Shortly afterwards they came down to tea, Flora feeling very shy and
conscious. When they had finished, Mr. Earnscliffe said he would go out
to smoke a cigar; and as he left the room, he gave Flora a look which
seemed to say that as soon as possible he would be glad to have some
other company besides that of the cigar. Marie, with delicate tact,
followed his example, declaring that she must go to her room to mend
her dress, which she had torn. Then Flora went and knelt beside her
mother and said, "Mamma, Mr. Earnscliffe has proposed to me."
"What! Mr. Earnscliffe--the woman-hater, as you used to call him!"
"He is not a _universal_ woman-hater now, mamma," replied Flora, with a
little smile of triumph.
"So it seems; but what answer have you given?"
"Mamma! can you ask?"
"Which means, I suppose, that you have accepted him; but, my child,
you know that he is not a believer in religion. If he were to become a
Christian, then, indeed, I should not object to him as a son-in-law;
whilst he remains in his present sentiments, however, you surely will
not think of marrying him."
Flora started up, saying, "Not think of marrying him! Oh! mamma! But he
is virtually a believer in Eternal Truth, if a yearning desire to know
it constitutes one; he could not be the man he is, nor could I worship
him so fully as I do, if error had ever been capable of satisfying him.
From his early youth he has had a craving for truth which has never
yet been appeased; the right means only have been wanting to lead him
into the body of the Church, and to give rest to his soaring spirit.
Then, mamma, do not, do not in pity say that I must not marry him, or
you will break my heart; you will divide it between the two whom I love
best on earth. You know well that no other man ever excited in me even
a passing fancy, and I love Mr. Earnscliffe as only a woman can who has
never loved before. I was _so_ happy an hour ago when he asked me to be
his, and now, mamma, you will not turn my happiness into wretchedness?"
Flora knelt down again, and hid her burning face in her mother's lap.
Mrs. Adair's eyes filled with tears as she wound her arms round
Flora, and said, "I cannot make you wretched, my precious one, when my
only object on earth is your happiness; so I will not _forbid_ you to
marry him--besides, good seldom comes of _forbidding_ marriages--but
I beseech you to pause; take time to see if he will really become a
Christian."
"_I_ cannot oppose him, mamma; you may say anything you like to him
about waiting, and if he consents to wait it is all right. I have no
will but his, and I cannot begin to thwart him now when I ought to
begin to practise that most sweet duty which is to be mine--the duty
of obeying him even in trifles. Besides, his life has been so unhappy
that it would be cruel in _me_ to hesitate about granting whatever
he wishes. Go to him, mamma, and do all you can to persuade him to
wait for whatever time you wish to name, but do not ask me to join in
opposing him--only let me be neutral."
"My poor child, I see yours is a hopeless case; but come with me, and I
will say all that I think right before you."
Mrs. Adair kissed her again and again, then stood up, and putting her
arm round her waist, led her out to meet Mr. Earnscliffe.
A little way down the walk they saw Mr. Earnscliffe leaning against a
tree, and smoking furiously; as soon as he perceived them, he advanced
quickly to meet them, and said, in an eager tone, "You are come to give
me Flora, Mrs. Adair, are you not?"
"I cannot keep her from you, Mr. Earnscliffe; your conquest is
indeed complete, so take her"--and she placed Flora's hand in Mr.
Earnscliffe's. He kissed Flora's forehead warmly, then took Mrs.
Adair's hand, and put it to his lips as he answered, "Oh, that I knew
how to thank you, Mrs. Adair! At least you shall see how I will guard
the precious trust which you now place in my hands."
"Do not thank me, Mr. Earnscliffe; I give her to you not as a free
gift. Let us walk on,--I wish to speak to you very seriously."
He turned, and drawing Flora's arm within his own, he walked between
her and Mrs. Adair, murmuring in a low tone to Flora, "You are mine
now, indeed."
Mrs. Adair then began, "I said that I do not give you Flora as a free
gift, Mr. Earnscliffe, and it is because you are not a believer in
religion. You possess everything else that I could possibly desire for
her in a husband, but what is there that can make up for the want of
faith? It is a fearful risk for a Christian to marry an unbeliever; it
is endangering that faith without which 'it is impossible to please
God;' therefore I urged Flora--as strongly as a parent could urge
without using authority--not to accept you. But, 'tis true, one does
not reason where one loves: she would not listen to anything, and so
implored me not to make her wretched for life by refusing to let her
marry you,--that I could not do so. But I think I have a right to ask
that you should wait a year, and try if you cannot during that time see
the truth of religion."
