About an hour after breakfast the carriage came to the door, and our
friends set out for Tegernsee, two of them, at least, looking back
fondly on Achensee's secluded shores, and promising themselves to
visit them again when their happiness should be still more complete.
Promises, alas, which might never be fulfilled! Live in the present,
poor lovers--draw from the passing hour all its sweetness; but dream
not of bliss to come! The dark curtain which veils the future may too
soon be drawn aside, and leave you standing face to face with a stern
reality. Wander yet awhile in lovely Tyrol!--feast your eyes on its
green valleys, where graze the peaceful flocks, and the tinkling of
their bells sounds musically through the clear air, and look up to the
mountain's height where
"Mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been,"
or by the foaming torrent's course, and see there the touching symbols
of their faith, raised by Tyrol's sons to cheer and guide the daring
chamois hunter on his lonely way. It is a land that breathes of love
and peace. Linger in it, then, and deem not that Paris, with its false
glitter and turmoil, will crown your happiness. Passions fierce and
angry dwell within that great city's walls and point their arrows
towards you!
Immediately after leaving the village which lies at a little distance
from the lake, the road to Tegernsee enters the narrow pass of Achen,
bordered on one side by a rapid stream, and on the other by high
mountains, which are so thickly wooded that even beneath a mid-day sun
they make the pass look dark and solemn; whilst through breaks in the
mountain's chain glimpses may be caught of smiling valleys, and here
and there a solitary cottage.
In passing by a shrine the driver raised his hat, and Flora said in a
low tone, "Do you condemn that, Edwin?"
"Not in these poor people, because they do not know that it is
superstition."
"But suppose that it is _not_ superstition, as you yourself will admit
when you see the supernatural truth of religion, and God grant that
that may be very soon."
"Amen! How I long for faith in _eternal_ happiness now, Flora."
His expressive eyes and the tone of his voice as it lingered over her
name told all that words did not say of why it was that he so longed
for such faith _now_. And Flora read it all therein with deep delight
as she answered, "How true it is that the more the heart loves, the
more irresistibly is it drawn to Divine faith, for _then_ we dare
not believe that the grave is to be the end of everything. The great
mystery of life and death would be too awful had we not faith and hope.
So you must have them, Edwin."
"I shall have them, Flora, if I can only find what I used to call my
_ignis fatuus_--certainty--to rest them upon. I gave up the search for
it long ago, as I told you, but now I will begin it again in a new
territory and under new auspices, and if it will cease to be an _ignis
fatuus_, and blaze into a steady flame, how grateful I shall be, and
how I shall bless the star which lighted it up for me, and shed over me
the halo of happiness for this world and for the next. But here we are
at the baths of Kreuth."
"It is very pretty," replied Flora, "although it cannot boast of
Achensee's grand wild beauty. What could rival that?" Flora's smile
seemed to say that Achensee had more charms for her even than those
which nature had bestowed upon it.
At Kreuth a rest and hot luncheon--or dinner, as it may be
called--were very acceptable after their drive through the keen
mountain air; and in about two hours they resumed their journey. Some
time before reaching Kreuth they crossed the Tyrolian boundary into
south Bavaria, where the scenery all the way to Tegernsee is very
lovely, although, as Flora said, it cannot boast of great wildness
or grandeur; and Tegernsee itself is a sweet little spot, but wholly
devoid of any of the characteristics of Achensee. The lake is like
an immense sheet of crystal, with pretty little villages and gardens
running down to its very edge, and all around wooded hills and flowery
meadows meet one's gaze, but there is nothing solemn or impressive
about it. The dark blue lake shut in by ramparts of snowy mountains,
the isolated cottages with their carved crosses, the oratory and the
shrine--these all belong to Tyrol. Tegernsee charms the eye with
its smiling prettiness and brightness, but it does not speak to the
imagination as Achensee does.
Our party stopped that evening and the next day at Tegernsee, exploring
its neighbourhood. Walking was the order of the day. Mr. Earnscliffe
managed that they should drive as little as possible; he declared that
it was a shame not to walk when there were such beautiful shady alleys
leading to all the different _points de vue_ and places of resort; or
in other words, walking suited his taste better than driving, because
then he could have Flora more to himself, whilst Mrs. Adair and Marie
preceded or followed them, as the case might be.
