Theo: A Sprightly Love Story

  CHAPTER VII.

  "PARTING IS SWEET SORROW."

  He did not go away. He could not yet. He stayed in Paris, day after day,even week after week, lingering through a man's very human weakness. Hecould no longer resist the knowledge of the fact that he had lost thebest part of the battle; he had lost it in being compelled toacknowledge the presence of danger by flight; he had lost it completelyafter this by being forced to admit to himself that there was not muchmore to lose, that in spite of his determination, Theodora North hadfilled his whole life and nature as Priscilla Gower had never filled it,and could never fill it, were she his wife for a thousand years. He hadmade a mistake, and discovered having made it too late--that was all;but he blamed himself for having made it; blamed himself for beingblind; blamed himself more than all for having discovered his blindnessand his blunder. Thinking thus, he resolved to go away. Yes, he would goaway! He would marry Priscilla at once, and have it over. He would putan impassable barrier between himself and Theo.

  But, though he reproached himself, and anathematized himself, andresolved to go away, he did not leave Paris. He stayed in the face ofhis remorseful wretchedness. It was a terrible moral condition to be in,but he absolutely gave up, for the time, to the force of circumstances,and floated recklessly with the current.

  If he had loved Theodora North when he left her for Priscilla's sake, heloved her ten thousand fold, when he forbore to leave her for her own.He loved her passionately, blindly, jealously. He envied every man whowon a smile from her, even while his weakness angered him. She hadchanged greatly during their brief separation, but the change grewdeeper after they had once again encountered each other. She was moreconscious of herself, more fearful, less innocently frank. She did notreveal herself to him as she had once done. There is a stage of love inwhich frankness is at once unnatural and impossible, and she had reachedthis stage. Even her letters to Priscilla were not frank after hisreappearance.

  Since the night of their interview after their return from the theatre,he had not referred openly to his reasons for remaining. He had heldhimself to the letter of his bond so far, at least, though he was oftensorely tempted. He visited Lady Throckmorton and Theo as he had visitedthem in London, and was their attendant cavalier upon most occasions,but beyond that he rarely transgressed. It was by no means a pleasantposition for a man in love to occupy. The whole world was between himand his love, it seemed. The most infatuated of Theodora North's adorersdid not fear him, handsome and popular as he was, dangerous rival as hemight have appeared. Lady Throckmorton's world knew the history of theirfavorite, having learned it as society invariably learns such things.Most of them knew that his fate had been decided for years; all of themknew that his stay in Paris could not be a long one. A man whosemarriage is to be celebrated in June has not many months to lose betweenFebruary and May.

  But this did not add to the comfort of Denis Oglethorpe. The rest ofTheo's admirers had a right to speak--he must be silent. The shallowestof them might ask a hearing--he dared not for his dishonored honor'ssake. So even while nearest to her he stood afar off, as it were awitness to the innocent triumph of a girlish popularity that galled himintolerably. He puzzled her often in these days, and out of herbewilderment grew a vague unhappiness.

  And yet, in spite of this, her life grew perilously sweet at times. Onlya few months ago she had dreamed of such bliss as Jane Eyre's andZulick's, wonderingly; but there were brief moments now and then whenshe believed in it faithfully. She was very unselfish in her girlishpassion. She thought of nothing but the wondrous happiness love couldbring to her. She would have given up all her new luxuries and triumphsfor Denis Oglethorpe's sake. She would have gone back to Downport withhim, to the old life; to the mending, and bread-and-butter cutting, andshabby dresses; she would have taken it all up again cheerfully, withoutthinking for one moment that she had made a sacrifice. Downport wouldhave been a paradise with him. She was wonderfully devoid of calculationor worldly wisdom, if she had only been conscious of it. An absurdlyloving, simple, impolitic young person was this Theodora of ours; but I,for one, must confess to feeling some weak sympathy for her veryignorance.

  Among the many of the girl's admirers whom Denis Oglethorpe enviedjealously, perhaps the one most jealously envied, was Victor Maurien. Ajealous man might have feared him with reason under any circumstances,and Denis chafed at his good-fortune miserably. The man who had thehonorable right to success could not fail to torture him.

