CHAPTER V.
THE SEPARATION.
"Mr. Denis Oglethorpe has gone away. He will not come back again untilJuly, when he is to marry Miss Gower."
This was the last entry recorded in the little pink-and-gold journal,and after it came a gap of months.
It was midnight after the memorable day spent in Broome street that therecord was made, and having made it, Theodora North shut the book with astartled feeling that she had shut within its pages an unfinished pageof her life.
It was a strange feeling to have come upon her so suddenly, and therewas a strange kind of desperateness in its startling strength. It wasstartling; it had come upon her without a moment's warning, it seemed,and yet, if she had been conscious of it, there had been warning enough.Warning enough for an older woman--warning enough for Denis Oglethorpe;but it had not seemed warning to a girl of scarcely seventeen years. Butshe understood it now; she had understood it the moment he told her inthat strained, steady voice that he was going away. She had deliveredhis message to Lady Throckmorton, and listened quietly to her wanderingcomments, answering them as best she could. She had waited patientlyuntil Sir Dugald's barbarous eleven o'clock supper was over, and thenshe had gone to her room, stirred the fire, and dropped down upon thehearth-rug to think it over. She thought over it for a long time, herhandsome eyes brooding over the red coals, but after about half an hourshe spoke out aloud to the silence of the room.
"He loved me," she said. "He loved me--me. Poor Priscilla! Ah, poorPriscilla! How sorry I am for you."
She was far more sorry for Priscilla than she was for herself, though itwas Priscilla who had won the lover, and herself who had lost himforever. She cared for him so much more deeply than she realized as yet,that she would rather lose him, knowing he loved her, than win himfeeling uncertain. The glow in her eyes died away in tears, but she wastoo young to realize despair or anything like it. The truth was that thecurious enchantment of the day had not been altogether sad, and atseventeen one does not comprehend that fate can be wholly bitter, orthat some turn in fortune is not in store for the future, howeverhopeless the present may seem.
In this mood the entry was made in the little journal, and having madeit, Theodora North cried a little, hoped a little, and wonderedguilelessly how matters could end with perfect justice to PriscillaGower.
The household seemed rather quiet after the change. Mr. Denis Oglethorpewas a man to be missed under any circumstances--and Theo was not theonly one who missed him. Lady Throckmorton missed him also, but she hadthe solace of her novels and her chocolate, which Theo had not. Novelshad been delightful at Downport, when they were read in hourly fear ofthe tasks that always interfered to prevent any indulgence; but in thosedays, for some reason, they were not as satisfactory as they appearedonce, and so being thrown on her own resources, she succumbed to thevery natural girlish weakness of feeling a sort of fascination forBroome street. It was hard to resist Broome street, knowing that theremust be news to be heard there, and so she gradually fell into the habitof paying visits, more to Miss Elizabeth Gower than to her niece. Theelder Miss Gower was always communicative, and always ready to talkabout her favorites, and to Theo, in her half-puzzled, half-sad frame ofmind, this was a curious consolation. The two spent hours together,sometimes, in the tiny parlor, stumbling over Berlin wool difficulties,and now and then wandering to and fro, conversationally, from Priscillato the octagon-stitch, and from the octagon-stitch to Denis.
Priscilla was prone to reserve, and rarely joined them in their talks;and, besides, she was so often busy, that if she had felt theinclination to do so, she had not time to indulge it. But she was evenmore silent than she had seemed at first, Theo thought, and she was sureher pale, handsome face was paler, though, of course, that was easily tobe accounted for by her lover's absence.
She was a singular girl this Priscilla Gower. The first time Theo eversaw her display an interest in anybody, or in anything, was when shefirst heard Pamela's love-story mentioned.
She was sitting at work near them, when Theo chanced to mention ArthurBrunwalde, and, to her surprise, Priscilla looked up from her deskimmediately.
"He was your sister's lover, was he not?" she said, with an abruptinterest in the subject.
"Yes," answered Theo; "but he died, you know."
Priscilla nodded.
"The week before their wedding-day," she said. "Mr. Oglethorpe told meso."
Theo answered in the affirmative again.
"And poor Pam could not forget him," she added, her usual tenderreverence for poor Pam showing itself in her sorrowing voice. "She wasvery pretty then, and Lady Throckmorton was angry because she would notmarry anybody else; but Pamela never cared for anybody else."
Priscilla got up from her chair, and, coming to the hearth, leanedagainst the low mantel, pen in hand. She looked down on Theodora Northwith a curious expression in her cold, handsome eyes.
"Is your sister like you?" she asked.
Her tone was such a strange one that Theo lifted her face with a faint,startled look.
"No," she replied, almost timidly. "Pamela is fairer than I am, and notso tall. We are not alike at all."
"I was not thinking of that," said Priscilla. "I was wondering if youwere alike in disposition. I think I was wondering most whether youwould be as faithful as Pamela."
"That is a strange question," Miss Elizabeth interposed. "Theodora hasnot been tried."
But Priscilla was looking straight at Theo's downcast eyes.
"But I think Theodora knows," she said, briefly. "Are you like yoursister in that, Theodora? I remember hearing Mr. Oglethorpe say once youwould be."
Theo dropped her ivory crochet-needle, and bent to pick it up, with ablurred vision and nervous fingers.
"I cannot tell," she said. "I am not old enough to know yet."
"You are seventeen," said Priscilla. "I knew at seventeen."
Theo recovered the needle, and reset it in her work to give herselftime, and then she looked up and faced her questioner bravely, in a sortof desperateness.