Mr. Earnscliffe was an exacting lover, but he could not be too much so
for Flora; she asked nothing better than to be with him, whether he
spoke or was silent, and he was very often silent. On one occasion when
they had walked for some distance in silence, he said, "You are so good
to stay with me, Flora, in whatever mood I may be. Does not my silence
sometimes weary you? I fear I seem but a sorry lover, and you never try
to make me what you would wish me to be; you do not use your privilege
of _fiancée_--that of ruling your lord elect."
"How can you ask if your silence wearies me, Edwin? Do you not know
that silence is often more eloquent than words? It is enough for me
to be with you, and to feel that although you do not speak, you like
to have me at your side, and would miss me were I to go away. And as
to ruling you, it would be no privilege to me,--I want to be ruled.
_Our_ sovereignty consists in voluntarily yielding to one whom we love,
whilst knowing that we have the power to give him happiness. This and
this alone is our true sovereignty."
"Darling! what should I do if anything were to take you from me?" and
he shivered.
Flora had observed that the fonder he appeared to be of her the more
did he seem haunted by a morbid dread of losing her, and she asked,
"What makes you fear that anything should take me from you?"
"Because you are so precious to me, child, and I am so unaccustomed to
happiness that I can scarcely believe in its realisation. I wish we
were married and that I had you safe at Earnscliffe Court." He could
not tell her about Mary Elton and his strange dream;--of the former he
was of course bound in honour not to speak, and of the latter it seemed
so foolish and superstitious even to think; yet it was the remembrance
of these which so often made him thoughtful and silent.
Flora saw that he was in a desponding mood, and in order to distract
him from his gloomy thoughts, she began to question him about
Earnscliffe Court, what the grounds and house were like, until by the
time they reached the term of their walk he was talking gaily about the
fitting up of the rooms for her reception, and as the others joined
them he appealed to Mrs. Adair for advice on the subject.
In such walks and talks time slipped quickly by--time, that tyrant
which ever flees when we would have it stay its course, and drags when
we would give worlds to have it accelerate its speed!... How its wheels
are going now for Mr. Earnscliffe and Flora! They are tearing up the
hill at full speed, but at the summit the drag will be put on, and the
descent will be slow and weary.
The morning but one after their arrival at Tegernsee they drove to
Holzkirchen, and there got into the train for Munich. At the terminus
Mr. Earnscliffe's servant, who had been sent on to engage rooms, met
them with a carriage to take them to the Hotel des Quatre Saisons,
where apartments had been taken for them.
How well does Munich merit its title of the Athens of Germany, with all
its art repositories! Its fine wide streets and gay shops, too, claim
for it a share of admiration from the lovers of handsome modern cities.
A week passes quickly there, and even then we come away without having
really seen all its treasures, as it would indeed take a long time to
exhaust the resources of its different galleries. In the old Pinacothek
there are original paintings of the Spanish, Flemish, French, and
Italian schools. Of the last-named school we see subjects from the
pencil of its very earliest pupils,--Cimabue, Giotto, Sodoma, and Beato
Angelico. And standing before a picture of the _Frate's_ we find Mr.
Earnscliffe and Flora, the day after their arrival in Munich; Mrs.
Adair and Marie had just gone into one of the other rooms.
"Do you like Fra Angelico's pictures?" asked Flora.
"Yes, he is an exquisite painter."
"Yet he was, according to your ideas, an ignorant monk, and a
worshipper of images; nevertheless, I daresay that your enlightened
Landseer could not paint anything to equal his angels! Yet he is
generally considered to be one of your best painters."
"But it's not fair, Flora, to compare them," answered Mr. Earnscliffe,
laughing at the mere idea of such a comparison; "Fra Angelico's and
Landseer's are altogether different styles."
"Of course they are. How could reason and truth, and superstition and
ignorance produce the same style of painter? And it was just that which
struck me;--the difference in elevation of style and subject shown by
the disciple of truth and intellect over the poor superstitious monk!"
Mr. Earnscliffe smiled, but remained silent, and Flora said, "Why do
you not answer, Edwin? Have I annoyed you?"
"Annoyed me? No. I did not speak, because I was thinking over your
words. It _is_ strange, no doubt, that the painters of the Middle Ages
should be of so much higher an order than those of our own time. To be
candid with you, this reflection has often occurred to me before now,
but I turned away from it as one of the many riddles which reason could
not explain--I wish it could be satisfactorily cleared up."