"A year! Mrs. Adair! If you knew what my life has been, you would not
ask me to wait so long before I may enjoy the only gleam of sunshine
which has been granted to me during ten long lonely years. Give her to
me at once, and she will teach me better than any one else can. I hope
you do not think so badly of me as to imagine that I would care less
to arrive at the knowledge of truth because I had already won her. If
you could feel what it would be to one who has been buffeted about as I
have been from opinion to opinion, to find rest in certain truth, you
would not dread my leaving any means untried in order to obtain it;
and to keep Flora from me can make no difference, as even for her dear
sake I could not profess to believe unless I did so fully. However, it
shall be as Flora wishes. I will abide by her decision whatever it may
cost me; I would serve fourteen years for her, as we are told that
Jacob did for Rachel. Now, Flora, say, must I suffer on through another
year of loneliness and misery? or will you trust me with yourself at
once, and have sufficient confidence in me to believe that I will use
every effort to do and be all that I can to make you happy here and
hereafter?" He let go her hand as if to leave her perfectly free, but
she pressed her face against his arm, as Mrs. Adair said earnestly,
"Flora, think what it is for a Christian to marry an unbeliever! Let
there be this year's trial, and such a sacrifice to the advice of the
Church will merit happiness for you both."
"Yes," added Mr. Earnscliffe, bitterly, "and so needlessly inflict
twelve long months of suffering on him whom you love, and who for ten
years has known nothing else--this, too, merely in obedience to the
advice of your Church. If _it_ gives you leave to marry me at once,
will _you_ refuse me? Flora, is it to be so?"
Poor Flora! what would she not have given not to be called upon to
decide the question, to grant Mr. Earnscliffe's prayer. She knew that
it was an act of weakness to consent to his wishes, but she had not the
almost superhuman courage to inflict such pain as her refusal would
give him, and from her own lips, too! No, she could not do it, and
with her head still pressed against his arm, she murmured, "Mamma, I
told you that I could not oppose Mr. Earnscliffe in anything which was
not in _contradiction_ to our Holy Faith. If he chooses me to marry
him at once I must do it--that is, if I am permitted, and you do not
positively forbid me."
"My own true Flora!" exclaimed Mr. Earnscliffe.
"God help her, poor child!" said Mrs. Adair, with a sigh.
"Do not say God help, but God bless her, Mrs. Adair. Had I your faith I
would say God bless her ten thousand times over for her perfect trust
in the world-wearied man."
Flora glided away from Mr. Earnscliffe's side, and went round to her
mother, to whom she clung fondly, saying, "But you must not be angry
with me, mamma; I could not help it; and _you_ must bless me too, or it
will be a miserable closing to a happy day. You must not make me feel
that my love for him is pain to you--it would be too dreadful if _the_
two strong feelings of my life were to clash."
"They shall not clash, my darling child, and of course I will bless
you. I only want you to be happy; but I fear that you are grasping
_too_ eagerly at happiness--what if it were to be taken from you?"
Flora shuddered from head to foot, and cried, "Oh, don't, don't,
mamma dearest,--let me be happy whilst I may without thinking of dark
possibilities; only bless me and"--in a low tone--"him!"
Mrs. Adair kissed her with overweaning affection, and said, "God bless
you, my own sweet child, and give him whom you love the great boon of
Faith. Take her again, Mr. Earnscliffe, she is indeed yours." Once more
she placed her hand in Mr. Earnscliffe's, who again drew her round to
his side as he replied--
"Mrs. Adair, I can only say, as before, that you shall see how little
cause you will have to regret letting me have her at once. And let it
be all arranged now. When may we be married?"
"We expect to reach Paris in about ten days; there, if you choose; all
the necessary preparations can be made, and the marriage solemnized."
"That will answer so nicely. From Paris I can take a run to England,
and have the settlements--of which you and I, Mrs. Adair, can speak at
our leisure--drawn up."
"There are not any settlements to be made, Edwin," said Flora, shyly,
and for the first time calling him by his Christian name; "you know I
have not any fortune."
