Worn out by the passion of his grief, he dropped on the seat at her feet, and hid his face in his hands.
She put her arm round his neck, but spoke no word. Words at such moments are like gnats round a wound – they can only irritate, they cannot heal.
They sat thus motionless for some minutes, then he rose, calmer but very white and worn.
"This is weak of me, worse than weak, inconsiderate, Lil," he said, with a wan smile. "You have so much of your own sorrows that you should be spared the recital of other people's woes. I will go now. Good-bye, Lil!"
"Oh, what can I do for you?" she murmured. "My dear! My dear!"
He stooped and kissed her, and looked down at her pale face so full of sorrow for his sorrow, and his heart grew calmer and more resigned.
"Nothing, Lil," he said.
"Yes," she said in a low voice; "if I can do nothing else I can pray for you, Ley!"
He smiled and stroked her hair.
"You are an angel, Lil," he said, softly. "If all women were made like you, there would be no sin and little sorrow in the world. In the future that lies black and drear before me I shall think of you. Yes, pray for me, Lil. Good-bye!" and he kissed her again.
She held him to the last, then when he had gone she buried her face in her hands and cried. But suddenly she sat up and touched the bell that stood near her.
"Crying will do no good for my Ley," she murmured. "I must do more than that. Oh, if I could be strong and hale like other girls for an hour, one short hour! But I will, I must do something! I cannot see him suffer so and do nothing!"
Her one special maid, a girl who had been with her since her childhood and knew every mood and change in her, came in and hurried to her side at the sight of her tear-dimmed eyes.
"Oh, Lady Lilian, what is the matter? You have been crying!"
"A little, Jeanette," she said, smiling through her tears. "I am in great trouble – Lord Leycester is in great trouble – "
"I have just met him, my lady, looking so ill and worried."
"Yes, Jeanette; he is in great trouble, and I want to help him," and then, with fear and trembling, she announced an intention she had suddenly formed. Jeanette was aghast for a time, but at last she yielded, and hurried away to make the preparation for the execution of her beloved mistress's wishes.
CHAPTER XXXII
As the door closed on Lord Leycester, Stella's heart seemed to leave her bosom; it was as if all hope had fled with him, and as if her doom was irrevocably fixed. For a moment she did not realize that she was leaning upon Jasper Adelstone for support, but when her numbed senses woke to a capacity for fresh pain, and she felt his hand touching hers, she shrank away from him with a shudder, and summoning all her presence of mind, turned to him calmly:
"You have worked your will," she said, in a low voice. "What remains? What other commands have you to lay upon me?"
He winced, and the color struggled to his pale face.
"In the future," he said, in a low voice, "it will be your place to command, mine to obey those commands, willingly, cheerfully."
Stella waved her hand with weary impatience.
"I am in your hands," she said; "what am I to do now? where am I to go? No! I know that; I will go back – " then she stopped, and a look of pain and fear came upon her beautiful face as she thought of the alarm with which her uncle would discover her flight, and the explanation which he would demand. "How can I go back? What can I say?"
"I have thought of that," he said, in a low voice. "I had foreseen the difficulty, and I have provided against it. I know that what I have done may only increase your anger, but I did it for the best."
"What have you done?" asked Stella.
"I have telegraphed to your uncle to say that I had tempted you and Frank to run up to town, and that I would bring you back this evening. I knew he would not be anxious then, seeing that Frank was with you."
Stella stared at the firm, self-reliant face. He had provided for every contingency, had foreseen everything, and had evidently felt so assured of the success of his plans. She could not refrain a slight shudder as she realized what sort of a man this was who held her in his power. She felt that it were as useless to attempt to escape him as it would be for a bird to flutter against the bars of its cage.
"Have I done wrong?" he asked, standing beside her, his head bent, his whole attitude one of deference and humility.
She shook her head.
"No, I suppose not. It does not matter if he can be spared pain."
"He shall be," he responded. "I will do all in my power to render both him and you and Frank happy."
She looked at him with a pitiful smile.
"Happy!"
"Yes, happy!" he repeated, with low but intense emphasis. "Remember, that, though I have won you by force, I love you; that I would die for you, yes, die for you, if need were – "
She rose – she had sunk into a chair – and put her hand to her brow.
