He looked,
Ocean and earth, the solid frame of earth
And ocean's liquid mass beneath him lay
In gladness and deep joy. The clouds were touched,
And in their silent faces did he read
Unutterable love....
No thanks he breathed, he proffered no request;
Rapt with still communion that transcends
The imperfect offices of prayer and praise,
His mind was a thanksgiving to the Power
That made him; it was blessedness and love!
_The Excursion._
Spell-bound, the three gentlemen stood looking at the sleeping girl,
till the pause was broken by Miss Ellen.
"Well?" she said, "what do you think?"
Henry Fowler opened his lips to speak, but closed them again, with a
glance at Percivale.
The glance was unheeded, the young man was standing with a look on his
face which, for some inexplicable reason, made Henry's heart leap in his
side. So might Adam have looked on Eve when first he saw her sleeping--a
look of intense admiration, mixed with a reverence that was almost
worship. He seems to have forgotten everything but the fact that he
stood there, by a wonderful chance, gazing at this consecrated girlish
slumber.
Claud, who stood next him, at last put out his hand, and lightly touched
his arm. He started.
"Will you tell Miss Willoughby?" whispered Claud.
He shook his head.
"Let Mr. Fowler tell her," he replied, gently.
"You have not answered my question--do you believe in her innocence?"
said Miss Ellen, appealing to all three.
"We know she is innocent, dear Miss Ellen. Mr. Percivale has proved it."
It was too much; she uttered a cry, and, at the cry, Elsa started from
sleep, and sat upright, pushing back her cloudy hair, and in speechless
bewilderment at finding herself in her aunt's room, still half dressed,
and in presence of three gentlemen. The lovely crimson flooded her face
as she tried to collect her thoughts, and to rise.
A scene of some confusion ensued.
Miss Ellen, in her agitation, was trying to ask for an explanation, with
her voice dissolved in tears. Elsa, springing from the bed, moved
towards her, still half-awake, vaguely troubled--foreseeing some fresh
catastrophe; and then Mr. Fowler caught her in his arms, kissing her and
somewhat incoherently imploring her to forgive him, while Percivale
stood at a little distance, speaking only with his eyes. And those eyes
set the girl's heart throbbing and raised a wild tumult in her. So by
degrees everything was explained, nobody exactly knew how; but, in the
course of half-an-hour, Elsa knew that she was saved, and that she owed
her salvation solely to him who stood before her, with his head lowered,
and the lamplight gilding the soft, downy, curling mass of his hair.
They did not stay long. It was he who hurried them away, that they might
not break in too far on the girl's rest.
Miss Willoughby could hardly let him go. Something about this young
man's whole appearance and manner appealed wonderfully to her
sympathies. She held his hand long in hers, looking at him with eyes
swimming in grateful tears.
"You know," he said, with a smile, "you will insist on so greatly
exaggerating what I have done; it was quite simple and obvious; I merely
set on foot an investigation."
"It may have been simple and obvious, but it never occurred to anybody
but you," said Claud, bluntly.
"No; because you were all biassed. I told you so. I am very sorry for
that poor mother--for Mrs. Parker. I shall go to her early next morning.
It was pitiful to see her. She was so utterly without the least
suspicion of what I was driving at, that I felt like a traitor, worming
myself into her confidence. Good-night, Miss Brabourne. You will sleep
again, I hope."
"I don't know, I don't feel the least bit sleepy," said Elsa,
feverishly; "and it is nearly morning now, you know."
Henry started.
"Is it so late? I had no idea. Come, we must be off at once."
Outside, the blackness of the night was just decreasing. The clouds
which had gathered in the evening were rolling away, leaving gaps full
of pallid stars. A chill cold pierced the limbs, and the heavy dew of
autumn bathed all the vegetation.
"You will come home with us, of course?" said Mr. Fowler to Percivale.
"No, thanks, I can't. I must go aboard my _Swan_. The men are waiting
for me on the shore."
"All this time? Are you sure?"