"It _can_ be, Edwin. But we shall lose mamma if we do not go on--she
and Marie have already left this hall...."
It would be too fatiguing to follow them in all their sight-seeing
labours. The only expedition in which we feel inclined to accompany
them is the one which they made to the Bavaria. Mr. Earnscliffe said
that it was at a pleasant walking distance from the town; accordingly
they went on foot, he leading the way with Flora. Both she and Marie
were most curious to see the statue of a woman whose head alone can
contain six persons, and they found it difficult to believe that it
did not look like an overgrown monster. But, on the contrary, when
they reached it they saw only the form of a beautiful woman standing
on a marble pedestal and a lion crouching by her side. Its proportions
are so admirable, that even when close to it they could hardly force
themselves to credit its gigantic size.
The girls said they would like to ascend, just for curiosity. Mr.
Earnscliffe of course went with them. They sat down in the head, then
looked through the eyes for a moment or two, but were glad enough to
come down again, as the heat was excessive. When they returned and got
again into the open air, they saw, much to their astonishment, a lady
and gentleman speaking to Mrs. Adair, and heard her say, "How surprised
they will be to see you here."
The lady turned round, and they saw Helena Elton, looking brighter
and gayer than ever. Surprise was indeed depicted on all their
countenances, but in Mr. Earnscliffe's there was another expression
blended with it which was not so easily read.
"Helena Elton!" exclaimed Flora.
"Helena Elton is no more," she said, laughing and blushing; "allow me
to present my husband, Mr. Caulfield."
When the excitement caused by this unexpected meeting had subsided a
little, Mrs. Adair said, "Had we not better return now? We dine at five
to-day, so as to be ready to go to the Opera, which begins at six."
"We are going to do so also," added Mr. Caulfield.
"Then, Helena, you might as well walk back with us; I want to hear
a great deal of news," said Flora, with a significant glance at Mr.
Caulfield.
"Indeed, Miss Flora, and do you expect me to gratify your curiosity?
But come, I will indulge you if you will promise to gratify mine in
return."
"If I had anything to tell which could gratify it, I might promise, but
one can't make promises if there is nothing to be told; however, we can
make terms as we go," answered Flora, lightly.
"Very well, so be it. We drove here, but we can send away the carriage,
can't we, Harry?"
"To be sure we can, Cricket; I dare say the driver will not be
inconsolable for the loss of our company if he gets our money. But,
Mrs. Adair, can you not wait for a few moments to let us run up Dame
Bavaria,--we want to be able to say that we have been in a woman's
head."
"Yes, ten minutes cannot make any great difference."
"Oh, we shall do it in less time than that."
As soon as they had got into the statue, Mr. Earnscliffe drew Flora
aside, and said, "Do not tell her of our engagement. I will give you my
reasons for not wishing it to be told to her, at another time."
"It is enough to know your wishes in order to follow them, Edwin; you
can tell me the reason when you like, or not at all, if you choose. But
I must caution mamma and Marie."
He pressed her hand as she turned away from him and went to her mother.
Shortly afterwards, Mr. and Mrs. Caulfield came down again, and they
all set out to walk home, Mr. Caulfield having first discharged their
carriage.
Helena and Flora walked together, as prearranged, and the latter
thought the best way to keep from admitting her engagement was to begin
by telling as much as she chose, and so prevent too much questioning;
therefore, she said at once, "When you talked of my gratifying your
curiosity, Helena, I suppose you meant to allude to Mr. Earnscliffe's
being with us, but, alas! for your gratification, there is very little
to tell. We met him by chance in Venice."
"Chance, Flora?" interrupted Helena.
"Yes, quite so; we did not even know that he was in Venice. We happened
then to speak of crossing the Tyrol. Mamma said we were going in the
diligence,--as we were three unprotected females she did not like to
take a carriage and trust altogether to the driver of it,--when Mr.
Earnscliffe good-naturedly offered to escort us over the pass. That is
all I have to tell you."
"Come, Flora, you are not so verdant as to imagine that a Grand Mogul
like Mr. Earnscliffe, who, as a general rule, dislikes ladies, would
offer to dance attendance upon three of them out of mere good nature;
it is quite evident that he would never have done so unless one of the
three had pinioned him with Cupid's fiery darts. Admit, Flora, that he
is in love with you."
