A Laodicean : A Story of To-day

  II.

  Without knowing it, Somerset was drawing near to a crisis in this softcorrespondence which would speedily put his assertions to the test; butthe knowledge came upon him soon enough for his peace.

  Her next letter, dated March 9th, was the shortest of all he hadreceived, and beyond the portion devoted to the building-works itcontained only the following sentences:--

  'I am almost angry with you, George, for being vexed because I am notmore effusive. Why should the verbal I LOVE YOU be ever uttered betweentwo beings of opposite sex who have eyes to see signs? During the sevenor eight months that we have known each other, you have discoveredmy regard for you, and what more can you desire? Would a reiteratedassertion of passion really do any good? Remember it is a naturalinstinct with us women to retain the power of obliging a man to hope,fear, pray, and beseech as long as we think fit, before we confess to areciprocal affection.

  'I am now going to own to a weakness about which I had intended to keepsilent. It will not perhaps add to your respect for me. My uncle,whom in many ways I like, is displeased with me for keeping up thiscorrespondence so regularly. I am quite perverse enough to ventureto disregard his feelings; but considering the relationship, and hiskindness in other respects, I should prefer not to do so at present.Honestly speaking, I want the courage to resist him in some things. Hesaid to me the other day that he was very much surprised that I did notdepend upon his judgment for my future happiness. Whether that meantmuch or little, I have resolved to communicate with you only bytelegrams for the remainder of the time we are here. Please reply by thesame means only. There, now, don't flush and call me names! It is forthe best, and we want no nonsense, you and I. Dear George, I feel morethan I say, and if I do not speak more plainly, you will understand whatis behind after all I have hinted. I can promise you that you will notlike me less upon knowing me better. Hope ever. I would give up a gooddeal for you. Good-bye!'

  This brought Somerset some cheerfulness and a good deal of gloom. Hesilently reproached her, who was apparently so independent, for lackingindependence in such a vital matter. Perhaps it was mere sex, perhapsit was peculiar to a few, that her independence and courage, likeCleopatra's, failed her occasionally at the last moment.

  One curious impression which had often haunted him now returned withredoubled force. He could not see himself as the husband of Paula Powerin any likely future. He could not imagine her his wife. People were aptto run into mistakes in their presentiments; but though he could pictureher as queening it over him, as avowing her love for him unreservedly,even as compromising herself for him, he could not see her in a state ofdomesticity with him.

  Telegrams being commanded, to the telegraph he repaired, when, after twodays, an immediate wish to communicate with her led him to dismissvague conjecture on the future situation. His first telegram took thefollowing form:--

  'I give up the letter writing. I will part with anything to please youbut yourself. Your comfort with your relative is the first thing to beconsidered: not for the world do I wish you to make divisions withindoors. Yours.'

  Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday passed, and on Saturday a telegram came inreply:--

  'I can fear, grieve at, and complain of nothing, having your nicepromise to consider my comfort always.'

  This was very pretty; but it admitted little. Such short messages werein themselves poor substitutes for letters, but their speed and easyfrequency were good qualities which the letters did not possess. Threedays later he replied:--

  'You do not once say to me "Come." Would such a strange accident as myarrival disturb you much?'

  She replied rather quickly:--

  'I am indisposed to answer you too clearly. Keep your heart strong: 'tisa censorious world.'

  The vagueness there shown made Somerset peremptory, and he could nothelp replying somewhat more impetuously than usual:-- 'Why do you giveme so much cause for anxiety! Why treat me to so much mystification! Sayonce, distinctly, that what I have asked is given.'

  He awaited for the answer, one day, two days, a week; but none came. Itwas now the end of March, and when Somerset walked of an afternoonby the river and pool in the lower part of the grounds, his ear newlygreeted by the small voices of frogs and toads and other creatures whohad been torpid through the winter, he became doubtful and uneasy thatshe alone should be silent in the awakening year.

  He waited through a second week, and there was still no reply. It waspossible that the urgency of his request had tempted her to punish him,and he continued his walks, to, fro, and around, with as close an ear tothe undertones of nature, and as attentive an eye to the charms of hisown art, as the grand passion would allow. Now came the days of battlebetween winter and spring. On these excursions, though spring was to theforward during the daylight, winter would reassert itself at night, andnot unfrequently at other moments. Tepid airs and nipping breezes met onthe confines of sunshine and shade; trembling raindrops that were stillakin to frost crystals dashed themselves from the bushes as he pursuedhis way from town to castle; the birds were like an orchestra waitingfor the signal to strike up, and colour began to enter into the countryround.

  But he gave only a modicum of thought to these proceedings. He ratherthought such things as, 'She can afford to be saucy, and to find asource of blitheness in my love, considering the power that wealth givesher to pick and choose almost where she will.' He was bound to own,however, that one of the charms of her conversation was the completeabsence of the note of the heiress from its accents. That, other thingsequal, her interest would naturally incline to a person bearing the nameof De Stancy, was evident from her avowed predilections. His originalassumption, that she was a personification of the modern spirit, whohad been dropped, like a seed from the bill of a bird, into a chink ofmediaevalism, required some qualification. Romanticism, which willexist in every human breast as long as human nature itself exists, hadasserted itself in her. Veneration for things old, not because of anymerit in them, but because of their long continuance, had developed inher; and her modern spirit was taking to itself wings and flying away.Whether his image was flying with the other was a question which movedhim all the more deeply now that her silence gave him dread of anaffirmative answer.

  For another seven days he stoically left in suspension all forecasts ofhis possibly grim fate in being the employed and not the beloved. Theweek passed: he telegraphed: there was no reply: he had sudden fears forher personal safety and resolved to break her command by writing.

  'STANCY CASTLE, April13.

  'DEAR PAULA,--Are you ill or in trouble? It is impossible in the veryunquiet state you have put me into by your silence that I should abstainfrom writing. Without affectation, you sorely distress me, and I thinkyou would hardly have done it could you know what a degree of anxietyyou cause. Why, Paula, do you not write or send to me? What have I donethat you should treat me like this? Do write, if it is only to reproachme. I am compelled to pass the greater part of the day in this castle,which reminds me constantly of you, and yet eternally lacks yourpresence. I am unfortunate indeed that you have not been able to findhalf-an-hour during the last month to tell me at least that you arealive.

  'You have always been ambiguous, it is true; but I thought I sawencouragement in your eyes; encouragement certainly was in your eyes,and who would not have been deluded by them and have believed themsincere? Yet what tenderness can there be in a heart that can cause mepain so wilfully!

  'There may, of course, be some deliberate scheming on the part of yourrelations to intercept our letters; but I cannot think it. I know thatthe housekeeper has received a letter from your aunt this very week, inwhich she incidentally mentions that all are well, and in the same placeas before. How then can I excuse you?

  'Then write, Paula, or at least telegraph, as you proposed. Otherwise Iam resolved to take your silence as a signal to treat your fair words aswind, and to write to you no more.'