Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice
... her election
Hath sealed thee for herself.
Adieu, adieu, adieu! Remember me.
Yea, from the table of my memory
I'll wipe away all trivial fond records...
That youth and observation copied there,
And thy commandment all alone shall live
Unmixed with baser matter; yes, by heaven!--_Hamlet_.
|COLONEL Gerald was well aware of Mrs. Crawford's strategical skill, and
he had watched its development and exercise during the afternoon of that
pleasant little luncheon party on the hill. He remembered what she had
said to him so gravely at the garden-party at Government House regarding
the responsibility inseparable from the guardianship of Daireen at the
Cape, and he knew that Mrs. Crawford had in her mind, when she organised
the party to the hill, such precepts as she had previously enunciated.
He had watched and admired her cleverness in arranging the collecting
expeditions, and he felt that her detaining of Mr. Glaston as she had
under some pretext until all the others but Daireen had gone up
the ravine was a master stroke. But at this point Colonel Gerald's
observation ended. His imagination had been much less vivid than either
Mrs. Crawford's or Standish's. He did not attribute any subtle influence
to the setting sun, nor did he conjure up any vision of Mr. Glaston
sitting at the feet of Daireen and uttering words that the magic of the
sunset glories alone could inspire.
The fact was that he knew much better than either Mrs. Crawford or
Standish how his daughter felt towards Mr. Glaston, and he was not in
the least concerned in the result of her observation of the glowing west
by the side of the Art prophet. When Mrs. Crawford looked narrowly into
the girl's face on her descent Colonel Gerald had only laughed; he did
not feel any distressing weight of responsibility on the subject of the
guardianship of his daughter, for he had not given a single thought
to the accident of his daughter's straying up the ravine with Algernon
Glaston, nor was he impressed by his daughter's behaviour on the day
following. They had driven out together to pay some visits, and she had
been even more affectionate to him than usual, and he justified
Mrs. Crawford's accusation of his ignorance and the ignorance of men
generally, by feeling, from this fact, more assured that Daireen had
passed unscathed through the ordeal of sunset and the drawing on of
twilight on the mount.
On the next day to that on which they had paid their visits, however,
Daireen seemed somewhat abstracted in her manner, and when her father
asked her if she would ride with him and Standish to The Flats she, for
the first time, brought forward a plea--the plea of weariness--to be
allowed to remain at home.
Her father looked at her, not narrowly nor with the least glance of
suspicion, only tenderly, as he said:
“Certainly, stay at home if you wish, Dolly. You must not overtax
yourself, or we shall have to get a nurse for you.”
He sat by her side on the chair on the stoep of the Dutch cottage and
put his arm about her. In an instant she had clasped him round the neck
and had hidden her face upon his shoulder in something like hysterical
passion. He laughed and patted her on the back in mock protest at her
treatment. It was some time before she unwound her arms and he got upon
his feet, declaring that he would not submit to such rough handling.
But all the same he saw that her eyes were full of tears; and as he rode
with Standish over the sandy plain made bright with heath, he thought
more than once that there was something strange in her action and still
stranger in her tears.
Standish, however, felt equal to explaining everything that seemed
unaccountable. He felt there could be no doubt that Daireen was wearying
of these rides with him: he was nothing more than a brother--a dull,
wearisome, commonplace brother to her, while such fellows as Glaston,
who had made fame for themselves, having been granted the opportunity
denied to others, were naturally attractive to her. Feeling this,
Standish once more resolved to enter upon that enterprise of work which
he felt to be ennobling. He would no longer linger here in silken-folded
idleness, he would work--work--work--steadfastly, nobly, to win her who
was worth all the labour of a man's life. Yes, he would no longer
remain inactive as he had been, he would--well, he lit another cigar and
trotted up to the side of Colonel Gerald.
But Daireen, after the departure of her father and Standish, continued
sitting upon the chair under the lovely creeping plants that twined
themselves around the lattice of the projecting roof. It was very cool
in the gracious shade while all the world outside was red with heat. The
broad leaves of the plants in the garden were hanging languidly, and the
great black bees plunged about the mighty roses that were bursting into
bloom with the first breath of the southern summer. From the brink of
the little river at the bottom of the avenue of Australian oaks the
chatter of the Hottentot washerwomen came, and across the intervening
space of short tawny grass a Malay fruitman passed, carrying his baskets
slung on each end of a bamboo pole across his shoulders.
