LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM
Eva Strode was an extremely pretty blonde. She had golden-brown
hair which glistened in the sunshine, hazel eyes somewhat
meditative in expression, and a complexion that Mrs. Merry, in her
odd way, compared to mixed roses and milk. Her nose was delicate
and straight, her mouth charming and sensitive, and if it drooped
a trifle at the corners, she had good cause for so melancholy a
twist. Her figure was so graceful that envious women, less
favoured by Nature, suggested padding: but these same depreciators
could say nothing against her hands and feet, which were
exquisitely formed. Usually Eva, cunning enough to know that her
beauty needed no adornment, dressed in the very plainest fashions.
At the present moment she was arrayed in a pale blue dress of some
coarse material, and wore a large straw hat swathed in azure
tulle. An effective touch of more pronounced colour appeared in
the knot of red ribbon at her throat and the bunch of crimson
roses thrust into her waistband. She looked dainty, well-bred,
charming, and even the malignant female eye would have found
little to blame. But the female eye generally did find fault. Eva
was much too pretty a girl to escape remark.
This vision of loveliness walked demurely down the garden path to
gladden the eyes of a young man lingering at the gate. He, eagerly
expecting the descent of Venus, quickly removed his Panama hat, and
looked at the goddess with admiring eyes, eloquent of unspoken
praise. Eva, feeling, rather than meeting, their fervid gaze, halted
within the barrier and blushed as red as the roses in her belt. Then
she ventured to look at her lover, and smiled a welcome.
Certainly the lover was not unworthy of the lass, so far as looks
went. Allen Hill was as dark as Eva was fair. Indeed, he more
resembled a Spaniard than an Englishman. His oval face, smooth and
clean-shaven save for a small, smartly pointed moustache, was
swarthy, his eyes were wonderfully black and large, and his closely
clipped hair might be compared to the hue of the raven's wing. His
slim figure was clothed in white flannels, so well cut and spotless
that they conveyed a suspicion that the young gentleman was something
of a dandy. He looked more like a poet than a mining engineer.
Yet an engineer he was, and had travelled over the greater part of
the world with his eyes open. These looked languid enough as a rule,
but they could blaze with a fighting light, as his associates in the
lands at the back of Beyond knew. At thirty years of age Allen knew
quite as much as was good for him, and knew also how to utilise his
knowledge. In many lands he had seen fair women, but none had
captured his heart as had this dewy, fragrant English rose.
Six months earlier the two had met at a garden party. Allen came and
saw, and Eva--as women always do--conquered. The engineer's heart,
being tinder, caught fire easily and began to blaze with a fiery
flame not to be extinguished by reason. Eva herself, not being
tame either, rather liked this Sabine courtship, and did not leave
Allen long in doubt as to the way in which she regarded his
audacious advances. The result was that in a few months they became
engaged, and the flower-time of their love came almost as
speedily as did that of Romeo and Juliet. But now, as Eva well knew,
the common sense of the world was about to chill their ardour. She
had this very evening to inform this eager, whole-hearted lover
that her father refused to sanction the engagement. No easy task,
seeing she loved the man with her whole heart and soul.
"My dear, my love," murmured Allen, as the gate closed behind
the girl: and he would have embraced her in the public road, but
that she dexterously evaded his widely spread arms.
"Not here--not here," she whispered hurriedly, and with a fine
colour; "it's too public, you stupid boy."
The stupid boy, cheated of his treat, glared up and down the road,
"I don't see any one," he grumbled.
"Eyes at those windows," said Eva, waving a slim hand towards a
row of thatched cottages, "and tongues also."
"I am not ashamed of our love. I wish the whole world knew of it."
"The whole world probably does," rejoined Miss Strode, a trifle
drily; "if any one saw you with those eyes and that look,
and--oh, you ridiculous boy!" and she shook her finger at him.
"Oh, you coquette. Can't we----"
"On the common we can talk, if that is what you mean," said Eva,
turning away to trip up the dusty road; "the common," she cried
with a backward look which should have drawn the young man after
her at a fine pace.
