"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!"