say, he was determined to make the best endeavour to marry the girl he loved. He could not but feel angry with Mr. Cousins at what he considered his unpardonable cruelty in not letting him know what he had really intended to do when he first asked him. The weather was not of the finest, and Charlie felt more and more miserable as he drew towards his destination; for al though he had provided himself with a great coat, driving an open gig in a heavy downpour of rain soon began to make him feel very cold, so that when at last he drew up at the well-known door he was in a very bad temper.

Having given his horse over to the care of the stable boy, he quickly made his way into the house, where he found that dinner had been ready sometime. He was soon seated, and dinner com menced. Marjorie was not there, for which Charlie was both sorry and pleased. Sorry because he had hoped to have had a word or two with her, despite his promise, before seeing her dreaded father, and pleased because he was sure that she must have some idea why he was there, as it was a rare occurrence for Marjorie to be absent from her father's dinnertable. Mr. Cousins was evidently in high good humour, and was busy telling his guest all he had seen whilst at Liverpool and of the improvement he hoped to make m the mill. The time seemed to drag fearfully with poor Charlie, and he thought that they would never be left alone.

But all things come to an end, and then, when Charlie did at last find himself alone with his dread companion, he longingly wished that the butler would return. A short silence was broken, when, after Mr. Cousins had passed Charlie the wine, he enquired if he had seen Marjorie since the morning? "No, of course not," he answered. "I acted entirely as you desired me and remained at home until I drove over to-night." Charlie was glad that it had not been for him to break the ice. "Well, Charlie," slowly commenced Mr. Cousins, "it is needless for me to tell you that as a suitor I hold you perfect; there would be no son-in-law whom I should rather desire than yourself, but — " "But what, sir?" feverishly exclaimed Charlie. "The difficulty does not lie there. I understand that Marjorie has determined, at least for the present, to remain single.

Nothing would induce me to go against her will, and when I think of her know ledge of the world, shall I call it her worldly wisdom, I should be very sorry to even attempt to influence my daughter in an affair of such importance to her." Mr. Cousins' voice trembled slightly when he spoke of Marjorie's worldly wisdom. " Is this your answer, that Marjorie is not inclined to marry me, that she does not love me?" Charlie calmly asked. "If so, I have indeed an easy task." "Yes, that is all my answer that I know of at present," said Mr. Cousins, slowly helping himself from the decanter. " I must only do my duty, and Marjorie desires me to give you that reply." "Pardon me, I do not quite understand you." "That she does not intend to entertain any idea of matrimony at present," Mr. Cousins coolly answered.

"Of course not. But our engagement: I am still at liberty — " "No," said Mr. Cousins firmly. "All intercourse must cease between you." "What!" exclaimed Charlie, jumping up with such vehemence as to upset some glasses. " Marjorie has told you that she wishes to break off our engagement?" "Engagement, sir," said Mr. Cousins an grily. "There was no engagement. My con sent was not asked until yesterday, so that there can never have been an engagement. I forbid it." He rose from the table. Charlie was unused to disappointments. He had neither the strength of mind , nor the inclination to keep down that dormant temper that had on certain occasions stood him in good stead against his father's will ; and he supposed that he would be equally successful against John Cousins. Losing all control over himself he poured forth a torrent of vituperations and threats expressed in tones of unmistakable passion.

Mr. Cousins listened, or rather suffered his ears to hear, all that this young man thought fit to say, with so impassive a demeanour as to make Charlie even more exasperated, and half screaming in the im potence of his rage, he exclaimed that no father could treat his daughter so cruelly. Instantly John Cousins blazed up and in a voice of thunder, ordered Charlie to leave his house, which, when he perceiv ed the menacing attitude of the speaker, he was not slow to do. He did not begin to see the foolishness of what he had done until halfway home, and then he understood the awful blow that had fallen upon him. A blow which he well knew had been strengthened if not provoked by his own disgraceful display of temper and childish pettishness, that now appeared to him in its right light bringing remorse and heartache in his train.

During the next fortnight, he led a miserable life alternately tortured by doubts of Marjorie and disgust for his own conduct, which he thought was the reason why Mr. Cousins did not make any overtures for reconciliation, knowing full well that justly they should come first from himself as the younger and the undoubted aggressor. He had been for some days thinking very seriously of going to the mill and person ally apologising to Mr. Cousins for his conduct, but somehow he felt unable to humble himself to the man of whom he entertained a very poor opinion. His wishes were, however, anticipated by a note which his father received, asking both father and son to meet Mr. Cousins at his office with a view to reconciliation. The letter was couched in such friendly terms that Charlie could not but have gone even had he not desired to do so.