"But I must make a provision for all future possibilities. Suppose, for
instance, that you were to be left a widow; you must have a jointure."
"You are as bad as mamma, I declare--you both seem to foresee nothing
but misfortunes for me."
"Heaven forbid!" exclaimed Mrs. Adair. "But we had better go in now; it
is getting late and chilly."
"Chilly, mamma! why I find it quite hot, and it is so beautiful out
here; really one does not know which to admire more, Achensee by sunset
or by moonlight--it is exquisite at both times."
"I daresay _you_ find it so," replied Mrs. Adair; "but I can answer for
it its beauty does not keep _me_ warm. Besides we ought to go in to
Marie--she will feel so alone."
"That's true--how selfish I was to forget poor little Mignonne! she
_will_ feel alone."
They walked back to the hotel, and Mrs. Adair went in; Mr. Earnscliffe
and Flora remained out a few minutes more. He thought he had a right
to get a parting embrace from his betrothed, and Flora was not prude
enough or coquette enough to try to withhold it from him. She could no
more think of being capricious or tantalising towards her lover than
she could of treating him coldly in order to increase his fervour,--as
she had said to her mother, her only thought was how best to please
him. The playfully capricious school of heroine is, we know, the
favourite style in novels, but is not Shakespeare's Juliet a higher
conception of a loving woman, as she says--
"But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true
Than those that have more cunning to be strange?"
Mrs. Adair's voice was heard calling, "Come, Flora." Mr. Earnscliffe
let her go, saying, "I believe, after all, I must learn quickly to love
God, that in perfect faith I may be able to ask Him to bless thee."
They joined Mrs. Adair, who said, holding out her hand to Mr.
Earnscliffe, "Good-night. It is already late, and we start early
to-morrow, so we must rest now."
"So soon, Mrs. Adair? But you have granted me so great a boon to-night
that I cannot object to anything you wish; you have made me your most
grateful and obedient subject for ever. Good-night then," and he kissed
her hand.
They looked round for Flora, but she had disappeared. Mrs. Adair
smiled, and said, "I dare say you have wished her good-night already,
and she probably did not want to have the _private_ good-night spoiled
by a public one, so ran away."
Mr. Earnscliffe smiled too, as he handed Mrs. Adair her candle, and
taking his hat he went out again.
Mrs. Adair was right. Flora had run away--she had gone up to Marie. As
she entered the room the light of the moon showed her Marie sitting in
the window, looking sadly dejected, and going over to her she put her
arms round her, saying, "Poor darling Mignonne!"
Large tears rolled slowly down Marie's cheeks as she said in French,
"Don't think me ill-natured, Flore--don't imagine that I would not do
anything that I could to promote your happiness, but I felt so lonely;
I felt that I was a stranger amongst you. Now that you are with me,
however, and as fond as ever, it is all well, and I am so glad if you
are happy, Flore. But Monsieur Earnscliffe is not _un croyant_, so I
suppose you cannot marry him until he becomes one?"
Flora felt almost angry with Marie. Was there never to be an end of
this question of religion? She subdued the feeling, however, and
answered gently, "Mignonne, if Mr. Barkley were not a _croyant_, as you
say, and if he came to you and told you how for years and years he had
known only suffering, but that now he loved you and that you could
make him forget it all if you would marry him at once, would you--could
you say to him, 'No, suffer on until you become one of the body of the
faithful?' Could you condemn him you love to endure pain which _you_
could relieve? Could you refuse, even for a time, to fulfil the office
for which woman was created--that of consoling and rendering happy one
whom she loves?"
"I know it would be fearfully difficult," replied Marie, looking very
much puzzled; "but if you were told it was right to do so, what then?"
"If the Church _forbade_ me to marry him I would of course submit.
But what misery it would be to make him endure one hour's suffering
from which I might save him. Thank God, I know that there is no
_indispensable_ obstacle to my marrying him--it would be _too_
dreadful."
"Take care, Flore, there may be some _indispensable_ obstacle although
you know it not."
"Mignonne, wish me joy at having won the love of _such_ a man, rather
than suggest obstacles to our happiness; it is a bad omen to hear of
nothing but objections on the night of one's betrothal. God knows
that 'sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,'" and again Flora
shuddered.
"I do wish you joy, Flora, now and for ever, and I will daily pray
that Monsieur Earnscliffe may soon be as firm a believer as you are
yourself."