  "It would be an excellent match for Theo," was Lady Throckmorton'scomplacent comment on the subject of the _attache's_ visit, and thecomment was made to Denis himself. "M. Maurien is the very man to takegood care of her; and besides that, he is, of course, desirable. Girlslike Theo ought to marry young. Marriage is their _forte_; they are toodependent to be left to themselves. Theo is not like Pamela or yourPriscilla Gower, for instance; queenly as Theo looks, she is the verieststrengthless baby on earth. It is a source of wonder to me where she gotthe regal air."

  But, perhaps, Lady Throckmorton did not understand her lovely youngrelative fully. She did not take into consideration a certain mentalripening process which had gone on slowly but surely during the last fewmonths. The time came when Theodora North began to comprehend herpowers, and feel the change in herself sadly. Then it was that sheceased to be frank with Denis Oglethorpe, and began to feel a notfully-defined humiliation and remorse.

  Coming in unexpectedly once, Denis found her sitting all alone, withopen book in her lap, and eyes brooding over the fire. He knew thevolume well enough at sight; it was the half-forgotten, long-condemnedcollection of his youthful poems; and when she saw him, she shut it up,and laid her folded hands upon it, as if she did not wish him torecognize it.

  He was in one of his most unhappy moods, for some reason or other, andso unreasonable was his frame of mind, that the movement, simple as itwas, galled him bitterly.

  "Will you tell me why you did that?" he asked, abruptly.

  Her eyes fell upon the carpet at her feet, but she sat with her handsstill clasped upon the half-concealed book, without answering him.

  "You would not have done it three months ago," he said, almostwrathfully, "and the thing is not more worthless now than it was then,though it was worthless enough. Give it to me, and let me fling it intothe fire."

  She looked up at him all at once, and her eyes were full to the brim.Lady Throckmorton was right in one respect. She was strengthless enoughsometimes. She was worse than strengthless against Denis Oglethorpe.

  "Don't be angry with me," she said, almost humbly. "I don't think youcould be angry with me if you knew how unhappy I am to-day." And thetears that had brimmed upward fell upon the folded hands themselves.

  "Why to-day?" he asked, softening with far more reason than he had beengalled. "What has to-day brought, Theodora?"

  She answered him with a soft little gasp, of a remorseful sob. "It hasbrought M. Maurien," she confessed.

  "And sent him away again?" he added, in a low, unsteady voice.

  She nodded; her simple, pathetic sorrowfulness showing itself even inthe poor little gesture.

  "He has been very fond of me for a long time," she said, tremulously."He says that he loves me. He came to ask me to be his wife. I am verysorry for him."

  "Why?" he asked again, unsteadily.

  "I was obliged to make him unhappy," she answered. "I do not love him."

  "Why?" he repeated yet again; but his voice had sunk into a whisper.

  "Because," she said, trembling all over now--"because I cannot."

  He could not utter another word. There was such danger for him, and hisperilled honor, in her simple tremor and sadness, that he was forced tobe silent.

  It was not safe to follow M. Maurien at least. But, as might beanticipated, their conversation flagged in no slight degree. The heartsof both were so full of one subject that it would have been hard toforce them to another. Theo, upon her low _sultane_, sat mute withdrooped eyes, becoming more silent every moment. Ogletho
rpe, inregarding her beautiful downcast face, forgot himself also. It wasalmost half an hour before he remembered he had not made the visitwithout an object. He had something to say to her--something he had oncesaid to her before. He was going away again, and had come to tell herso. But he recollected himself at last.

  "I must not forget that I had a purpose in coming here to-night," hesaid.

  "A purpose?" she repeated, after him.

  "Yes," he answered. "I found last night, on returning to my hotel, thatthere was a letter awaiting me from London--from my employers, in fact.I must leave Paris to-morrow morning."

  "And will you not come back again?" she added, breathlessly almost. Thenews was so sudden that it made her breathless. This was the lasttime--the very last!