"If I knew that I loved any one. If I had ever loved any one as Pamelaloved Mr. Brunwalde, I should be like Pamela," she said. "I should neverlove any one else."
From that time she fancied that Priscilla Gower liked her better thanshe had done before; at any rate, she took more notice of her, thoughshe was never effusive, of course.
She talked to her oftener, and seemed to listen while she talked, eventhough she was busy at the time. She said to her once that she wouldlike to know Pamela; and, emboldened by this, Theo ventured to bring oneof Pam's letters to read to her; and when she had read it, told thewhole story of her sister's generosity in a little burst of enthusiasticlove and gratitude that fairly melted tender-hearted old Miss Elizabethto tears, and caused her to confide afterward to Theo the fact that sheherself had felt the influence of the tender passion, in consequence ofthe blandishments of a single gentleman of uncertain age, whoseperformances upon the flute had been the means of winning heraffections, but had unhappily resulted in his contracting a fatal coldwhile serenading on a damp evening.
"He used to play 'In a Cottage near a Wood,' my dear, most beautifully,"said Miss Elizabeth, wild with pathos, "though I regret to say that, aswe did not live in a musical neighborhood, the people next door did notappreciate it; the gentleman of the house even going so far as to saythat he was not sorry when he died, as he did a few weeks after the coldsettled on his dear weak lungs. He was the only lover I ever had, mydear Theodora, and his name was Elderberry, a very singular name, by theway, but he was a very talented man."
When Theo went into the little back bedroom that evening to put on herhat, Priscilla Gower went with her, and, as she stood before thedressing-table buttoning her sacque, she was somewhat puzzled by theexpression on her companion's face. Priscilla had taken up her muff, andwas stroking the white fur, her eyes downcast upon her hand as it movedto and fro, the ring upon its forefinger shining in the gaslight.
"I h
ad a letter from Mr. Oglethorpe yesterday," Priscilla said, at last."He is in Vienna now; he asked if you were well. To-night I shall answerhim. Have you any message to send?"
"I?" said Theo. It seemed to her so strange a thing for Miss PriscillaGower to say, that her pronoun was almost an interjection.
"I thought, perhaps," said Priscilla, quietly, "that a message from youwould gratify him, if you had one to send."
Theo took up her gloves and began to draw them on, a sudden feeling ofpain or discomfort striking her. It was a feeling scarcely definedenough to allow her to decide whether it was real pain or onlydiscomfort.
"I do not think I have any message to send," she replied. "Thank you,Miss Priscilla."
She took her muff then, and went back to the parlor to kiss MissElizabeth, in a strange frame of mind. She was beginning to feel morestrangely concerning Mr. Denis Oglethorpe, and it was Priscilla Gowerwho had stirred her heart. She found Lady Throckmorton waiting at homefor her, to her surprise, in a new mood. She had that evening received aletter from Denis herself, and it had suggested an idea to her.
"I have been thinking, Theo," she said, "that we might take a run overthe Channel ourselves. I have not been in Paris for four years, and Ibelieve the change would do me good. The last time I visited the Spas,my health improved greatly."
It was just like her ladyship to become suddenly possessed of a whim,and to follow its lead on the spur of the moment. She was a woman ofcaprices, and her caprices always ruled the day, as this one did, toTheo's great astonishment. It seemed such a great undertaking toTheodora, this voyage of a few hours; but Lady Throckmorton regarded itas the lightest of matters. To her it was only the giving of a feworders, being uncomfortably sea-sick for a while, and then landing inCalais, with a waiting-woman who understood her business, and aman-servant who was accustomed to travelling. So when Theo broke intoexclamations of pleasure and astonishment, she did not understand eitherher enthusiasm or her surprise.
"What," she said, "you like the idea, do you? Well, I think I have madeup my mind about it. We could go next week, and I dare say we couldreach Vienna before Denis Oglethorpe goes away."
Theo became suddenly silent. She gave vent to no further exclamations.She would almost have been willing to give up the pleasure of thejourney after that. She was learning that it was best for her not to seeDenis Oglethorpe again, and here it seemed that she must see him inspite of herself, even though she was conscientious enough to wish to dowhat was best, not so much because it was best for herself, as becauseit was just to Priscilla Gower. But Lady Throckmorton had come to adecision, and forthwith made her preparations. She even wrote to Vienna,and told Denis that they were coming, herself and Theodora North, and hemust wait and meet them if possible.
It was a great trial to Theodora, this. She was actually girlish andsensitive enough to fancy that Mr. Denis Oglethorpe might imagine theirintention to follow him was some fault of hers, and she wasuncomfortable and nervous accordingly. She hoped he would have leftVienna before the letter reached him; she hoped he might go away inspite of it; she hoped it might never reach him at all. And yet, inspite of this, she experienced an almost passionately keen sense ofdisappointment when, on the day before their departure, LadyThrockmorton received a letter from him regretting his inability tocomply with her request, and announcing his immediate departure for someplace whose name he did not mention. Business had called him away, andLady Throckmorton, of course, knew what such business was, and howimperative its demands were.
"He might have waited," Theo said to herself, with an unexpected,inconsistent feeling of wretchedness. "I would have stayed anywhere tohave seen him only for a minute. He had no need to be so ready to goaway." And then she found herself burning all over, as it were, in hershame at discovering how bold her thoughts had been.
Perhaps this was the first time she really awoke to a full consciousnessof where she had drifted. The current had carried her along so far, andshe had not been to blame, because she had not comprehended her danger;but now it was different. She was awakening, but she was at the edge ofthe cataract, and its ominous sounds had alarmed her.