CHAPTER XV
"AND MOST OF ALL WOULD I FLY FROM THE CRUEL MADNESS OF LOVE"
It was Adrea--Adrea herself! She stood there in the shadow of thedoorway, with her lips slightly parted, and her great eyes, soft andbrilliant, flashing in the ruddy firelight. It was no vision; it wasshe beyond a doubt!
Even when the first shock had passed away, he found himself withoutwords; the wonder of it had dazed him. He had thought of her so oftenin that quaint, dainty little chamber in Grey Street that to see herhere so unexpectedly, without the least warning or anticipation, waslike being suddenly confronted with a picture which had stepped outof its frame. And that she should be here, too, of all places, herein this bleak corner of the kingdom, where blustering winds sweptbare the sullen moorland, and the sea was always grey and stormy. Whatstrange fate could have brought her here, away from all the warmth andluxury of London, to this half-deserted old manor house on the vergeof the heath? His mind was too confused in those first few moments tofollow out any definite train of thought. The most natural conclusion,that she had come to him, did not enter his imagination.
His first impulse, as his senses became clearer, was to glance aroundfor the woman who had called Adrea her step-daughter. She was gone.She must have stepped out of the room by the opposite doorway; andwith the knowledge that they were alone, he breathed freer.
"Adrea!" he said, "it is really you, then!"
His words, necessarily commonplace, dissolved the situation. Shelaughed softly, and came further into the room.
"It is I," she said. "Did you think that I was an elf fromspirit-land?"
He had never shaken hands with her,--it was a thing which had neveroccurred to either of them; but a sudden impulse came to him then. Hetook a hasty step forward, and clasped both her little white hands inhis. So they stood for another minute in silence, and a strange, softlight flashed in her upturned eyes. She was very near to him, andthere was an indefinable sense of yielding in her manner, amountingalmost to a mute invitation. He felt that he had only to open hisarms, and that strange, beautiful face, with its mocking, quiveringmouth, would be very close to his. The old battle was forced upon himto fight all over again; and, alas! he was no stronger.
It was almost as though she had seen the hesitation--the conflict inhim--for with a sudden, imperious gesture she withdrew her hands andturned away from him. There was a scarlet flush creeping through thedeep olive of her cheeks, and her eyes were dry and brilliant. Paul,who had never studied women or their ways, looked at her, surprisedand a little hurt.
"You are surprised to see me here, of course?" she said, sinking intoa low easy-chair, and taking up a fire-screen of peacocks' feathers,as though to shield her face from the fire. "Well, it is quite anaccident. I wrote you rather a silly letter the other day; but youmust not think that I have followed you down here!"
"I did not think so," he answered hastily. "The idea never occurred,never could have occurred to me!"
She continued, without heeding his interruption: "I will explain howwe came to take this cottage. A relative of mine came to me suddenlyfrom abroad. She was in great trouble, and was in search of a verysecluded dwelling-place, where she might live for a time unknown. Ialso was in bad health, and the doctor had ordered me complete restand quiet. We went to a house agent, and told him what we wanted--toget as far away from every one as possible. We did not care how lonelythe place was, or how far from London; the further the better. Thishouse was to let, furnished, and at a low figure. I did not know thatVaux Abbey was in the same county even. It suited us, and we took it."
"I understand," Paul answered. "And now that you are here, are you notafraid of finding it dull?"
She turned away from him, biting her lip. "You do not understand me!You never will. No! I shall not be dull."
"I beg your pardon, Adrea. I----"
"Be quiet!" she interrupted impetuously. "You think that I am toofrivolous to live away from the glare and excitement of the city.Of course! To you I am just the dancing girl, nothing more. Do notcontradict me. I hate your serious manner. I hate your patronage.Don't contradict me, I say. Tell me this. How did you find me out? Whyare you here?"
"I have been out hunting, and I lost my way," Paul answered quietly."I know Major Harcourt, and, thinking he was still living here, Icalled for a rest, and to put my horse up. Your step-mother has beenvery kind and hospitable."
Adrea looked at him curiously. "Indeed! She has been kind to you, hasshe? Who told you that she was my step-mother?"
"I thought I understood you to say so."
"Did I? Perhaps so; I don't remember. So she was kind to you, was she?She has no cause to be."
"No cause to be! Why not?"
She shrugged her shoulders, "Oh, I don't know. I'm talking a little atrandom, I think. You angered me, Monsieur Paul. I am a silly girl, amI not? Do you know that I have thrown up all my engagements until nextseason? I do not think that I shall dance again at all."
"I am glad to hear it."
"But I shall go on the stage."
"There is no necessity for that, is there?"