  They might never see each other again in this world, and if they didever chance to meet, Priscilla Gower would be his wife. And yet he wasstanding there now, only a few feet from her, so near that heroutstretched hand would touch him. The full depth of misery in thethought flashed upon her all at once, and drove the blood back to herheart.

  "Why?" she gasped out unconsciously, through the very strength of herpangs. "You are going away forever."

  She scarcely knew that she had uttered the words until she saw howdeathly pale he grew. The beads of moisture started out upon hisforehead, and his nervous hand went up to brush them away.

  "Not forever, I trust," he said, huskily. "Only until--until--"

  "Until July," she ended for him; "until you are married to MissPriscilla Gower."

  She held up one little, trembling, dusky hand, and actually began totell the intervening months off her fingers. She was trying so hard tocalm herself that she did not think what she was doing. She only knewshe must do or say something.

  "How many months will it be?" she said. "It is February now; March,April, May, June, July. Five months--not quite five, perhaps. We may notbe here then. Lady Throckmorton intends to visit the Spas during thesummer."

  From the depths of her heart she was praying that some chance might takethem away from Paris before he returned. It would be his bridaltour--Priscilla's bridal tour. Ah, if some wildly happy dream had onlychanced to make it her bridal tour, and she could have gone with him asPriscilla would, from place to place; near him all the time, loving andtrusting him always, depending on him, obedient to his lightest wishes.Miss Priscilla was far too self-restrained to ever be as foolishly,thrillingly tender and fond, and happy as she, Theodora North, wouldhave been. She could have given a little sob of despair and pain as shethought of it.

  As it was, the hopeless, foolish tears rose up to her large eyes, andmade them liquid and soft; and when they rose, Denis Oglethorpe sawthem. Such beautiful eyes as they were; such ignorant, believing,fawn-like eyes. The eyes alone would have unmanned him--under the tearshe broke down utterly, and so was left without a shadow of control.

  He crossed the hearth with a stride and stood close to her, his wholeface ablaze with the fierceness of his remorseful self-reproach and thepower of his love.

  "Listen to me, Theo," he said. "Let me confess to you; let me tell youthe truth for once. I am a coward and a villain. I was a villain to aska woman I did not truly love to be my wife. I am a coward to shrink fromthe result of my vanity and madness. She is better than I am--this womanwho has promised herself to me; she is stronger, truer, purer; she hasloved me, she has been faithful to me; and God knows I honor and revereher. I am not worthy to kiss the ground her feet have trodden upon. Iwas vain fool enough to think I could make her happy by giving to herall she did not ask for--my life, my work, my strength--not rememberingthat Heaven had given her the sacred right to more. She has held to ourbond for years, and now see how it has ended! I stand here before youto-night, loving you, adoring you, worshipping you, and knowing myself adishonored man, a weak, proved coward, whose truth is lost forever.

  "I do not ask you for a word. I do not say a word further. I will notperjure myself more deeply. I only say this as a farewell confession. Itwill be farewell; we shall never see each other again on earth perhaps;and if we do, an impassable gulf will lie between us. I shall go back toEngland and hasten the marriage if I can; and then, if a whole life'sstrenuous exertions and constant care and tenderness will wipe out thedishonor my weakness has betrayed me into, it shall be wiped out. I donot say one word of love to you, because I dare not. I only say, forgiveme, forget me, and good-by."

  She had listened to him with a terrified light growing in her eyes; butwhen he finished she got up from her seat, shivering from head to foot.

  "Good-by," she said, and let him take her cold, lithe, trembling hands.But the moment he touched them, his suppressed excitement and her ownhalf-comprehended pain seemed to frighten her, and she began to try todraw them from his grasp.

  "Go away, please," she said, with a wild little sob. "I can't bear it. Idon't want to be wicked, and perhaps I have been wicked, too. Miss Goweris better than I am--more worth loving. Oh, try to love her,and--and--only go away now, and let me be alone."

  She ended in an actual little moan. She was shivering and sobbing, hardas she tried to govern herself. And yet, though this man loved her, andwould have given half his life to snatch her to his arms and rain kissesof comfort upon her, he let the cold little hand drop, and in a momentmore had left her.