"Let me go now, please," she said, wearily.
He put on his hat, but stopped her with a gesture.
"Frank," he said.
She knew what he meant, and inclined her head.
Jasper went to the door and called him by name, and he entered. Jasper laid his hand on his shoulder and kept it there firmly, notwithstanding the boy's endeavor to shrink away from him.
"Frank," he said, in his low, quiet voice, "I want to say a few words to you. Let me preface them with the statement that what I am going to say your cousin Stella fully endorses."
Frank, looking at Stella – he had not taken his eyes from her face – said:
"Is that so, Stella?"
She inclined her head.
"I want you," said Jasper – "we want you, we ask you, my dear Frank, to erase from your memory all that has occurred here this morning, and before that; remember only that your cousin Stella is my affianced wife. I am aware that the suddenness of the thing causes you surprise, as is only natural; but get over that surprise, and learn, as soon as possible, to recognize it as an inevitable fact. Of all that has passed between – between" – he hesitated at the hated name, and drew a little breath – "Lord Leycester and Stella, nothing remains – nothing! We will forget all that, will we not, Stella?"
She made the same gesture.
"And we ask you to do the same."
"But!" exclaimed Frank, white with suppressed excitement and indignation.
Jasper glanced at Stella, almost with an air of command, and Stella went over to Frank and laying her hand on his arm, bent and kissed him.
"It must be so, dear," she said in a low tremulous whisper. "Do not ask me why, but believe it. It is as he has said, inevitable. Every word from you in the shape of a question will add to my mis – will only pain me. Do not speak, dear, for my sake!"
He looked from one to the other, then he took her hand with a curious expression in his face.
"I will not ask," he said. "I will be silent for your sake."
She pressed his hand and let it drop.
"Come!" said Jasper with a smile, "that is the right way to take it, my dear Frank. Now let me say a word for myself, it is this, that you do not possess a truer friend and one more willing and anxious to serve you than Jasper Adelstone. Is that not so?" and he looked at Stella.
"Yes," she breathed.
Frank stood with his eyes cast down; he raised them for a moment and looked Jasper full in the face, then lowered them again.
"And now," said Jasper, with a smile and in a lighter voice, "you must take some refreshment," and he went to the cupboard and brought out some wine. Frank turned away, but Stella, nerving and forcing herself, took the glass he extended to her and put the edge to her lips.
Jasper seemed satisfied, though he saw that she had not touched a drop.
"Let me see," he said, taking out his watch, "there is a train back in half an hour. Shall we catch that?"
"Are you coming back with us?" said Frank in a quiet voice.
Jasper nodded.
"If you will allow me, my dear Frank," he said, calmly. "I won't keep you a moment."
He rang the bell as he spoke and Scrivell entered.
There was no sign of any kind either in his face or his bearing that he was conscious of anything out of the ordinary having happened; he came in with his young old face and colorless eyes, and stood waiting patiently. Jasper handed him some letters, and gave him instructions in a business tone, then asked if the brougham was waiting.
"Yes, sir," said Scrivell.
"Come then!" said Jasper, and Scrivell held the door open and bowed with the deepest respect as they passed out.
It was so sudden a change from the storm of passion that had just passed over them all, that Frank and Stella felt bewildered and benumbed, which was exactly as Jasper wished them to feel.
His manner was deferential and humble but fully self-possessed; he put Stella in the brougham, and insisted quietly upon Frank sitting beside her, he himself taking the front seat.
Stella shrank back into the corner, and lowered her veil. Frank sat staring out of the window, and avoiding even a glance at the face opposite him. Jasper made no attempt to break the silence, but sat, his eyes fixed on the passers-by, the calm, inscrutable expression on his face never faltering, though a triumph ran through his veins.
The train was waiting, and he put them into a carriage, lowered the window and drew the curtain for Stella, and at the last moment bought a bunch of flowers at the refreshment-bar, and laid it beside her. Then he got in and unfolded a newspaper and looked through it.
Scarcely a word was spoken during the whole journey; it was an express train, but it seemed ages to Stella before it drew up at Wyndward Station.