She looked out at the scene--so strange to her even after the weeks she
had been at this place; all was strange to her--as the thoughts that
were in her mind. It seemed to her that she had been but one day at this
place, and yet since she had heard the voice of Oswin Markham how great
a space had passed! All the days she had been here were swallowed up in
the interval that had elapsed since she had seen this man--since she had
seen him? Why, there he was before her very eyes, standing by the side
of his horse with the bridle over his arm. There he was watching her
while she had been thinking her thoughts.
She stood amongst the blossoms of the trellis, white and lovely as a
lily in a land of red sun. He felt her beauty to be unutterably gracious
to look upon. He threw his bridle over a branch and walked up to her.
“I have come to say good-bye,” he said as he took her hand.
These were the same words that she had heard from Harwood a few days
before and that had caused her to smile. But now the hand Markham was
not holding was pressed against her heart. Now she knew all. There
was no mystery between them. She knew why her heart became still after
beating tumultuously for a few seconds; and he, though he had not
designed the words with the same object that Harwood had, and though
he spoke them without the same careful observance of their effect, in
another instant had seen what was in the girl's heart.
“To say good-bye?” she repeated mechanically.
“For a time, yes; for a long time it will seem to me--for a month.”
He saw the faint smile that came to her face, and how her lips parted as
a little sigh of relief passed through them.
“For a month?” she said, and now she was speaking in her own voice,
and sitting down. “A month is not a long time to say good-bye for, Mr.
Markham. But I am so sorry that papa is gone out for his ride on The
Flats.”
“I am fortunate in finding even you here, then,” he said.
“Fortunate! Yes,” she said. “But where do you mean to spend this month?”
she continued, feeling that he was now nothing more than a visitor.
“It is very ridiculous--very foolish,” he replied. “I promised, you
know, to act in some entertainment Miss Vincent has been getting up, and
only yesterday her father received orders to proceed to Natal; but as
all the fellows who had promised her to act are in the company of the
Bayonetteers that has also been ordered off, no difference will be
made in her arrangements, only that the performance will take place at
Pietermaritzburg instead of at Cape Town. But she is so unreasonable
as to refuse to release me from my promise, and I am bound to go with
them.”
“It is a compliment to value your services so highly, is it not?”
“I would be glad to sacrifice all the gratification I find from thinking
so for the sake of being released. She is both absurd and unreasonable.”
“So it would certainly strike any one hearing only of this,” said
Daireen. “But it will only be for a month, and you will see the place.”
“I would rather remain seeing this place,” he said. “Seeing that hill
above us.” She flushed as though he had told her in those words that he
was aware of how often she had been looking up to that slope since they
had been there together----
There was a long pause, through which the voices and laughter of the
women at the river-bank were heard.
“Daireen,” said the man, who stood up bareheaded before her. “Daireen,
that hour we sat up there upon that slope has changed all my thoughts
of life. I tell you the life which you restored to me a month ago I
had ceased to regard as a gift. I had come to hope that it would end
speedily. You cannot know how wretched I was.”
“And now?” she said, looking up to him. “And now?”
“Now,” he answered. “Now--what can I tell you? If I were to be cut off
from life and happiness now, I should stand before God and say that I
have had all the happiness that can be joined to one life on earth. I
have had that one hour with you, and no God or man can take it from me:
I have lived that hour, and none can make me unlive it. I told you I
would say no word of love to you then, but I have come to say the word
now. Child, I dared not love you as I was--I had no thought worthy to
be devoted to loving you. God knows how I struggled with all my soul to
keep myself from doing you the injustice of thinking of you; but that
hour at your feet has given me something of your divine nature, and with
that which I have caught from you, I can love you. Daireen, will you
take the love I offer you? It it yours--all yours.”
He was not speaking passionately, but when she looked up and saw his
face haggard with earnestness she was almost frightened--she would
have been frightened if she had not loved him as she now knew she did.
“Speak,” he said, “speak to me--one word.”
“One word?” she repeated. “What one word can I say?”
“Tell me all that is in your heart, Daireen.”
