THE SECRET OF HER HEART WAS NEVER TO BE TOLD BY HER TO HIM.
"She must be warned from Father Cameril," said Miss Claghorn.
"Do you suppose _he_ could influence her?" observed Leonard scornfully.
"I shall not forget my duty, Cousin Achsah. Meanwhile, remember that she
is a Claghorn. That means something."
"A great deal; still, there was her father--and Lettie Stanley----"
"I think you are rather hard on her. I believe that Mrs. Stanley is a
good woman."
"Will goodness alone attain heaven?"
Leonard did not answer. Mrs. Stanley's chances of heaven had no great
interest for him.
If he seemed somewhat less solicitous than Miss Claghorn had expected it
was because already his musings were tending in a direction not
theological. "How lovely she is!" This had been his thought on his first
visit to Easthampton, while Natalie's little hand still lay in his in
welcome. He noted, as he watched her afterward, the fitful sadness of
her eyes, and longed to share her unknown sorrow. He saw the ripe red
lips and his bosom glowed, his eyes grew dreamy and his cheeks flushed
pink. He had never, so Paula averred, been as handsome as on that
evening.
He was now a daily visitor, equally welcome at the White House or at
Stormpoint, and the relations between the two establishments were such
that a hope arose within the bosom of Mrs. Joe that she might be able to
report to Mr. Hacket that Miss Claghorn had actually dined with the
Bishop. She ventured to confide to Miss Achsah certain aspirations in
regard to Mark, and her confidence was well received and her plans
applauded. Miss Claghorn thought it fitting that Mark, who was nearer
to her in blood than Leonard, should assume in worldly affairs that
eminence which in higher matters would be Leonard's. It was plain that
when the time came such influence as she possessed would be used in
Mark's behalf, barring some untoward circumstance, which Mrs. Joe was
resolved should not occur. And to prevent it she warned Father Cameril
that his wiles were not to be practised upon Natalie. His prayers, her
own and Paula's, she informed him, must, for the present, suffice. She
was aware that Miss Claghorn had personally taken charge of a matter
which, to do Mrs. Joe justice, she regarded as of supreme importance.
But, St. Perpetua notwithstanding, her opinions were liberal. She
supposed that good people went to heaven, and she was not sternly rigid
in her definition of goodness. As to where bad people went, her ideas
were vague. She did not question Miss Claghorn's Christianity, though
she did not admire its quality, but she knew that on the first attempt
to entice Natalie by the allurements presented by St. Perpetua, the
bonds of amity now existing would be strained. She even went so far as
to assure her sister-in-law that Father Cameril should be "kept in his
place," an assurance which was accepted with the grim rejoinder that it
were well that he be so kept.
Wherefore, it would seem that those exalted aspirations which had warmed
Leonard's bosom, when he had learned from Paula that his French cousin
was to be a resident of Easthampton, would be reawakened, and that he
would gladly attempt their realization. Alas! other, and more alluring
visions, engaged his senses.
To say that he had loved the maid, Berthe, is only to say that which
would be true of any man of similar temperament under similar
circumstances. The kiss of those lips, over which he had so rapturously
lingered, had been his first taste of passion. It may be a sorrowful,
but it is not a surprising, fact, that it should affect him violently
and color his dreams of a sentiment hitherto unknown. He had taken a
long step in a pathway which was to lead him far, though he was as
ignorant of the fact as he was of the fact that, in this respect, his
education had commenced unfortunately.
He was sufficiently a man of the world to be aware that the emotion in
which he had reveled could have no satisfactory result. He would no more
have considered the advisability of marrying Natalie's maid than would
the Marquis de Fleury; and as to any other possibility, such as
perchance might have occupied the mind of the noble Marquis, it never
even entered his thoughts. In his ignorance he was innocent, and had he
been less so, would still have possessed in the moral lessons of his
training a sufficient safeguard. Yet the kiss was to have its results.
Woman's lips would, to him, bear a different aspect from that of
heretofore.
And so the days passed very happily, though Leonard's conscience often
pricked him. Natalie's soul was still in danger.
"Cousin," he said one day--they were sitting among the trees of
Stormpoint, the girl sketching, he watching her--"Do you----?" He
stopped, blushing.
She thought the blush very engaging as she looked up with a smile. Women
rarely looked upon the handsome, innocent face, except smilingly. "Do I
what, Leonard?" she asked.
"Do you ever think of religion? I am a clergyman, Natalie."
"I think a great deal of religion." Her eyes fell before his. He had
touched a secret corner of her heart, and at first she shrank; yet the
touch pleased her; not less so because of his manner which, though he
was secretly ashamed of it, was in his favor. It was not easy for him to
discuss the topic with her, to play the role of teacher and enlarge upon
a theme which was far from his thoughts. The fact lent him the grace of
embarrassment, leading her to believe that the topic was to him a sacred
one. Truly, her soul was burdened. Who more apt to aid her than this
young devotee, who had consecrated a life to that knowledge for which
she yearned?
"You know, Natalie, as a minister----"
"It is your duty to convert me," she interrupted, looking again upward,
and smiling. "That is what Tabitha says."
"Perhaps Tabitha is right. I think I ought."
"Suppose you were to try, what would you have me do?"
What would he have her do? The man within him cried: "I would have you
love me, kiss me, pillow my head upon your breast and let me die there!"
But the man within him was audible only to him. "I would advise you to
read"--he stopped. What he had been about to say was so utterly
incongruous--to advise reading the Westminster Confession, when he
longed to call upon her to read the secrets of his soul!