"Thanks, dear Mignonne, it is so unselfish of you to think about me now
in the midst of your own trial."
"I was not unselfish a few minutes ago, Flore, when I saw you and
Monsieur Earnscliffe together, and his kiss of betrothal imprinted on
your brow made me cry; yet indeed it was not that I envied you, Flore,
but it made me feel how different everything was for me."
"You need not tell me that it was not envy, Mignonne. I verily believe
that you would not know envy if you were to see it, so you might indeed
answer with regard to it as Nelson did when somebody spoke to him of
fear, 'What's fear? I never saw it.'"
"It is very _gentil_ of you to say so, Flore; but I want to talk about
yourself. I want you to tell me all about it,--how long you have
cared for Monsieur Earnscliffe; when you discovered that he liked
you,--everything, _enfin_."
"It will only pain you, Mignonne,--only recall Florence."
"But it will be such sweet pain, Flore; do tell me?"
"Yes, anything you like, darling," answered Flora, who certainly was
just in the mood to-night to do whatever could give anybody pleasure.
So they had a long chat over this prolific subject to young ladies--a
love affair. Then Flora went in to Mrs. Adair, and nearly an hour
passed before she sought her own room.
It was the last on the corridor, and had a balcony looking upon the
lake, so she was tempted to go out and look again on the beautiful
scene without. To any one Achensee would have looked surpassingly
lovely on that clear moonlight night, but to Flora Adair its beauty
spoke with one of those voices "which set the inmost music of our souls
a-going," singing a song which requires no words, yet breathing a
prayer to heaven to be made more worthy of ministering to the object of
our love, and to be enabled to make him happy. At length she muttered
half aloud, "What bliss it was to hear him say that I had done him
good!--my Edwin!"
"Flora!"
She started, but more with pleasure than fear, at the sound of her
own name, as she saw Mr. Earnscliffe come from under the shadow of
the trees and stand facing the balcony as he said, "I saw you come
out, and I have been watching you ever since. It was so delightful to
see you there, and know that you were thinking of me. I even heard a
sound which seemed very like Edwin; but it would have been still more
delightful if I could have been standing up there beside you."
Flora blushed and laughed as she answered, "Well, I must say it was
very wicked of you to be out here eaves-dropping when you ought to have
been in bed; and pray, why are you not there?"
"Might I not ask the same question, fair lady?"
"No, it is quite a different thing for me. A lady may have work and a
thousand other things to keep her up, but a man has no such excuse."
"And does standing on a balcony in the moonlight get a lady's work done
for her?"
"_Such_ a question does not merit any answer. But you will go in now,
will you not? It is really very late."
"Do you _wish_ me to go?"
"I think you ought to go."
"That is not saying whether you _wish_ me to go or not; if you do, I
will go."
"Unfortunately wish and ought are very often at variance, and so they
are now; wish says, 'stay out and enjoy this beautiful night,' and
ought, 'go in and to bed.' But now I must obey _ought_ for I have been
very refractory of late."
"In what?"
"In not listening to its voice, which told me to wait a year before I
gave a certain person of my acquaintance the right to plague me with
his presence at all seasons and hours; so now good-night indeed."
"Stay a moment longer, Flora; do not go yet."
"If I stay a moment it may probably stretch into an hour, and it really
must not be; good-bye again, but only till to-morrow." She retreated
into her room as he kissed hands to her; the window was closed, and he
too went in for good.
We can imagine that, although it was very late when Flora got to bed,
she was up betimes next morning, and took a stroll before breakfast,
and of course it is unnecessary to say that her stroll was not a
solitary one. Again they wandered down that walk which borders the
lake,--that lake which evermore will be mirrored in Flora's memory as
she saw it at eventide with the snowy mountains around it, crimsoned by
the setting sun; then as it lay calm and unruffled in the pale silvery
moonlight; and lastly as on that morning when the sun shone full upon
it, and a light breeze tossed its waters into sparkling, dancing waves.
It will ever be to her
"The greenest spot on memory's waste."
When they got a little way from the hotel, Mr. Earnscliffe said, "Mrs.
Adair was so kind as to say that all the arrangements for our marriage
could be made in Paris, and that she expects to arrive there in about
ten days, but I want _you_ to name the day when you will give yourself
to me 'for better, for worse.' I feel a feverish impatience to have you
in my own keeping--to be certain that nothing on earth can separate us
more."