She looked up to him again. “All?” she said with a little smile. “All?
No, I could never tell you all. You know a little of it. That is the
bond between us.”
He turned away and actually took a few steps from her. On his face was
an expression that could not easily have been read. But in an instant he
seemed to recover himself. He took her hand in his.
“My darling,” he said, “the Past has buried its dead. I shall make
myself worthy to think of you--I swear it to you. You shall have a true
man to love.” He was almost fierce in his earnestness, and her hand that
he held was crushed for an instant. Then he looked into her face with
tenderness. “How have you come to answer my love with yours?” he said
almost wonderingly. “What was there in me to make you think of my
existence for a single instant?”
She looked at him. “You were--_you_,” she said, offering him the only
explanation in her power. It had seemed to her easy enough to explain as
she looked at him. Who else was worth loving with this love in all the
world, she thought. He alone was worthy of all her heart.
“My darling, my darling,” he said, “I am unworthy to have a single
thought of you.”
“You are indeed if you continue talking so,” she said with a laugh, for
she felt unutterably happy.
“Then I will not talk so. I will make myself worthy to think of you
by--by--thinking of you. For a month, Daireen,--for a month we can only
think of each other. It is better that I should not see you until the
last tatter of my old self is shred away.”
“It cannot be better that you should go away,” she said. “Why should you
go away just as we are so happy?”
“I must go, Daireen,” he said. “I must go--and now. I would to God I
could stay! but believe me, I cannot, darling; I feel that I must go.”
“Because you made that stupid promise?” she said.
“That promise is nothing. What is such a promise to me now? If I had
never made it I should still go.”
He was looking down at her as he spoke. “Do not ask me to say anything
more. There is nothing more to be said. Will you forget me in a month,
do you think?”
Was it possible that there was a touch of anxiety in the tone of his
question? she thought for an instant. Then she looked into his face and
laughed.
“God bless you, Daireen!” he said tenderly, and there was sadness rather
than passion in his voice.
“God keep you, Daireen! May nothing but happiness ever come to you!”
He held out his hand to her, and she laid her own trustfully in his.
“Do not say good-bye,” she pleaded. “Think that it is only for a
month--less than a month, it must be. You can surely be back in less
than a month.”
“I can,” he replied; “I can, and I will be back within a month, and
then---- God keep you, Daireen, for ever!”
He was holding her hand in his own with all gentleness. His face was
bent down close to hers, but he did not kiss her face, only her hand.
He crushed it to his lips, and then dropped it. She was blinded with
her tears, so that she did not see him hasten away through the avenue of
oaks. She did not even hear his horse's tread, nor could she know that
he had not once turned round to give her a farewell look.
It was some minutes before she seemed to realise that she was alone. She
sprang to her feet and stood looking out over those deathly silent
broad leaves, and those immense aloes, that seemed to be the plants in
a picture of a strange region. She heard the laughter of the Hottentot
women at the river, and the unmusical shriek of a bird in the distance.
She clasped her hands over her head, looking wistfully through the
foliage of the oaks, but she did not utter a word. He was gone, she knew
now, for she felt a loneliness that overwhelmed every other feeling.
She seemed to be in the middle of a bare and joyless land. The splendid
shrubs that branched before her eyes seemed dead, and the silence of the
warm scented air was a terror to her.
He was gone, she knew, and there was nothing left for her but this
loneliness. She went into her room in the cottage and seated herself
upon her little sofa, hiding her face in her hands, and she felt it good
to pray for him--for this man whom she had come to love, she knew not
how. But she knew she loved him so that he was a part of her own life,
and she felt that it would always be so. She could scarcely think what
her life had been before she had seen him. How could she ever have
fancied that she loved her father before this man had taught her what it
was to love? Now she felt how dear beyond all thought her father was to
her. It was not merely love for himself that she had learnt from Oswin
Markham, it was the power of loving truly and perfectly that he had
taught her.
Thus she dreamed until she heard the pleasant voice of her friend Mrs.
Crawford in the hall. Then she rose and wondered if every one would not
notice the change that had passed over her. Was it not written upon her
face? Would not every touch of her hand--every word of her voice, betray
it?
