CHAPTER XIX.
AT STAMFORD COTTAGE.
Not more than three miles from the Falls of Niagara, between them andQueenston, lies the pretty village of Stamford, in which, over sixtyyears ago, Upper Canada's Lieutenant-Governor built the summer homewhich became his favourite place of abode. Set in the midst of a vastnatural park, its appearance corresponded perfectly to Mrs. Jameson'sdescription of an elegant villa, framed in the interminable forests.Here, within sound of the great cataract and, on clear, typicallyCanadian days, within sight of York, thirty miles distant across thelake, Sir Peregrine and Lady Sarah Maitland found a grateful retreatfrom the cares of public life. Not that they loved society less, butsolitude more; especially, to use a Hibernicism, when that solitudewas shared. In the early summer of 1827 Stamford Cottage was filledwith people after its pretty mistress's own heart. If she suspectedone of her guests of being also after the heart of another, it did notendear him the less to her. Why should she not remove from the pathsof her _proteges_ the scarcely perceptible obstacles which preventedthem from being as happily married as herself? But one day shediscovered that the role of match-maker is as arduous as it isalluring, and with this she went at once to her husband's study.
"Dear," she began, "I have become greatly interested in a young man,and I thought it only right that you should know about it before itgoes any further."
"Ah, yes, certainly." The gentleman looked rather abstracted. "And theyoung fellow--is he interested too?"
"Oh, interested is a feeble word. He is desperately in love."
"Then you haven't taken me into your confidence a moment too soon. Hashe declared his passion?"
"No; that's just the trouble. He goes mooning round and mooning round,and never saying a word. And I'm sure," added the lady in an aggrievedtone, "I've given him every opportunity. Yesterday after infinitepains I brought him and Helene together in the arbour, and made somepretext for escaping into the house. What did that--infant--do butfollow me out?"
"Quite natural, if his feelings towards you are such as you havedescribed."
"Towards _me_! You don't imagine I am talking of myself."
"That is what your words would lead one to believe."
"Oh, dear husband, you know perfectly well what I mean. I do thinkthat when a man sets out to be stupid he succeeds a thousand timesbetter than a woman. Surely you have noticed how badly Edward Macleodand Helene DeBerczy are behaving."
"Really, my dear, I have not. I supposed they were behaving remarkablywell."
"In one sense--yes. They are as 'polite as peas.' But why _should_they be polite?"
"Well, it is a custom of the country, I suppose. It's hard to accountfor all the strange things one sees in a foreign land."
"My object is not so much to account for it as to put an end to it.It's ridiculous for two people, who have known each other frombabyhood, to be standing aloof, and looking as if the honour of eachother's acquaintance was the last thing to be desired. And nowMademoiselle Helene wants to go home. She does not complain or repineor importune, but every day, and several times a day, she presents theidea to her mother, with varying degrees of emphasis, and in the toneof one who believes that continual dropping will wear away the stone.Madame DeBerczy as yet remains sweetly obdurate. She is enjoying hervisit, and there seems to be no special good reason why it should beterminated. I particularly wish them to stay, as I want if possible tobring about a better understanding between Helene and Edward. We mustnot let them escape."
In pursuance of the policy suggested by his wife, Sir Peregrine tookoccasion to have a special kindly little chat with Helene, with a viewto overcome her reluctance to remain. Naturally of a reserveddisposition his cordial hospitality found expression in looks andactions rather than words, and these took a greater value from theinfrequency with which they were uttered.
"What is this I hear about your wanting to leave us?" he said,addressing Helene, who, with her mother, was seated on his left atdinner that evening. "Have you really grown very tired of us all?"
The young lady laid down her knife and fork, and the unconsciousmovement, combined with her unusual pallor, gave one the impressionthat she was indeed very tired.
"No, Sir Peregrine, only of myself. I seem to be suffering from aprolonged attack of spring fever. Don't you think home is the bestplace for those who have the bad taste to be in poor health?"
"No doubt of it," replied the gentleman, at which she gave him agrateful glance, thinking she had won an unexpected ally; "but," hecontinued, "I hoped you would feel at home here."
Helene assured him that it was impossible for her to enjoy her visitmore than she was doing. As she made this perfectly sincere statementher melancholy eyes by chance encountered the deep blue ones of herunacknowledged lover. In their depths lurked an expression of absoluterelief. Could he then be glad to hear of their projected departure?She hoped so. It would be very much better for both. "Has it neveroccurred to you," she asked of Sir Peregrine, "that the pleasantestthings in this world are very seldom the best for us?"
"I am sorry to hear you say that," he rejoined pleasantly, "as I wasabout to ask you to go out driving with me to-morrow morning. There isa view near the Falls that I believe you have never yet seen, and thegratification of showing it to you would be to me one of thepleasantest things in the world."