Jasper helped her to alight, she just touching his hand with her gloved fingers, and they walked across the meadow. As they came in sight of the Hall, shining whitely in the evening sunlight, Stella raised her eyes and looked at it, and a cold hand seemed to grasp her heart. As if he knew what was passing in her mind, Jasper took her sunshade and put it up.
"The sun is still hot," he said; and he held it so as to shut the hall from her sight.
They came to the lane – to the spot where Stella had stood up on the bank and looked down at the upturned eyes which she had learned to love; she breathed a silent prayer that she might never see them again.
Jasper opened the gate, and a smile began to form on his lips.
"Prepare for a scolding," he said, lightly. "You must put all the blame on me."
But there was no scolding; the old man was seated in his arm-chair, and eyed them with mild surprise and anxiety.
"Stella," he said, "where have you been? We have been very anxious. How pale and tired you look!"
Jasper almost stepped before her to screen her.
"It is all my fault, my dear sir," he said. "Lay the blame on me. I ought to have known better, I admit, but I met the young people on their morning stroll and tempted them to take a run to town. It was done on the spur of the moment. You must forgive us!"
Mr. Etheridge looked from one to the other and patted Stella's arm.
"You must ask Mrs. Penfold," he said, with a smile. "She will be difficult to appease, I'm afraid. We have been very anxious. It was – well, unlike you, Stella."
"I hope I shall be able to appease Mrs. Penfold," said Jasper. "I want her good word; I know she has some influence with you, sir."
He paused, and the old man looked up, struck by some significance in his tone.
Jasper stood looking down at him with a little smile of pleading interrogation.
"I have come as a suppliant for your forgiveness on more accounts than one," he continued. "I have dared to ask Stella to be my wife, sir."
Stella started, but still looked out beyond him at the green hills and the water glowing in the sunset. Mr. Etheridge put his hand on her head and turned her face.
"Stella!"
"You wish to know what she has answered, sir," said Jasper to spare Stella making any reply. "With a joy I cannot express, I am able to say that she has answered 'Yes.'"
"Is that so, my dear?" murmured the old man.
Stella's head drooped.
"This – this – surprises me!" he said in a low voice. "But if it is so, if you love him, my dear, I will not say 'No.' Heaven bless you, Stella!" and his hand rested upon her head.
There was silence for a moment, then he started and held out his other hand to Jasper.
"You are a fortunate man, Jasper," he said. "I hope, I trust you will make her happy!"
Jasper's small eyes glistened.
"I will answer for it with my life," he said.
CHAPTER XXXIII
"Oh, my love, my love!"
She stood with her arms outstretched toward the white walls of the Hall, the moon shining over meadow and river, the night jay creaking in silence.
In all her anguish and misery, in all her passionate longing and sorrow, these were the only words that her lips could frame. All was still in the house behind her. Frank, worn out with excitement, had gone to his own room. The old man sat smoking, dreaming and thinking of his little girl's betrothal. Jasper had gone – he was too wise to prolong the strain which he knew she was enduring – and she had crept out into the little garden and stood leaning against the gate, her eyes fixed on the great house, which at that moment perhaps held him – Leycester – who, a few short hours ago, was hers, and in a low voice the cry broke from her lips:
"Oh, my love, my love!"
It was a benediction, a farewell, a prayer, in one; all her soul seemed melting and flowing toward him in the wail. All the intense longing of her passionate nature to fly to his protecting arms and tell him all – to tell him that she still loved him as the flowers love the sun, the hart the waterbrook – was expressed in the words; then, as she remembered he could not hear them – that it would avail nothing if he could hear them, her face dropped into her hands, and she shut out the Hall from her hot, burning eyes. She had not yet shed one tear; if she could but have wept, the awful tightening round her brain, the burning fire in her eyes, would have been assuaged; but she could not weep, she was held in thrall, benumbed by the calamity that had befallen her.
She, who was to have been Leycester's bride, was now the betrothed of – Jasper Adelstone.
And yet, as she stood there, alone in her misery, she knew that were it to be done again she would do it. To keep shame and disgrace from the old man who loved her as a father – the boy who loved her as a brother, she would have laid down her life; but this was more than life. The sacrifice demanded of her, and which she had yielded, was worse than death.