"Necessity! You mean that I have not to earn my bread. That may betrue, but what would you have me to do? I am not content to be one ofyour English young ladies--to sit down, and learn to cook and darn,and read silly books, until fate is kind enough to send me a husband.Not so. I have ambition; I have an artist's instincts, although I maynot yet be an artist. I must live; I must have light and colour in mylife."
Paul was very grave. He did not understand this new phase inAdrea's development. There was a curious hardness in her tone and arecklessness in her speech which were strange to him. And with itall he felt very helpless. He could not play the part of guardian andreprove her; he scarcely knew how to argue with her. Women and theirways were strange to him; and, besides, Adrea was so different.
He stood up on the hearthrug, toying with his long riding-whip,puzzled and unhappy. Adrea was angry with him, he knew; and though hewas very anxious to set himself right with her, he felt that he wastreading on dangerous ground. He was neither sure of himself nor ofher.
"I am afraid I am a very poor counsellor, Adrea," he said slowly; "butit seems to me that you want women friends. Your life has been toolonely, too devoid of feminine interests."
She laughed--a mirthless, unpleasant little laugh. "Women friends!Good! You say that I have none. It is true. There have been nowomen who have offered me their friendship in this country. You callyourself my guardian. Why do you not find me some?"
"You have made it very difficult," he reminded her.
She threw a scornful glance at him. "Good! That is generous. You meanto say that I have made myself unfit for the friendship of thewomen of your family. I thank you, Monsieur Paul. I think that ourconversation has lasted long enough. Let me pass; I am going to leaveyou."
He moved quickly towards the door, and barred her passage. There wasa dark flush in his cheeks and a gleam in his eyes. Up till then hismanner had been a little deprecating, but at her last words it hadsuddenly changed. He felt that she was unjust, and he was indignant.
"Adrea, you talk like a child," he said sternly. "I made no suchinsinuation as you suggest! You know that I did not! Sit down!"
She obeyed him; the quick change in his manner had startled her, andtaken her at a disadvantage. She felt the force of his superior will,and she yielded to it.
He leaned over her chair, and his voice grew softer. "Adrea, you arevery, very unjust to me," he said. "Do you wish to make me so unhappy,I wonder? For a week I have been thinking of scarcely anything elsesave our last parting, and now if I had not stopped you, almost byforce, you would have left me again in anger."
His tone had grown almost tender, and, as though unconsciously, hishand had rested upon her gleaming coils of dark, braided hair. Shelooked up at him, and in the firelight he could see that her eyes weresoft and dim.
"You have really thought of me?" she said in a low tone. "You havereally been unhappy on my
account?"
"I have!" he admitted. "Very unhappy!"
Something in his tone--in the reluctance with which he made theadmission, angered her. She moved a little further away, and her voicegrew harder.
"Yes; you have been unhappy!" she said. "And why? It was because youwere ashamed to find yourself thinking of me; you, Paul de Vaux, acitizen of the world and a man of culture, thinking of a poor dancinggirl with only her looks to recommend her! That was where the stinglay! That was what reddened your cheek! You men! You are as selfish asdevils!"
She stamped her foot; her voice was shaking with passion. Paul stoodbefore her with a deep flush on his pale cheeks, silent, like a mansuddenly accused. Her words were not altogether true, but they werewinged with, at any rate, the semblance of truth.
She continued--a little more quietly, but with her tone and form stillvibrating.
"What do you fear? What is that you struggle against? I have seenyou when it has been your will to take me--into your arms, to hold myhands. Then I have seen you conquer the desire, and you run away, asthough afraid of it. Why? Do you fear that I shall seek to compromiseyou?--is not that the English word? Do you think that I want you tomarry me? Is it because you dare not, that you--you do not offer totake my hand, even? Tell me now! Why is it?"
"For your own sake, Adrea!"
"For my own sake!" she repeated scornfully. "Do you believe ityourself? Do you really think that it is true? I will tell you whyit is! It is because you have no thought, no imagination. You say toyourself, she is not of my world. I cannot marry her."
There was a silence. A burning coal fell upon the hearth, and flamedup; the glow reached Paul's face. He was very pale, and his eyes weredry and brilliant. Suddenly he moved forward, and clasped Adrea'shands tightly in his.
"But, Adrea! are you sure that you love me?"
A sudden change swept into her face. Her dark eyes grew wonderfullysoft.
"Yes!" she answered, looking up to him with a swift, brilliant smile."I am sure!"
He held out his arms; his resistance was at an end. It had grownweaker and weaker during those last few moments; now it was all over,swept away by a sudden, tumultuous passion, so strange and little akinto the man that it startled even himself. Afar off in his mind he wasconscious of a dim sense of shame as he held her close in his arms andfelt her warm, trembling lips pressed against his. But it was like anecho from a distant land. It seemed to him that a deep, widening gulflay now between him and all that had gone before. His old self wasdead! A new man had sprung up, with a new personality, and the timehad not yet come for regrets.