The young lady very willingly admitted that this was an exception tothe rule she had just laid down. Lady Sarah, who thus far had approvedher husband's tactics, now gave him a slightly questioning glance, buthe returned her such a look of self-confident good cheer, that sheknew at once he must be involved in a deep-laid plot of his own. As arule she had small respect for masculine plots, and before another dayhad elapsed her sentiment on the subject was abundantly shared by atleast two of her guests. Mademoiselle DeBerczy had always entertaineda genuine admiration and liking for the Lieutenant-Governor. Hischivalrous courtesy, picturesque appearance, and the exquisiterefinement of his tone and manner pleased her fastidious taste. So itwas with almost a light heart that she made her preparations nextmorning for the drive. But when seated in the carriage, and waitingwith a bright face the appearing of her delinquent attendant, it wasnot pleasant to be told by the gentleman himself that importantdispatches had just arrived by the morning's mail, which demanded hispersonal and immediate attention. "Besides that fact," said HisExcellency, "I had forgotten an appointment I have with the Hon. Mr.Hamilton Merritt to talk over his great project of the Welland Canalbetween the two Lakes, and I cannot disappoint him." He couldn't thinkof asking her to wait until the sun was hot, and the pleasure of thedrive spoiled, added the Lieutenant-Governor. But here was EdwardMacleod, who would no doubt be glad to take his place. At thisannouncement Helene longed to fly to her room, but she could think ofno valid excuse. The young man, sitting with the last _Gazette_ inhand in a rustic chair on the veranda, listened to the summons withsilent horror. He actually turned pale, but like Helene, he couldthink of no possible excuse for evading the turn affairs had taken. Herose mechanically, gave inarticulate utterance to the pleasure he didnot feel, and took his seat beside the unhappy girl, who shrankvisibly into her corner.
"Admirable!" exclaimed Lady Sarah, softly stepping out to witness theunusual phenomenon of Edward and Helene driving away together. "Inever supposed a man _could_ have so much sagacity and foresight. Herehave I been cudgelling my brains to keep those two from playing hideand seek--no, hide and _avoid_--ever since they came, and now youaccomplish it in the easiest and most natural way in the world. Seewhat it is to have a clever husband! How did you happen to think ofthose important dispatches?"
Emphasis would indicate too coarsely the delicate stress laid upon thelast two words. The gentleman looked extremely puzzled.
"_Happen_ to think? I am _obliged_ to think of them."
"Really? What a lucky accident! So you are not the sly designingschemer I supposed. Ah, well, you are the soul of honour, and that isinfinitely better."
Certainly to her mind
in the present case that was what appearanceswould seem to indicate; but the poor wretches who were tending slowlytoward the brink of some indefinable horror, more awful to theirimaginations than the great cataract itself, thought not so much uponthe means by which they were brought into their present painfulposition, as upon the impossibility of escape from it. To the eye ofa casual wayfarer these handsome young people, driving abroad throughthe dewy freshness of the morning, with the long lovely day beforethem, could not be considered objects of pity.
For a while they took refuge in commonplaces, relieved by lapses ofeloquent silence; then as the winding road conducted them by easygradations into greener depths of leafy solitude they lookedinvoluntarily into each other's eyes, and realized that, beneath allthe bitterness and pride and cruel estrangement, their love was thetruest, most unalterable, part of their life.
"Perhaps," said Edward, speaking as though the words were wrung fromhim, "it is better that we should meet once more alone, though it befor the last time."
The girl gave a low murmur of assent. Her eyes were looking straightforward. The solitude was permeated by the deep thunder of the Falls,and it voiced the depth of her despair. "For the last time," she saidwithin herself, "for the last time."
"I have a favour to ask," he continued, "a favour that I verilybelieve a man never yet asked of the woman he loved; and I do loveyou, my darling--there, let me say it once, since I can never say itagain--I love you with all my heart and soul." He bowed his head, andshe could see the blue vein in his temple growing bluer and swellingas he spoke. He had not laid a finger upon her, he could not so muchas lift his eyes up to her face, but a mocking breeze suddenly blew afold of her raiment against his cheek, and he kissed it passionately.Helene held her hands tightly together; they were trembling violently.
"I want to beg of you," he said, still without looking up, "to lookupon me with suspicion, aversion, and distrust; to disbelieve any goodyou may hear of me; to hate me if you can; to treat me as long as youlive with uniform coldness and indifference."
"I understand," she replied with icy brevity, "you think there isdanger of my treating you otherwise."
Now, since the discovery of the locket, and its tell-tale contents,this was precisely the danger that Edward had feared, but he was adiplomatist.