"Quite sure. Good-night."
"Nay, nay; we'll see you down to the beach. Your crew may have grown
tired of waiting, in which case you must come to Lower House."
They walked on for some time indulging in desultory conversation, when
suddenly Henry remarked to Claud,
"Poor Allonby ought to know of this."
Percivale turned towards him, and looked searchingly at him. It was
light enough for them to see each other's faces now.
"There is no engagement between Mr. Allonby and Miss Brabourne?" he
asked.
"No, none. I see more than ever now how wise I was to refuse to allow
it. He is a good fellow, but she did not really care for him--she does
not know what love means--she had never met a young man till this
summer. I told him he must give her time. Personally I like him. He has
no money and has no prospects, but I do not think he is a
fortune-hunter. Let her go through the fire of a year in London, and
find out what her tastes and inclinations really are."
Percivale listened to all this with a rivetted attention, but made no
reply; and now they were on the beach, their steps crunching upon the
shingle.
A seaman stood, with his broad back turned to them, looking out over the
smooth, leaden expanse of sea. In the boat a second man was fast asleep.
Out in the bay, a lamp glimmered, showing the graceful shadowy outline
of the yacht.
"Mueller!" said Percivale.
The man turned at once. His master addressed him in German, in a glad
voice which left little doubt as to the tidings he was relating. A broad
grin gradually broke over the man's face, and he waved his cap
ecstatically, shouting hurrah! Then he ran to rouse his companion, who
was soon acquainted with the joyful news, and a grand shaking of hands
all round took place. Then Percivale, taking leave of Henry and Claud,
stepped into the boat, and the keel grated on the beach as it slipped
into the chill, steely colored waters. The two on the beach stood
together, watching as the oars dipped, and the waves broke softly. It
was a sight worth watching, for a marvellous change was coming over the
world, a change so mysterious, so exciting, so full of beauty, that they
began to wonder, as all of us have wondered in our time, why they were
not oftener awake to see the breaking of the day.
A scarlet flush was rimming the east, and a glow began to creep over the
dull sea. Further and further it spread, while everything around took
clear and definite form. The cliffs, the landslip, the coastguard
station, the shore, all grew out gradually and yet rapidly from the
darkness, and every moment the color waxed more bright, and the sky,
which had seemed so dense, became translucent and dark blue, while one
by one the pale stars went out, extinguished by the rosy-fingered Eos.
A cold fresh breeze whistled by, and Claud shivered as it passed. It
reminded him of the sad sighing of old Tithonus, left helpless in the
cold regions of the dark, whilst Aurora, warm and blooming, sprang up to
meet the sun. Unconsciously to himself, he wished that Wynifred Allonby
stood by him to watch that dawn--she would have understood. He could
not talk of Tithonus to Henry Fowler. His eye roamed over
"The ever silent spaces of the East,
Far-folded mists, and gleaming halls of morn."
Ah! what was that which shivered like a silver arrow through the dull
haze that brooded over the sluggish waters? The mist had become
transparent, golden, luminous--such a glory as might any moment break
away to disclose the New Jerusalem coming down out of the heaven of
heavens.
And now the whole sea was one mass of pearly and rose and amber light,
which had not as yet faded into "the light of common day." All was
illusion--the infancy of day, the time of fairy-tales, like that
childhood of the world when wonders happened, and "Ilion, like a mist,
rose into towers."
A slight exclamation from Henry broke his musing, and made him turn his
head.
The _Swan_ lay motionless, her whiteness warmed and softened by the
still mysterious light, till it looked almost like the plumage of the
bird whose name she bore. The radiance gleamed on the motionless sails,
and shimmered on the sea all round her.
Close to the prow stood Percivale. He had taken off his coat, and looked
all white as he stood in the glow. Lifting his hat, he waved it to the
watchers on the shore, with a gesture like that of one victorious, and,
as he did so, up darted the sun with a leap above the sea, and its first
ray shot straight across the sparkling water, to rest on his fair head
like a benediction.