But Allen lingered for a moment. Deeply in love as he was, he had
his own ideas regarding the management of the fair sex. He knew that
when a woman is sure of her swain she is apt to be exacting, so as
to check his ardour. On the other hand, if the swain hangs back, the
maid comes forward with winsome looks. Hitherto, Allen had been all
passion and surrender. Now he thought he would tease Eva a little,
by not coming immediately to her beck and call. Therefore, while she
skipped ahead--and without looking back, so sure was she that Allen
followed--the young man lighted a cigarette, and when the smoke
perfumed the air, looked everywhere save in the direction he desired
to look. North, south, west looked Allen, but never east, where
could be seen the rising sun of his love. But passion proved to be
stronger than principle, and finally his eyes fastened on the
shadowy figure of Eva pausing on the edge of the common. She was
looking back now, and beckoned with persuasive finger. Allen made a
step forward to follow the siren, then halted. A strange feeling
took possession of him. Allen's mother was Scotch, and having the
impressionable Celtic nature, he was quick to feel the influences of
that unseen world which lies all round, invisible to dull eyes, and
unfelt by material souls. At the moment, in spite of the warmth, he
had what the Scotch call a "grue," and shivered where he stood. At
his back sank the sun red and angry, peering through lines of black
cloud suggestive of prison bars. The scarlet light flooded the
landscape in a sinister manner, and dyed the flitting figure of Eva
in crimson hues. She looked as though bathed in blood, and--as she
was now speeding towards the trysting place--as though she fled from
justice. Also, she ran from the red west into the gloom of the east,
already shadowy with the coming night. Was there no parable in this?
considered Allen, and shivered again.
"Indigestion," thought Allen, striving to throw off that weird feeling
and trying to explain it in the most commonplace way. But he knew well
that he had never in his life suffered from indigestion, and that the
feeling--which had now passed away--was a hint of coming evil. "To me,
I hope," murmured the young man, stepping out briskly, "not to Eva,
poor darling."
When he joined the girl, he was quite his old fervid self, and felt
his premonitions pass away in the charm of the hour. Even the sunset
was less scarlet and more of a rosy tint like his new thoughts. He
threw himself at the feet of his beloved, cast away his cigarette, and
took her hand within his. For the moment Dan Cupid was king.
But was he? Eva did not appear to think so. She allowed her hand to
remain in Allen's warm grip, but he felt no responsive pressure.
The two were seated on a rustic bench within a circle of flowering
gorse. The sward was green and smooth, worthy of the dancing feet
of Titania's elves, and perhaps it might have been one of their
ballrooms the lovers had invaded. In that case it would certainly
prove unhappy ground to them. The fairies do not like mortals,
however loving, who intrude on their privacy. The elves, however,
not yet awakened by the moon, made no sign, and in that still place
no sound could be heard. Overhead was the flushed sky, underfoot
the emerald sward, and there were the lovers supplied with an
admirable stage on which to play their parts. Allen was willing
enough, and looked up adoringly into the face of his Juliet. But
Eva's gaze was fixed on the orange-hued blossom of the gorse with a
far-away look. And when she spoke, it certainly was not of love.
"Allen," she said, in a calm, level voice, "we have known each other
for nearly a year."
"Call it a century," said Allen, kissing her hand. "I love you and
you love me. Why talk of time? Love like ours lives in eternity."
"Hum," said Eva, although the ejaculation was not a pretty one, the
question is, "Will it live at all?"
"Eva!" He raised himself on his elbow and stared; but the girl
continued to speak without looking at him.
"Do you know my history, Allen?" she asked; then without waiting for
his reply, went on in a passionless way: "My father is the last
Strode of Wargrove. The manor house of our race is only a few miles
away, and there the Strodes lived for centuries. My grandfather,
however, was an extravagant man, and lost all the money. When my
father returned from Oxford to take up his position in the world, he
found that his father was dead and that the estate would have to be
sold to pay the debts. In that way, Allen, the manor passed from our
family."
"I have heard something of this, Eva," said the perplexed young
man; "but why waste time in telling me of it now?"
"You will find the time will not be wasted," rejoined Eva,
glancing down with something like pity; "let me go on. My
father, brought up in a luxurious way, took what money there
was left and went to seek work in London. He speculated, and
knowing nothing about speculation he lost everything. Then your
father, who was his friend at school and college, lent him some
thousands, and my father, to better his position, married Lady
Jane Delham, daughter of the Earl of Ipsen. I understand that
the money which she brought with her, was lost also--in
speculation."
"But why did your father speculate so much?" asked Allen.