He was very glad to receive this proof from Mr. Cousins that his rash conduct had not been too bad for him to overlook, and he was accordingly in the highest spirits when, the following morning, with his father, he walked through the town on the way to the mill. In passing the doctor's house, they attracted his attention whilst busy in the surgery which looked on to the road. " Morning, Clouseley," he shouted in his cheerful manner. "Fine day again. Bad for us doctors, this weather." "Bad," replied Mr. Clouseley, "never. I always thought that you endeavoured to cure the world of all pain, we cannot have you wishing for more illness, surely." "No, of course not," laughed the doctor. "We don't need to wish for more illness. It isn't like the crops," and he laughed boisterously at his own mild joke.

"But where go you so early, gentlemen?" he enquired. "Calling upon Cousins," answered Mr. Clouseley, beginning to move on. " He ought to take more care of himself," said the doctor. "He was taken ill the other night, and when they called me up, as usual half an hour later than they should, I didn't at all like his look. Bit touched here," and he indicated his left side with his finger. "Has Cousins a weak heart?" exclaimed Mr. Clouseley. "Well, that is something that I would never have imagined. A strong man like him. I hope he is better." " Oh yes, it was just a passing attack, but still I did not half like his look. I would not mention the matter to him. He might be a bit put out about it," and with this advice the doctor waved them good morning and returned to his work. Father and son, both somewhat awed by this bad news, walked quickly on and were soon in Mr. Cousins' office, where, at once taking Charlie's hand, he apologised profusely for his rudeness and asked him to think no more about his refusal.

"And if you can woo Marjorie until we both consent, my boy, why, then marry her," and he banged him on his back. "That will suit you, aye?" Of course they all agreed, and Charlie radiant with joy, having apologised for his unfortunate temper, soon found an excuse to leave the office, presumably to have a look at some of the new machinery that was just arriving from Liverpool. "Well, Clouseley," said Mr. Cousins) "now that we are friends again, let us think of what I mentioned to you three weeks ago about the partnership." "With all my heart, sir," replied he. " There is nothing nearer my heart than to see Charlie comfortably married and settled down, and though my father and grandfather will turn in their graves if we make him into a merchant ; still as times are" — and Mr. Clouseley flattered him self that he knew something of that sub ject — " as times are, I can see no ob jection to putting him under your charge and buying a partnership."

" Of course, of course," said Mr. Cousins. " Times have changed, and ultimately, if Charlie succeeds with Marjorie, why he would get the mill then, and it's a good mill, Clouseley, and it shall be a better when we get this new machinery to work. Yes, it shall be a thoroughly good mill, and then with Charlie a pushing young man, it should do well. Of course, Clouseley, it does well now, but then you know, I am getting old, not what I used to be, and Charlie will have a chance, a really good chance, of making plenty of money out of it." So these two men rubbed their hands together, and thought of the brilliant future of the mediocre Charlie and the advantages of new machinery in an old-established mill ; and after ways and means had been fully discussed, Mr. Clouseley rose with a list of memoranda of what was needful upon such a great occasion as this, and not least among them was a note to write Paul and Steele, his solicitors, to raise twenty thousand pounds upon his estate with which to place his son as junior partner under his old friend John Cousins.

And all the while Charlie and Marjorie were billing and cooing in the little arbour at the end of the garden, and Charlie imagined Marjorie already won and he in heaven, with the world at his feet ; whilst Marjorie returning caress for caress, could have killed herself for her dissembling, because she dearly loved him, and her father had said to her that morning, "Marjo rie, go on loving Charlie and making love to him until I tell you." And she knew that her father would never let her marry him, and she did not understand it at all, it was beyond her, and yet she must obey him, her father; and Charlie was good and lovable and she loved him, so obedience was easy and she thought how would it be, this obedience, after a year or two if her father never let her marry him. "Well, he must know best," she thought, but how she did long to understand what it all meant, and in the meanwhile she went on loving Charlie and at last forgot all about her father, for a little while.

Chapter IV

A month soon rolled away, and Charlie installed in the office as prospective partner with Mr. Cousins, was thinking how soon he might dare to again ask for Mar jorie's hand. What a pleasant month it had been, so full of new experiences! Marjorie seemed a thousand times more beautiful and heavenly after that fortnight of purgatory through which he had passed. And now as her father's partner he had to be often about the house, and in the mill, at least once a day; a delightful duty when he was sure to see his Mar jorie somewhere near. And he found himself admiring his close constancy to business, and wondering why he had ever been fool enough to underestimate his power for work, as he had been used to do to Marjorie. Quite a righteous glow came over him and made him more con fident in himself and more enthusiastic about life generally, and particularly about Marjorie, so he thought he would go and see Mr. Cousins that very day.