"Have you ever given me the slightest reason to think so?" hedemanded. "At my least approach your natural pride changes tohaughtiness, arrogance, and scorn. But the one thing greater thanyour pride is my love. Ah, you know nothing about it--you cannotimagine its power. Madmen have warned those who were dearest to themto fly from their sight, lest in spite of themselves an irreparableinjury be inflicted. And so I urge you to continue avoiding me, tocast behind not even a single glance of pity, lest in spite of yourpride, in spite of my reason, I should bend all my power to the oneobject of winning you."
This calamity, it may be supposed, was not quite so great and horribleto the mind of the young lady as it was in the excited imagination ofher lover. "I do not understand you," she said quietly. "What is ityou wish to ask of me?"
"Only this: that you will never think of me with the slightest degreeof kindness; that you will drop me from your acquaintance; that youwill forget that I ever existed."
"Very well;" her tones were even quieter than before, and a great dealcolder! "I promise never to think any more of you than I do at thismoment." And all the time she was crying with inward tears, "O,darling, darling, as though I could think any more of you than I donow! As though I could, as though I could!"
"Thank you," said Edward, "you are removing a terrible temptation frommy way, and helping to make me stronger and less ignoble than I am.Let me tell you all about it, Helene. Do you remember that night inthe conservatory last winter, when you treated me so cruelly? Yes, Iown I was a wild animal; but you might have tamed me, and instead youinfuriated me. I went from you to Wanda, the Indian girl with whom Iflirted last summer. She was in civilized garb, in my mother's home,quiet as a bird that has been driven by the storms of winter into aplace of shelter. I too had been tempest-driven, and her warm welcome,her beauty and tenderness, stole away my senses. She soothed myinjured vanity, satisfied my desperate hunger for love, and I livedfor weeks in the belief that we were made for each other. But with thereturn of summer the untamed spirit of her race took possession ofher, and when I saw her with you,--ah, dearest, is there need for meto say more? I cannot marry her; every fibre of my being, everysentiment of my soul, revolts from it; but neither am I such a monsterof iniquity as to try to win any one else, and found my lifelonghappiness upon that poor girl's broken-hearted despair. No, Helene,you have no right to look at me in that way. I never wronged her inthe base brutish sense of the word--never in a way that the spirit ofmy dead mother might not have witnessed--but I have robbed her of herheart, and find too late that I do not want it. I cannot free her fromher suffering, but at least I shall always share it."
And I too, was Helene's internal response. Aloud she suggested that itwas time for them to return. Her indifference was precisely whatEdward had begged for, but now in return for his confidence it chilledhim. She noticed his disappointment, and with a sudden impulse ofsympathy, she laid a tiny gloved hand upon his arm. "Oh, you areright," she breathed, "perfectly right. It is infinitely better tosuffer with her than to be happy and contemptible and forget her.Believe me I shall not be a hindrance to you."
He took in his own the little fluttering hand, and held it in what hebelieved to be a quiet friendly clasp. It was an immense relief tounburden his mind to any one, and her approval was very sweet to aheart that had been torn for weary days and nights by self-accusationand self-contempt. Unconsciously he leaned nearer to her, stillholding the little hand, which its owner did not withdraw, because itwas for "the last time." In the reaction from the severe strain of thedays and weeks gone past they were almost light-hearted. Beforere-entering the village Edward stopped the horse in a leafy covert,where for a few minutes they might be secure from observation.
"It is only to say good-bye, my heart's idol," he explained. "Since Ihave proved myself unworthy even of your liking I must go away from youforever. But our parting must be here in private." He held both herhands now in a tight, strong grasp, and looked into her face withunutterable love. "Ah, heaven," he groaned, "I cannot give you up! Icannot, I cannot!" He bowed his face upon the lilies in her lap, butthe languid bloodless things could not cool the fever in his cheeks.For her life she could not help laying her hand tenderly upon hishead--the young golden head that lay so wearily close to her emptyarms; but she said nothing. A woman's heart is dumb, not because it iscreated so, but because society has decreed that that is the onlyproper thing for it to be. "Helene," he murmured, lifting his headwith a strange dazed look, "I believe I have been delirious all themorning. What possible good could my suffering be to Wanda? I don'tknow what I have said, but I wish you would forget it all. I wish youwould remember nothing except that I love you--love you--_love you_!"
The girl laughed aloud and bitterly. "So that is the length of a man'sremorse! No! You have begged me to despise you, and now I shall begyou not to make it dangerously easy for me to do so."
Her contempt was a tonic. It reminded the young man that he deserved,not only that but his own contempt as well. They drove home withoutexchanging another word.