"His one desire was to buy back the manor," said Eva. "He
has much pride of race, and wants to end his days under
the roof where he was born. But let me go on once more. The
money was lost, and Lord Ipsen died. His title went to a
distant cousin, who did not like my mother, consequently there
was no chance of my father getting more money in that quarter. I
was born under Mrs. Merry's roof; but till the age of seven I
lived with my mother in a small Hampstead cottage. My father
went on speculating. Sometimes he made money, at other times he
lost it; but always, he followed the will-o'-the-wisp of
fortune, hoping to get back his old home. He then went to South
America, and took my mother with him. I was placed at school,
and until I was fifteen I never saw my parents."
"Poor Eva, how lonely you must have been!"
"I _was_ lonely, and yet--having seen so little of my parents I
don't know that I missed them so very much. My father stopped in Peru
till I was fifteen, and my mother with him. He came back poor, but
with sufficient money to speculate again. He therefore placed my
mother and me in Misery Castle."
"Ridiculous name," muttered Allen uneasily.
"A very appropriate name," said Eva with some bitterness, seeing
how unhappy Mrs. Merry is. "She had a bad husband and has a bad son.
My mother was also unhappy. Meeting her again after all those
years, I did my best to comfort her. But her heart was broken."
"Your father?" asked Allen in a low voice.
"Who else?" replied Eva, flushing, and the water came to her eyes.
"Oh! Allen, I do not wish to speak ill, or to think ill, of my
father; but--no," she broke off, suppressing herself. "I cannot
speak from what I have seen, and I judge no one, let alone my
father, on what I have heard. Mrs. Merry thinks badly of my father,
and my poor mother--ah! my poor mother! she said as little as she
could. But her heart was broken, Allen; she died of a broken heart
and a crushed spirit. I lost her five months after my father went
to seek his fortune in South Africa, and since then I have lived
alone with Mrs. Merry."
"Poor Eva!" said Hill tenderly, and repossessed himself of the hand
which she had withdrawn. "But Mrs. Merry is good to you?"
"Very--very good," said Miss Strode with emphasis. "She was my
nurse and foster-mother, Allen. When I was born my father came
here for a time before taking the Hampstead cottage. Well, Allen,
that is my history. My father all these five years has paid Mrs.
Merry for my board and lodging, and has sent home pocket-money
for me. But all that time he has never written me a tender.
letter."
"Not even when his wife died?"
"No. He wrote a few words of sympathy, but not those which a
father should have written to a motherless girl. From what I know
of him, and from what Mrs. Merry says, he is a hard, cold,
self-concentrated man. I dread his coming more than I can tell
you, Allen."
"If he ever does come," said the young man softly.
Eva started and looked down. "What do you mean by that?" she
asked anxiously.
Allen met her gaze frankly and laughed. "Oh, you need not disturb
yourself, my dear," he said with a shrug, "only you know my father
and yours were always chums. Why, I don't know, as my father
is certainly not the kind of man to suit such a one as you
describe Mr. Strode to be. But they were chums at school and
college, and my father knows a lot about yours. When I mentioned
that your father was expected to-night, my father--it was at
breakfast--said that Mr. Strode might not arrive after all. I did
not ask him what he meant."
"Could Mr. Hill have heard from my father?"
"I can't say, and even if he did, I don't know why my father
should suggest that Mr. Strode would not come home. But, Eva, you
are pale."
"I feel pale," she said in a low voice. "Allen, sit beside me. I want
to talk seriously--to tell you a dream."
The young man, nothing loath, promptly seated himself by her side
and slipped a strong, tender arm round her slender waist. Eva's
heart beat stronger when she found herself in such an assured haven.
It seemed as though Allen, noble and firm and loving, would be able
to shelter her from the coming storm. "And the storm will come,"
she said aloud.
"What is that?" asked Hill, not catching her meaning.
"It is my dream," she answered; and then, with her head on his
shoulder, she told about her vision of the night. Allen was inclined
to make light of it.
"You superstitious little darling," he said fondly, "the dream is
easily accounted for. You were thinking of your father, and, being
anxious about his arrival, dreamed what you did."
Eva released herself, rather offended. "I was thinking of my father, I
admit," she said, "but I was not at all anxious. My father has been
all over the world, and in wild parts, so he can look after himself
very well. Besides, I never thought of the Red Deeps. And remember,
Allen, I saw the right hand, gloved."
"That would seem to intimate that the dead man you saw in your dream
was Mr. Strode," said Allen, kissing her; "but it's all nonsense,
Eva."