Death! She looked up at the blue vault of heaven with aching, longing eyes. If she could but die – die there and then, before Jasper could lay his hand upon her! If she could but die, so that he, Leycester, might come and see her lying cold and white, but still his – his! He would know then that she loved him, that without him she would not accept even life. He would look down at her with the odd light in his dark eyes, perhaps stoop and kiss her – and now he would never kiss her again!
How often have blind mortals clamored to the gods for this one boon which they will not yield. When sorrow comes, the cry goes up – "Give us death!" but the gods turn a deaf ear to the prayer. "Live," they say, "the cup is not yet drained; the task is not yet done."
And she was young, she thought, with a sigh, "so young, and so strong," she might live for – for years! Oh, the long, dreary vista of years that stretched before her, down which she would drag with tired feet as Jasper Adelstone's wife. No thought of appealing to him, to his mercy, ever occurred to her; she had learned to know him, during that short hour in London, so well as to know that any such appeal would be useless. The sphinx rearing its immovable head above the dreary desert could not be more steadfast, more unyielding than this man who held her in his grasp.
"No," she murmured, "I have taken up this burden; I must carry it to the end. Would to Heaven that end were nigh."
She turned with dragging step toward the house, scarcely hearing, utterly heedless of the sound of approaching wheels; even when they stopped outside the gate she did not notice; but suddenly a voice cried, in low and tremulous accents, "Stella!" and she turned, with her hand pressed to her bosom. She knew the voice, and it went to her heart like a knife. It was not his, but so like, so like.
She turned and started, for there, standing in the moonlight, leaning on the arm of her maid, was Lady Lilian.
The two stood for a moment regarding each other in silence, then Stella came nearer.
Lady Lilian held out her hand, and Stella came and took her by her arm.
"Wait for me in the lane, Jeanette," said Lady Lilian. "You will let me lean on you, Stella," she added, softly.
Stella took her and led her to a seat, and the two sat in silence. Stella with her eyes on the ground, Lilian with hers fixed on the pale, lovely face – more lovely even than when she had last seen it, flushed with happiness and love's anticipation. A pang shot through the tender heart of the sick girl as she noted the dark rings under the beautiful eyes, the tightly drawn lips, the wan, weary face.
"Stella," she murmured, and put her arm round her.
Stella turned her face; it was almost hard in her effort at self-control.
"Lady Lilian – "
"Lilian – only Lilian."
"You have come here – so late!"
"Yes, I have come, Stella," she murmured, and the tears sprang to her eyes, drawn thither by the sound of the other voice, so sad and so hopeless. "I could not rest, dear. You would have come to me, Stella, if I had – if it had happened to me!"
Stella's lips moved.
"Perhaps."
Lilian took her hand – hot and feverish and restless.
"Stella, you must not be angry with me – "
A wan smile flickered on the pale face.
"Angry! Look at me. There is nothing that could happen to-night that would rouse me to anger."
"Oh, my dear, my dear! you frighten me!"
Stella looked at her with awful calm.
"Do I?" Then her voice dropped. "I am almost frightened at myself. Why have you come?" she asked almost sharply.
"Because I thought you needed me – some one, some girl young like yourself. Do not send me away, Stella. You will hear what I have come to say?"
"Yes, I will hear," said Stella, wearily, "though no words that can be spoken will help me, none."
"Stella, I – I have heard – "
Stella looked at her, and her lips quivered.
"You have seen him – he has told you?" she breathed.
Lilian bent her head.
"Yes, dear, I have seen him. Oh, Stella, if you had seen him as I have done! – if you had heard him speak! His voice – "
Stella put up her hand.
"Don't! – Spare me!" she uttered, hoarsely.
"But why – why should it be?" murmured Lilian, clinging to her hand. "Why, Stella, you cannot guess how he loves you? There never was love so deep, so pure, so true as his!"
A faint flush broke over the pale face.
"I know it," she breathed. Then, with a sharp, almost fierce energy, "Have you come to tell me that – me who know him so well? Was it worth while? Do you think I do not know what I have lost?"
"You promised not to be angry with me, Stella."
"Forgive me – I – I scarcely know what I am saying! You did not come for that; what then?"