"Well, Helena, your reasoning _is_ worthy of a woman, for it is utterly
guiltless of all logic. Because a gentleman offers to see us across
a mountain pass, you jump to the conclusion that he must be in love
with _me_. If even it were--which, of course, it is not--a necessary
consequence of his travelling with us that he should be in love with
one of the party, why, in the name of all that's wonderful, fix upon
me? Marie is much prettier. Why, then, not upon her?"
"Prettier--yes; but you might as well talk of his being in love with me
as with her. Why, he considers _us_ merely good, gay little fools, that
is, if he could for a moment bring down his great mind to think about
us at all. Of course, _you_ are the 'favourite;' and if he does not
propose it will be very dishonourable."
"How can you be so absurd, Helena?" said Flora, getting a little
excited, yet feeling that too warm a defence might only betray her.
"It would be too bad if a gentleman could not do a good-natured act
to three ladies without being expected to propose for one of them, and
surely an avowed woman-hater like Mr. Earnscliffe could do it most
safely without giving cause for any such expectations. But never mind
_him_,--I want to hear about yourself. I need scarcely say that I knew
there was a flirtation between you and Mr. Caulfield in Rome; but I had
no idea that Mrs. Elton would approve of him as a suitor for your hand."
"Approve of him, indeed! What an idea! Poor Harry is not enough of a
big-wig or rich enough to take my lady mother's fancy. Our history is
quite a romance."
"Then please to let me hear it, or a _résumé_ of it, at least, for we
have not much time to spare."
"Well, then, to begin at the beginning. Early in the winter Harry and
I became great friends, and at first mamma seemed to be amused with
him, and used to laugh at our incessant skirmishing. Then that day at
Frascati--you remember it, Flora?--she suddenly got up the idea that
I flirted _too_ much with him. She was particularly annoyed about it
because that horribly slow Mr. Mainwaring was there. He is as rich as
Croesus, and mamma wanted me to marry him. But the evening crowned
the day. I was in wild spirits, and danced all night with Harry, and
finally sat for a full half-hour alone with him in that recess where I
had the pleasure of seeing you with Mr. Lyne. You can guess what tale
it was that I listened to there, and what my answer was. In an evil
moment mamma passed by and gave me a look of thunder. I saw that a
storm was gathering, and hoping to avert it, I told Harry that I would
not dance with him any more that night, and that he must not attempt
to speak to mamma until I gave him leave to do so, for I dreaded that
she would 'cut up rough.' He didn't seem to like it. However, he was
obliged to give me the required promise. No sooner were all the people
gone than I got the most tremendous scolding that a poor mortal could
have. I was peremptorily told that Mr. Caulfield was not a fit match
for me, and that, therefore, the way in which I flirted with him was
disgraceful, and, in fine, that there must be an end to it. I was in
despair; but thought that I had better let the squall blow over and
try to get Mary on my side. Mary behaved like an angel. She saw that
I really loved Harry, and so she did all she could to let us meet as
often as possible, and in the meantime endeavoured to influence mamma
in his favour. Thus things went on as long as we remained in Rome, and
for some time after we got to Naples. At last, one evening--by the
way, Mr. Earnscliffe dined with us on that day--a bouquet girl came
to the door ostensibly to sell bouquets, but in reality to bring me a
note from Harry. The note was to tell me that he had just received a
letter announcing his sister's approaching marriage with an officer
about to start for India immediately, and whose wedding must therefore
take place at once; but Harry declared that he would either take me
with him as his bride, or never see me again. His note, I assure you,
Flora, was quite in the _romance_ style, calling upon me to choose
between the man whom I professed to love, and a cruel, unreasonable
parent. He concluded by saying that he _had_ waited months in the
hope of her relenting, and that he would wait no longer, but on the
next day would formally ask mamma for my hand, and if she refused her
consent, it would remain with me to decide between them. There was no
possibility of stopping him, for I could not write then, and afterwards
it would have been too late; but, to say the truth, I did not want
to do so. I was getting heartily tired of manoeuvring to see him,
and to keep mamma from forbidding me to speak to him, so I was almost
glad that it had come to a crisis. The next day up came the hero, and
he was shown into the drawing-room, where Mary and I were sitting in
fear and trembling at the coming attack on the citadel. Harry looked
awfully determined and braced up to the fighting point as he came in,
and walking up to Mary, he said, 'Miss Elton, you are probably aware of
what my object in coming here to-day is, and I hope I may count upon
your seconding it.' Mary bowed, and then he asked, 'Can I see Mrs.