"What could separate us now, Edwin?"--she pronounced his name shyly;
then laughed and looked up at him, saying, "Do you know that I still
feel half afraid to call you by your Christian name; it sounds so
strange that _I_ should have the right to take such a liberty with so
grand and unapproachable a personage as you are."
"What, child, afraid of your captive! You ought rather to triumph in
your victory over one who made so fierce a resistance; and pray don't
have the least fear of wounding your captive's pride by taking _such_
liberties with him. You can never know how sweet it sounded to him last
night when first he heard you say Edwin."
"Well then, Edwin, I ask again what could separate us now? Surely you
have ceased to doubt me, and know that the chains in which you hold me
cannot be riveted any tighter; the marriage ceremony will only bless
them, and give me its sacred sanction to dwell in the mighty shadow of
your love."
"Ceased to doubt you, dearest! Of course I have. There is no real
love without trust; but I want you to be mine beyond the reach of all
danger. I am like a man who has found some rich treasure in an open
field, and can feel no rest or peace until he can convey it into his
house and revel in its possession; until then he dreads, he knows not
what, but that something may rob him of what is so precious to him. But
does the treasure not wish to be taken home? Would it rather be left
where it is for some time longer?"
"Oh, Edwin!"
"Then, the day, Flora--the day!"
She paused for a moment, and then said in a low tone--
"The happiest day I have ever known until now was the 21st of June,
the great feast of my dear school days, and its happiness consisted
in the power of being nearly all the time with my favourite mistress,
the object of my girlish love; so let my wedding day be the 21st of
June, that day which will give me the unutterable happiness of being
always with the love of my riper years; and thus the 21st of June will
be to me the happiest day of my life in youth as in childhood. Are you
satisfied, Edwin?"
She blushed all over as she spoke, and still more so when his answer
was to fold her in his arms, and murmur--
"My wife, then, in a few weeks hence!" Then he added, letting her
go, but making her lean upon him again, "I will write to England
immediately and desire all the papers to be got ready, so that I shall
only have the signing work to do when I go there from Paris."
"But you will not be long away, Edwin, will you?"
"Trust me, I'll not stay longer than is absolutely necessary; but I
must pay a flying visit to Earnscliffe Court to give orders about its
being fitted up for your reception. Shall I take you to it--my real
home--at once, darling?"
"Please, Edwin. Would it be possible to get there from Paris without
stopping on the way? That would be so pleasant."
"So it would; and I'll think about how we can manage. The old place
will bring up many painful memories, for I have not been there for more
than ten years; but you will exorcise all those ghosts of the past, my
Flora."
"It shall not be my fault if I do not, Edwin."
"Then in September I must whirl you off to Capri. I promised my poor
fisherpeople there to go and see them again as soon as I could; but
I almost doubt if they will know me, for I shall have grown so
young-looking in this new atmosphere of happiness. How much I shall
have to show you on those classic shores!"
"How bright a picture, Edwin: its brightness dazzles me. Oh, that it
may be realised!"
"Why should it not be realised? _Now I_ may ask, why do you doubt it?"
"Because it is too--too bright for me, Edwin. But we must return, or we
shall be late for breakfast, and then mamma will not be pleased."
When they got into the breakfast-room, they found Mrs. Adair and Marie
there. Flora had jestingly told the latter that she must congratulate
Mr. Earnscliffe the first time she met him; but, of course, never meant
that she should take it seriously. However, as Mr. Earnscliffe shook
hands with Marie and wished her good-morning, she said, timidly--
"I wish you much happiness, Mr. Earnscliffe; and it would be very
astonishing if you were not happy when you shall have Flore."
"I quite agree with you, Mademoiselle Mignonne: it _would_ be very
astonishing. But what do you say of Flora? If you were in her place,
would you likewise say that it would be very astonishing if you were
not to be happy?"
"Oh, that is all another thing, Monsieur. I would have fear of you; but
Flora has not."
This speech of Marie's caused a general laugh, which covered the poor
child with confusion; but Flora said gaily--
"Never mind, Mignonne! What you said was perfectly true:--I am not
dreadfully afraid of the formidable Mr. Earnscliffe. I don't suppose
that he will chop me up into mincemeat. But here comes the coffee, and
we must not let it get cold."