"To hear from your own lips, Stella, the reason for this. Bear with me, dear! Remember that I am his sister, that I love him with a love only second to yours! That all my life I have loved him, and that my heart is breaking at the sight of his unhappiness. I have come to tell you this – to plead for him – to plead with you for yourself! Do not turn a deaf ear, a cold heart to me, Stella! Do not, do not!" and she clung to the hot hands, and looked up at the white face with tearful, imploring eyes.
"You say you know him; you may do so; but not so well as I, his sister. I know every turn of his nature – am I not of the same flesh and blood? Stella, he is not like other men – quick to change and forget. He will never bend and turn as other men. Stella, you will break his heart!"
Stella turned on her like some tortured animal driven to bay.
"Do I not know it! Is it not this knowledge that is breaking my heart – that has already broken it?" she retorted wildly. "Do you think I am sorrowing for myself alone? Do you think me so mean, so selfish? Listen, Lady Lilian, if – if this separation were to bring him happiness I could have borne it with a smile. If you could come to me and say, 'He will forget you and his love in a week – a month – a year!' I would welcome you as one who brings me consolation and hope. Who am I that I should think of myself alone? – I, the miserable, insignificant girl whom he condescended to bless with his love! I am – nothing! Nothing save what his love made me. If my life could have purchased his happiness I would have given it. Lady Lilian you do not know me – "
The tempest of her passion overawed the other weak and trembling girl.
"You love him so!" she murmured.
Stella looked at her with a smile.
"I love him," she said, slowly. "I will never say it again, never! I say it to you that you may know and understand how deep and wide is the gulf which stretches between us – so wide that it can never, never be overpassed."
"No, no, you shall not say it."
Stella smiled bitterly.
"I think I know why you have come, Lilian. You think this a mere lovers' quarrel, that a word will set straight. Quarrel! How little you know either him or me. There never could have been a quarrel between us – one cannot quarrel with oneself! His word, his wish were law to me. If he had said 'do this,' I should have done it – if he had said 'go thither,' I should have gone; but once he laid his command on me, and I obeyed. There is nothing I would not have done – nothing, if he had bidden me. I know it now – I know now that I was like a reed in his hands now that I have lost him."
Lilian put her hand upon her lips.
"You shall not say it!" she murmured, hoarsely. "Nothing can part you – nothing can stand against such love! You are right. I never knew what it meant until to-night. Stella, you cannot mean to send him away – you will not let anything save death come between you?"
Stella looked at her with aching eyes that, unlike Lilian's, were dry and tearless.
"Death!" she said, "there are things worse than death – "
"Stella!"
"Words one cannot mention, lest the winds should catch them up and spread them far and wide. Not even death could have divided us more effectually than we are divided."
Lilian shrank back appalled.
"What is it you say?" she breathed. "Stella, look at me! You will, you must tell me what you mean."
Stella did look at her, with a look that was awful in its calm despair.
"I was silent when he bade me speak; do you think that I can open my lips to you?"
Lilian hid her face in her hand, tremblingly.
"Oh, what is it? – what is it?" she murmured.
There was silence for a moment, then Stella laid her hand on Lilian's arm.
"Listen," she said, solemnly. "I will tell you this much, that you may understand how hopeless is the task which you have undertaken. If – if I were to yield, if I were to say to him 'Come back! I am yours, take me!' you —you, who plead so that my heart aches at your words – would, in the coming time, when the storm broke and the cost of my yielding had to be paid – you would be the first to say that I had done wrong, weakly, selfishly. You would be the first, because you are a woman, and know that it is a woman's duty to sacrifice herself for those she loves! Have I made it plain?"
Lilian raised her head and looked at her, and her face went white.
"Is – is that true?"
"It is so true, that if I were to tell you what separates us, you would go without a word; no! you would utter that word in a prayer that I might remain as firm and unyielding as I am!"
So utterly hopeless were the words, the voice, that they smote on the gentle heart with the force of conviction. She was silent for a moment, then, with a sob, she held out her arms.
"Oh, my dear, my dear! Stella, Stella!" she sobbed.
Stella looked at her for a moment, then she bent and kissed her.
