Do you believe in love at first sight? I did not until the moment when,
in my brief conversation with the Earl's daughter, I detected the beauty
of her character. I had often heard it said that only fools love a
woman at first meeting her. Yet within that woman's heart was a
fathomless well of purest affection, although its waters slept in
silence and obscurity--never failing in their depth, and never
overflowing in their fullness. Everything in her seemed somehow to lie
beyond my view, affecting me in a manner which I felt rather than
perceived. At first I did not know that it was love for her. Amid the
strange atmosphere of mystery and conspiracy into which I had so
suddenly been plunged, amid convulsions of doubt and fear which had
during those past few days harrowed my soul, the tender influence of
this woman came like that of a celestial visitant, making itself felt
and acknowledged, although I could not understand it. Like a soft star
that shines for a moment from behind a stormy cloud, and the next is
swallowed up in tempest and darkness, the impression it left was
beautiful and deep, but vague.
Perhaps you may blame me. Most probably you will. But man is ever the
jetsam of the wind of destiny.
I glanced at her, and took in every detail of her countenance and dress.
She was no longer in shabby black, but in a pretty costume of dove-grey
cashmere, with silken trimmings of a somewhat darker shade; she looked
daintily bewitching, supple and slim, grey lending relief to the
delicate roundness, the gentle curves of a figure in which early
womanhood was blooming with all its sweet and adorable charm. Her fair
hair, streaked here and there with gold, was covered with a hat that
suited her exquisitely, whether the eye sought harmony of colour or
unity of lines. She wore no veil, and thus I could freely feast my eyes
upon her beauty.
"I really don't understand you," I exclaimed, after a pause. "You do
not trouble me, for until I saw you by chance passing into the street we
were entire strangers."
"No benefit can be obtained by discussing the matter," she answered
blankly. "Why were you watching in Harpur Street if not to witness my
despair?"
"I had a motive in watching," I answered.
"Of course you had. You cannot deny that. My father has already spoken
of you, and told me everything."
"And he is still triumphant?" I queried, recollecting his expression of
satisfaction on seeing the fatal sign.
She was silent, her lips set closely, her fair face turned towards the
open expanse of grey sea.
"Am I not right in suggesting that your enemy is a person named Selby,
and that he--"
"Who told you that?" she cried. "How did you know?"
"By my own observations," I replied, as calmly as I could, yet secretly
gratified that she should have thus betrayed the truth.
"Ah?" she sighed. "I see! I was not mistaken. You are not my friend,
Mr Kennedy."
"But I am," I declared. "Give me an opportunity of proving my
friendship. You apparently believe that I am implicated in some plot
against you, but I swear I am innocent of it all. I myself am a victim
of some extraordinary conspiracy--just as you are."
She looked me straight in the face as though hesitating whether she
dared speak the truth. Next instant, however, her natural caution
asserted itself, and, with tactful ingenuity, she turned the
conversation into a different channel. She seemed uneasy, and eager to
escape from my cross-examination; while I, on my part, became determined
to obtain from her the truth and to convince her of my good intentions.
I was in a difficulty, because to reveal my connection with The Closed
Book might upset all my plans. For aught I knew, she might inform the
man Selby, who, gaining knowledge of my presence in England, would
suspect that the precious volume had come again into my possession.
Therefore I was compelled to retain my secret, and by so doing was, of
course, unable to convince her of my intention to be her friend.
Mine was a painful position--just as painful as hers. For some reason
quite unaccountable she held me in terror, and now that dusk was
darkening to night, was in haste to return to Saxlingham, about three
miles distant. It was apparent that my admission of having watched her
and her father in Harpur Street had aroused her suspicion of me, a
suspicion which no amount of argument or assertion would remove.
She was disinclined to discuss the matter further; and, after some
desultory conversation regarding the beauties of Norfolk, she called her
dog Rover, preparatory to taking leave of me.
"You must excuse me, Mr Kennedy," she said, with a smile, the first I
had seen on that sad, sweet face. "But it is growing late, and it will
be dark before I get back."
"May I not walk with you half the distance?" I urged.
"No," she responded. "It would be taking you right out of your way for
Sheringham. I have known the roads about here ever since I was a child,
and therefore have no fear."
"Well," I said, putting forth my hand and lifting my hat to her, "I can
only hope, Lady Judith, that when next we meet you will have learned
that, instead of being your enemy, I am your friend."
She placed her hand in mine rather timidly, and I held it there while
she replied, with a sigh, "Ah, if I could only believe that you speak
the truth!"
"It is the truth!" I cried, still holding her tiny hand in my grip.
"You are in distress, and although you decline to allow me to assist
you, I will show you that I have not lied to you tonight. Recollect,
Lady Judith," I went on fervently, for I saw that some nameless terror
had driven her to despair, "recollect that I am your friend, ready to
render you any assistance or perform any service at any moment; only, on
your part, I want you to give me a promise."
"And what is that?" she faltered.
"That you will tell no one that you met me. Remember that, although you
are not aware of it, your enemies are mine."
For a moment she was silent, with eyes downcast; then she answered in a
low voice, "Very well, Mr Kennedy. If you wish it, I will say nothing.
Good-night."
"Good-night," I answered, and having released her hand she turned from
me with a sad smile of farewell, and with her collie bounding by her
side made her way over the brow of the hill along the straight white
road, while I, after watching until she had disappeared from view,
turned and walked in the opposite direction.
Anything like mystery, anything withheld or withdrawn from our notice,
seizes on our fancy by awakening our curiosity. Then we are won more by
what we half-perceive and half-create than by what is openly expressed
and freely bestowed. But this feeling is part of our life; when time
and years have chilled us, when we can no longer afford to send our
souls abroad, nor from our own superfluity of life and sensibility spare
the materials out of which we build a shrine for our idol, then do we
seek, we ask, we thirst, for that warmth of frank, confiding tenderness
which revives in us the withered affections and feelings buried, but not
dead. Then the excess of love is welcome, not repelled; it is gracious
to us as the sun and dew to the seared and riven trunk with its few
green leaves.
Like every other man I had had my own affairs of the heart. I had loved
unwisely more than once, but the sweetness, sensibility, magnanimity,
and fortitude of the unhappy Judith's character appealed to me in all
the freshness and perfection of what a true woman should be.
I cared nothing for the repugnance she felt towards myself, because I
knew that it must be the outcome of some vile calumny or some vague
suspicion.
As I passed back along the narrow path over the cliffs, my face set
towards the gathering night, I calmly examined my life, and saw now that
seven years had gone since the great domestic blow had fallen upon me
and caused me to ramble aimlessly across the Continent; that I still
stood yet in the morning of life, and that it was not too late to win
the glorious prize I had asked of life--love incarnate in sovereign
beauty, endowed with all nobility and fervour and tenderness and truth.
In any case, whether she became mine or not, I loved her with my whole
heart; and to know that I could love again, in spite of all the torture
of the past, was in itself both comfort and delight.