Then she lifted up her head and felt equal to facing even Mrs. Crawford,
and to acknowledging all that she believed the acute observation of that
lady would read from her face as plainly as from the page of a book.
But it seemed that Mrs. Crawford's eyes were heavy this afternoon,
for though she looked into Daireen's face and kissed her cheek
affectionately, she made no accusation.
“I am lucky in finding you all alone, my dear,” she said. “It is so
different ashore from aboard ship. I have not really had one good chat
with you since we landed. George is always in the way, or the major, you
know--ah, you think I should rather say the colonel and Jack, but indeed
I think of your father only as Lieutenant George. And you enjoyed our
little lunch on the hill, I hope? I thought you looked pale when you
came down. Was it not a most charming sunset?”
“It was indeed,” said Daireen, straining her eyes to catch a glimpse
through the window of the slope where the red light had rested.
“I knew you would enjoy it, my dear. Mr. Glaston is such good
company--ah, that is, of course, to a sympathetic mind. And I don't
think I am going too far, Daireen, when I say that I am sure he was in
company with a sympathetic mind the evening before last.”
Mrs. Crawford was smiling as one smiles passing a graceful compliment.
“I think he was,” said Daireen. “Miss Vincent and he always seemed
pleased with each other's society.”
“Miss Vincent?--Lottie Vincent?” cried the lady in a puzzled but
apprehensive way. “What do you mean, Daireen? Lottie Vincent?”
“Why, you know Mr. Glaston and Miss Vincent went away from us, among the
silver leaves, and only returned as we were coming down the hill.”
Mrs. Crawford was speechless for some moments. Then she looked at the
girl, saying, “_We_,--who were _we?_”
“Mr. Markham and myself,” replied Daireen without faltering.
“Ah, indeed,” said the other pleasantly. Then there was a pause before
she added, “That ends my association with Lottie Vincent. The artful,
designing little creature! Daireen, you have no idea what good nature it
required on my part to take any notice of that girl, knowing so much as
I do of her; and this is how she treats me! Never mind; I have done with
her.” Seeing the girl's puzzled glance, Mrs. Crawford began to recollect
that it could not be expected that Daireen should understand the nature
of Lottie's offence; so she added, “I mean, you know, dear, that that
girl is full of spiteful, designing tricks upon every occasion. And
yet she had the effrontery to come to me yesterday to beg of me to take
charge of her while her father would be at Natal. But I was not quite so
weak. Never mind; she leaves tomorrow, thank goodness, and that is the
last I mean to see of her. But about Mr. Markham: I hope you do not
think I had anything to say in the matter of letting you be with him,
Daireen. I did not mean it, indeed.”
“I am sure of it,” said Daireen quietly--so quietly that Mrs. Crawford
began to wonder could it be possible that the girl wished to show that
she had been aware of the plans which had been designed on her behalf.
Before she had made up her mind, however, the horses of Colonel Gerald
and Standish were heard outside, and in a moment afterwards the colonel
entered the room.
“Papa,” said Daireen almost at once, “Mr. Markham rode out to see you
this afternoon.”
“Ah, indeed? I am sorry I missed him,” he said quietly. But Mrs.
Crawford stared at the girl, wondering what was coming.
“He came to say good-bye, papa.”
Mrs. Crawford's heart began to beat again.
“What, is he returning to England?” asked the colonel.
“Oh, no; he is only about to follow Mr. Harwood's example and go up to
Natal.”
“Then he need not have said good-bye, anymore than Harwood,” remarked
the colonel; and his daughter felt it hard to restrain herself from
throwing her arms about his neck.
“Ah,” said Mrs. Crawford, “Miss Lottie has triumphed! This Mr. Markham
will go up in the steamer with her, and will probably act with her in
this theatrical nonsense she is always getting up.”
“He is to act with her certainly,” said Daireen. “Ah! Lottie has made
a success at last,” cried the elder lady. “Mr. Markham will suit her
admirably. They will be engaged before they reach Algoa Bay.”
“My dear Kate, why will you always jump at conclusions?” said the
colonel. “Markham is a fellow of far too much sense to be in the least
degree led by such a girl as Lottie.”
Daireen had hold of her father's arm, and when he had spoken she turned
round and kissed him. But it was not at all unusual for her to kiss him
in this fashion on his return from a ride.