"Do not cry," she murmured, no tear in her own eye. "I can not cry, I feel as if I shall never shed another tear! Go now go!" and she put her arm round her.
Lilian rose trembling, and leant upon her, looking up into her face.
"My poor Stella!" she murmured. "He – he called you noble; I know now what he meant! I think I understand – I am not sure, even now; but I think, and – and, yes, I will say it, I feel that you are right. But, oh, my dear, my dear!"
"Hush! hush!" breathed Stella, painfully. "Do not pity me – "
"Pity! It is a poor, a miserable word between us. I love, I honor you, Stella!" and she put her arm round Stella's neck. "Kiss me, dear, once!"
Stella bent and kissed her.
"Once – and for the last time," she said, in a low voice. "Henceforth we must be strangers."
"Not that, Stella; that is impossible, knowing what we do!"
"Yes, it must be," was the low, calm response. "I could not bear it. There must be nothing to remind me of – him," and her lips quivered.
Lilian's head drooped.
"Oh, my poor boy!" she moaned. "Stella," she said, in a pleading whisper, "give me one word to comfort him – one word?"
Stella turned her eyes upon her; they had reached the gate, the carriage was in sight.
"There is no word that I can send," she said, almost inaudibly. "No word but this – that nothing he can do can save us, that any effort will but add to my misery, and that I pray we may never meet again."
"I cannot tell him that! Not that, Stella!"
"It is the best wish I can have," said Stella, "I do wish it – for myself, and for him. I pray that we never meet again."
Lilian clung to her to the last, even when she had entered the carriage, and to the last there was no tear in the dark sorrowful eyes. White and weary she stood, looking out into the night, worn out and exhausted by the struggle and the storm of pent-up emotion, but fixed and immovable as only a woman can be when she has resolved on self-sacrifice.
A few minutes later, Lilian stood on the threshold of Leycester's room. She had knocked twice, scarcely daring to use her voice, but at last she spoke his name, and he opened the door.
"Lilian!" he said, and he took her in his arms.
"Shut the door," she breathed.
Then she sank on to his breast and looked up at him, all her love and devotion in her sorrowful eyes.
"Oh, my poor darling," she murmured.
He started and drew her to the light.
"What is it! Where have you been?" he asked, and there was a faint sound of hope in his voice, a faint light in his haggard face, as she whispered —
"I have seen her!"
"Seen her – Stella?"
And his voice quivered on the name.
"Yes. Oh, Ley! Ley!"
His face blanched.
"Well!" he said, hoarsely.
"Ley, my poor Ley! there is no hope."
His grasp tightened on her arm.
"No hope!" he echoed wearily.
She shook her head.
"Ley, I do not wonder at you loving her! She is the type of all that is beautiful and noble – "
"You – you torture me!" he said, brokenly.
"So good and true and noble," she continued, sobbing; "and because she is all this and more you must learn to bear it, Ley!"
He smiled bitterly.
"You must bear it, Ley; even as she bears it – "
"Tell me what it is," he broke in, hoarsely. "Give me something tangible to grapple with, and – well, then talk to me of bearing it!"
"I cannot – she cannot," she replied, earnestly, solemnly. "Even to me, heart to heart, she could not open her lips. Ley! Fate is against you – you and her. There is no hope, no hope! I feel it; I who would not have believed it, did not believe it even from you! There is no hope, Ley!"
He let her sink into a chair and stood beside her, a look on his face that was not good to see.
"Is there not?" he said, in a low voice. "You have appealed to her. There is still one other to appeal to; I shall seek him."
She looked up, not with alarm but with solemn conviction.
"Do not," she said, "unless you wish to add to her sorrow! No, Ley, if you strike at him, the blow must reach her."
"She told you that?"
"Yes; by word, by look. No, Ley, there is no hope there. You cannot reach him except through her, and you will spare her that. 'Tell him,' she said, 'that any effort he makes will add to my misery. Tell him that I pray we may never meet again.'" She paused a moment. "Ley, I know no more of the cause than you, but I know this, that she is right."
He stood looking down at her, his face working, then at last he answered:
"You are a brave girl, Lil," he said. "You must go now; even you cannot help me to bear this. 'Pray that we may never meet again,' and this was to have been our marriage day!"