"I have read enough," she answered. "Lately I have done better"--she
hesitated; he noted the flushed cheek and downcast eyes, the tremulous
tone of her voice. She was affected, he believed, religiously. He
remembered the day on the terrace of Heidelberg, when he had so yearned
over the wandering soul, and again with his love--for he knew it was
love, and always had been--was mingled the higher aspiration to
reconcile the wayward spirit with its Maker. He would have taken her
hand, but he felt tremulously shy. "What have you done?" he asked
gently.
Much had been told her of the sweet relief of confession to a priest.
Here was a confessor, sympathetic, she knew from his tone. Yet she had
no sins to confess (belief in which incongruity demonstrates her state
of darkness).
"I--have prayed," she said at length, and the shy admission seemed to
create a bond between them. Another shared her confidence, and the fact
lightened her spirit. She told herself it was so, and had it been true
the future might have been brighter; but the real secret of her heart
was never to be told by her to him. She looked up, a faint sheen of
tears in her eyes, a smile upon her lips.
"Indeed, you have done better," he answered, the eyes and the smile
summoning that inner man with a power hard to resist. "You need no
guidance from me," he said huskily. "God bless and help you, Natalie!"
He placed a trembling hand upon her head, as was seemly in a priest,
and, turning abruptly, walked away.
"Ah!" she sighed, as she watched him. "There must be something in
religion. Fraeulein Rothe was right, and my dear father was wrong."
Thus Leonard's fears concerning Natalie's salvation were quieted. If she
prayed, it was plain that she was called, and though her ears might
still be deaf, she would hear in the appointed time.
Had he comprehended her utter misapprehension as to orthodox tenets, he
might have been awakened to a stricter sense of duty. But this was his
first heathen, and he is hardly to be blamed that he did not recognize
the extent of her ignorance; or, in his lack of knowledge of humanity,
at all to be blamed that he failed to discern the true nature of her
religious cravings, alluring to her soul because her soul was hungry;
for God, perhaps--for who shall say that God has no part in human
love?--but not for Leonard's God. He had never been informed of the
deceased philosopher's method of training, and would, certainly, have
doubted its success had he known of it. That one could attain years of
discretion in a Christian country, lacking even an elementary knowledge
of Christian doctrine, would have been to Leonard incredible. He could
not remember the time that he had not known that in Adam's fall we all
fell, and that had there been no Atonement there would be no Salvation.
For so much, and similar doctrinal essentials, he accorded Natalie full
credit; and, since she had escaped the taint of Romanism, he felt that
no real obstacle stood in the way of her growth in grace.
Meanwhile, Natalie had no more knowledge that, unless her name had been
from before creation inscribed upon the roll of the elect, she must, for
the glory of God, infallibly be damned, than has a Patagonian. She felt
that outside of humanity there was something on which humanity must
lean, and that it was God. Priests, sisters of charity and sweet girls
like Paula knew about God, and all these had told her that the way to
find out what they knew was to pray; and, in her outer darkness, she
prayed, her prayers the prayers of a heathen; not heard in heaven, if we
are correctly informed as to heaven's willingness to hear. Yet to her
they brought some solace. And in her petitions for enlightenment of her
ignorance, she besought happiness for others, not for Mark Claghorn
only; henceforth she included the name of Leonard.
As for him, he was no longer haunted by troublesome recollections of
Berthe. He thought of her, it is true, and with tenderness, though with
a smile, and accusing himself of youthfulness. He was now sure that he
had never seriously loved her. It had been a _penchant_, a _petit
amour_--the Gallic flavor of the words was not altogether
ungrateful--and the experience would have its uses. These things
happened to some men; happy they who escaped them; a humdrum life was
safer. Sinning was dangerous; to weaklings, fatal; such a one would have
been burned in the ordeal of fire. He had escaped, nor had he any
intention of being again taken unawares. He did not attempt to palliate
the grave wrong of which he had been guilty; he would have resented such
palliation on the part of an apologist. In certain sins there lurks a
tinge of glory, and one has a right, accepting the blame, to appropriate
the glory. But his resolve that the one misstep should be the last, as
it had been the first of his life, was sternly made. He was strong now,
and was glad to admit that much of his strength derived its power from a
sweeter passion glowing in his bosom. His heart swelled with joy that he
could love, feeling only such misgivings as lovers must. It was a sin to
love and long for Berthe whom he wouldn't marry. To transfer to Natalie
the love he had given to Berthe, to hunger and to burn, to feed his eyes
upon the outward form, unheeding the fairer creature within, to revel in
visions and forbidden dreams--this was love, this the lesson his
carefully guarded life had prepared him to learn from wanton lips.
Who, being in love, has not shown himself to the loved one at his best?
If he was unquiet within, he was sufficiently tranquil in manner to
avoid any startling manifestation of ardor. If there was art in the
graceful coyness of his approach, it was unconscious art. To Natalie he
appeared with more alluring gentleness, and surer fascination, than the
most practised veteran of love's battles. She had seen chivalrous
elegance so studied as to charm by its seeming unaffectedness; but the
most successful picture is not reality, and in Leonard she noted the
nature superior to art; nature softened and adorned by demeanor graced
and made tender by the inward tremors of love, as a rugged landscape is
beautified by the mellow tint of a gray day.
Above all, though if this was known in secret it was unconfessed, was
Leonard aided by that which was to be forever hidden in the woman's
heart. There were rumors of Mark's return, rumors which agitated
Natalie, strive as she might to look forward to that return without
emotion. How could she leave the home where love had been so generously
bestowed? Mrs. Joe would no longer be ashamed that she had given her
warning--and Natalie had not been sorry to believe that the lady was
ashamed--for she would know that it had been needed. And Miss
Claghorn--how would she understand it? How Paula? Perhaps she saw, if
but dimly yet, an escape from the perplexities which inspired the
questions.