"You don't think anything will happen?" she demanded, anxious to be
reassured after Mrs. Merry's gloomy talk.
"No, I don't. I have known of lots of dreams quite vivid which
never came true. I'm not a scientific chap," added Allen, laughing,
"or I would be able to prove that this dream is only a reflex of
your waking thoughts. Mr. Strode will arrive all right."
"And then we must part," sighed Eva.
This time it was Hill who started, and his face flushed. "I
don't quite understand."
"You will soon. I told you the history of my life, Allen, so
that I might lead up to this. I wrote to my father at Cape
Town, telling him I loved you, and that Mr. Hill was pleased we
should be engaged."
"My father was delighted," put in Allen quickly.
"So I said. My father never replied to my letter save in sending
a cablegram stating he was coming home in the _Dunoon Castle_.
When he was at Southampton, he wrote, saying I was not to think
of marrying you, and that he would tell me of his plans for my
future when he returned to Wargrove. He decided to remain for a
week in London, and yesterday he wired that he was coming home
to-night. So you see, Allen," Eva rested her head on her lover's
shoulder, "he will part us."
"No!" cried Hill, rising and looking very tall and strong and
determined, "he will never do that. What reason----"
"My father is a man who will refuse to give his reason."
"Not to me," rejoined the other hotly. "Mr. Strode will not dare
to dismiss me in so easy and off-hand a fashion. I love you, Eva,
and I marry you, whatever your father may say. Unless," he caught
her hands as she rose, and stared deep into her eyes, "unless you
leave me."
"No! no! I never will do that, Allen. Come what may, I'll be
true."
Then followed an interlude of kisses, and afterwards the two,
hand in hand, walked across the common on their way to Misery
Castle. It was not seven o'clock, but the twilight was growing
darker. "Do you know what your father's plans are?" asked Allen,
as they stepped out on to the deserted and dusty road.
"No. I know nothing save what I tell you. And my dream----"
"Dearest, put the dream out of your head. If it is any comfort to
you, I'll go to the Red Deeps to-night. Do you think I'll find a
dead body there?" he asked, laughing.
"Not if you go before nine o'clock. The dream was at nine last night."
"But your father will be home at eight, Eva?"
"I hope so," she murmured.
"You are so foolishly superstitious," said Allen, pressing her arm
which was within his own; "you dear little goose, don't you see that
if your father comes to Misery Castle at eight, he can't possibly
be lying dead in the Red Deeps at nine. When did you last hear from
him, Eva?"
"Yesterday morning. He wired that he would be down at eight this
evening."
"Well then, he was alive then, and is stopping in town on
business as you said. He will come to Westhaven by the train
arriving at six-thirty and will drive over."
"The road passes the Red Deeps," insisted Eva.
"How obstinate you are, Eva," said Allen, contracting his forehead;
"I tell you what I'll do to set your mind at rest; you know he is
alive now?"
"Yes, I suppose so. I got that wire yesterday morning."
"Well then, I'll set off to the Red Deeps at once, and will get
there just at eight. I may meet Mr. Strode coming along in the
fly, and if so I'll follow it back to Misery Castle, so as to see
him safely home. If I don't, I'll go to the Red Deeps, and if any
attack is made on him, I'll be there to give him a hand."
"Thank you, Allen. I should be more at ease if you did that."
"Then it shall be done," said Allen, kissing her, "but I feel
that I am encouraging you in superstitious fancies."
"My dream was so vivid."
"Pooh. Indigestion."
"Then Mr. Hill hinted that my father might not return."
"Well then, I'll ask him what he meant, and explain when we meet
again."
"If we ever do meet," sighed Eva, stopping at the gate.
"You will be true to me, Eva?"
"Always--always--always. There--there," she kissed him under the
friendly shelter of the sycamore and ran indoors.
Allen turned on his heel in high spirits, and set out for the
Red Deeps. At first he laughed at Eva's dream and Eva's
superstition. But as he walked on in the gathering darkness, he
felt as though the future also was growing more gloomy. He
recalled his own feelings of the girl's dress dappled with
blood, and of her flying form. Again he felt the "grue," and
cursed himself for an old woman. "I'll find nothing--nothing,"
he said, trying to laugh.
But the shadow of the dream, which was also the shadow of the
future, fell upon him darker than ever.