Elton?' 'I will go and tell her that you are here,' answered Mary.
Harry had only time to say a few words to me, when mamma came down,
followed by Mary. Then commenced the battle in earnest. Everything
that mamma said was bitter and cutting, and I, of course, was crying
like a fool. At last she concluded by saying, 'Mr. Caulfield, I told
Helena long ago that I disapproved of her flirtation, as I would
never give my consent to her marriage with you, and I tell it to you
now. My consent she shall never have. She has braved my displeasure
hitherto, and I suppose she will continue to do so. I have not the
power to prevent her from becoming your wife if she chooses to do
it in spite of my prohibition; but if she does I will not give her
any fortune whatsoever.' The brightest of smiles played over Harry's
face as he replied, eagerly, 'As for the fortune, Mrs. Elton, it is
a matter of indifference to me. If Helena can be satisfied to marry
a comparatively poor man it's all right. I shall only regret her not
having a fortune for her own sake. What do you say, Helena?' My answer
was to go and place my hand in his, and he put his arm round my waist,
saying, 'It's all right, you see, Mrs. Elton.' I saw mamma's eyes fill
with tears, and pushing Harry away, I went and threw myself at her
feet, and begged of her only to say that she would not be angry with
me if I married him. I said that I did not want any money, but that I
could not bear her displeasure. Mary came to the rescue, and joined her
prayers to mine, and we wrung from mamma a sort of half consent, which
Harry gladly seized on, and rushed off to the English chaplain to get
everything arranged as quickly as possible. A fortnight after we were
privately married. Mary was my only bridesmaid, and Mr. Lyne Harry's
bridesman. Poor Mary looked heart-broken as she wished me good-bye, and
I was so sorry to leave her; but I could not help wanting to go with
Harry"--(Flora smiled)--"We travelled post-haste to Rome, intending
to sail from Civita Vecchia; but at his banker's in Rome Harry found
a letter from his sister, informing him that her marriage was put off
for a few weeks, as her future husband's regiment was not to sail so
soon as they had expected. How Harry laughed when he got that letter,
declaring that if his sister had been playing into his hands, she could
not have helped him better to his wife, and that he was sure if he had
not taken mamma by storm and carried me off in a whirlwind, he would
never have got me at all. We had now time to spare, and I proposed that
we should come here, as we had neither of us seen Munich, and go home
by the Rhine. There's the end of my story; but, tell me, wasn't it
grand of Harry not to care about my fortune when, naturally, he must
have expected that I would have a large one? And mamma kept to it. She
did not give me anything. But Harry is such a darling, Flora, you can't
think!"
"Take care, Helena; you are yet too young a wife to sing your husband's
praises.... Wait a little."
"As if Harry would change, indeed!"
"Well, I don't at all mean to say that he will; I only said that you
must wait a while before you gain the right of singing his praises.
But here we are at your hotel, for I see them all standing at the door
waiting for us."
"Yes, we are staying at the Bayrischer Hof,--and you?"
"At the Vier Jahreszeiten; but we shall meet at the theatre."
"Oh yes, we must spend this evening together, for I heard Mrs. Adair
say that you were going away to-morrow; and I am not at all satisfied
about Mr. Earnscliffe; I must try and pick his brains--or rather it
is his heart that I want to pick--to-night at the theatre. As you are
so close to it, suppose we call for you, and then we can all go in
together."
"Yes, that will be the better plan; then please to be with us at a few
minutes before six."
As they came up Mr. Caulfield said, looking admiringly at Helena's
bright laughing face, "What a chatterbox my wife is, is she not, Miss
Adair?"
"Not worse than her husband, at all events," answered Helena, taking
his arm and pinching it. She then wished her friends good-bye, until
six, promising for herself and Harry to be punctual.
We may imagine what success Helena had that evening in gleaning
information from Mr. Earnscliffe about the state of his heart; and the
next morning the Adair party were in the train _en route_ for Paris
before the Caulfields had finished their rather late breakfast.