TREATS OF A HANDKERCHIEF
Running through Beckley Park, clear from the chalk, a little stream gave
light and freshness to its pasturage. Near where it entered, a bathing-
house of white marble had been built, under which the water flowed, and
the dive could be taken to a paved depth, and you swam out over a pebbly
bottom into sun-light, screened by the thick-weeded banks, loose-strife
and willow-herb, and mint, nodding over you, and in the later season
long-plumed yellow grasses. Here at sunrise the young men washed their
limbs, and here since her return home English Rose loved to walk by
night. She had often spoken of the little happy stream to Evan in
Portugal, and when he came to Beckley Court, she arranged that he should
sleep in a bed-room overlooking it. The view was sweet and pleasant to
him, for all the babbling of the water was of Rose, and winding in and
out, to East, to North, it wound to embowered hopes in the lover's mind,
to tender dreams; and often at dawn, when dressing, his restless heart
embarked on it, and sailed into havens, the phantom joys of which
coloured his life for him all the day. But most he loved to look across
it when the light fell. The palest solitary gleam along its course spoke
to him rich promise. The faint blue beam of a star chained all his
longings, charmed his sorrows to sleep. Rose like a fairy had breathed
her spirit here, and it was a delight to the silly luxurious youth to lie
down, and fix some image of a flower bending to the stream on his brain,
and in the cradle of fancies that grew round it, slide down the tide of
sleep.
From the image of a flower bending to the stream, like his own soul to
the bosom of Rose, Evan built sweet fables. It was she that exalted him,
that led him through glittering chapters of adventure. In his dream of
deeds achieved for her sake, you may be sure the young man behaved
worthily, though he was modest when she praised him, and his limbs
trembled when the land whispered of his great reward to come. The longer
he stayed at Beckley the more he lived in this world within world, and if
now and then the harsh outer life smote him, a look or a word from Rose
encompassed him again, and he became sensible only of a distant pain.
At first his hope sprang wildly to possess her, to believe, that after he
had done deeds that would have sent ordinary men in the condition of
shattered hulks to the hospital, she might be his. Then blow upon blow
was struck, and he prayed to be near her till he died: no more. Then
she, herself, struck him to the ground, and sitting in his chamber, sick
and weary, on the evening of his mishap, Evan's sole desire was to obtain
the handkerchief he had risked his neck for. To have that, and hold it
to his heart, and feel it as a part of her, seemed much.
Over a length of the stream the red round harvest-moon was rising, and
the weakened youth was this evening at the mercy of the charm that
encircled him. The water curved, and dimpled, and flowed flat, and the
whole body of it rushed into the spaces of sad splendour. The clustered
trees stood like temples of darkness; their shadows lengthened
supernaturally; and a pale gloom crept between them on the sward. He had
been thinking for some time that Rose would knock at his door, and give
him her voice, at least; but she did not come; and when he had gazed out
on the stream till his eyes ached, he felt that he must go and walk by
it. Those little flashes of the hurrying tide spoke to him of a secret
rapture and of a joy-seeking impulse; the pouring onward of all the blood
of life to one illumined heart, mournful from excess of love.
Pardon me, I beg. Enamoured young men have these notions. Ordinarily
Evan had sufficient common sense and was as prosaic as mankind could wish
him; but he has had a terrible fall in the morning, and a young woman
rages in his brain. Better, indeed, and 'more manly,' were he to strike
and raise huge bosses on his forehead, groan, and so have done with it.
We must let him go his own way.
At the door he was met by the Countess. She came into the room without a
word or a kiss, and when she did speak, the total absence of any euphuism
gave token of repressed excitement yet more than her angry eyes and eager
step. Evan had grown accustomed to her moods, and if one moment she was
the halcyon, and another the petrel, it no longer disturbed him, seeing
that he was a stranger to the influences by which she was affected. The
Countess rated him severely for not seeking repose and inviting sympathy.
She told him that the Jocelyns had one and all combined in an infamous
plot to destroy the race of Harrington, and that Caroline had already
succumbed to their assaults; that the Jocelyns would repent it, and
sooner than they thought for; and that the only friend the Harringtons
had in the house was Miss Bonner, whom Providence would liberally reward.
Then the Countess changed to a dramatic posture, and whispered aloud,
'Hush: she is here. She is so anxious. Be generous, my brother, and let
her see you!'
'She?' said Evan, faintly. 'May she come, Louisa?' He hoped for Rose.
'I have consented to mask it,' returned the Countess. 'Oh, what do I not
sacrifice for you!'
She turned from him, and to Evan's chagrin introduced Juliana Bonner.
'Five minutes, remember!' said the Countess. ' I must not hear of more.'
And then Evan found himself alone with Miss Bonner, and very uneasy.
This young lady had restless brilliant eyes, and a contraction about the
forehead which gave one the idea of a creature suffering perpetual
headache. She said nothing, and when their eyes met she dropped hers in
a manner that made silence too expressive. Feeling which, Evan began:
'May I tell you that I think it is I who ought to be nursing you, not you
me?'
Miss Bonner replied by lifting her eyes and dropping them as before,
murmuring subsequently, 'Would you do so?'
'Most certainly, if you did me the honour to select me.'
The fingers of the young lady commenced twisting and intertwining on her
lap. Suddenly she laughed:
'It would not do at all. You won't be dismissed from your present
service till you 're unfit for any other.'
'What do you mean?' said Evan, thinking more of the unmusical laugh than
of the words.
He received no explanation, and the irksome silence caused him to look
through the window, as an escape for his mind, at least. The waters
streamed on endlessly into the golden arms awaiting them. The low moon
burnt through the foliage. In the distance, over a reach of the flood,
one tall aspen shook against the lighted sky.
'Are you in pain?' Miss Bonner asked, and broke his reverie.
'No; I am going away, and perhaps I sigh involuntarily.'
'You like these grounds?'
'I have never been so happy in any place.'
'With those cruel young men about you?'
Evan now laughed. 'We don't call young men cruel, Miss Bonner.'
'But were they not? To take advantage of what Rose told them--it was
base!'
She had said more than she intended, possibly, for she coloured under his
inquiring look, and added: 'I wish I could say the same as you of
Beckley. Do you know, I am called Rose's thorn?'
'Not by Miss Jocelyn herself, certainly!'
'How eager you are to defend her. But am I not--tell me--do I not look
like a thorn in company with her?'
'There is but the difference that ill health would make.'
'Ill health? Oh, yes! And Rose is so much better born.'
'To that, I am sure, she does not give a thought.'
'Not Rose? Oh!'
An exclamation, properly lengthened, convinces the feelings more
satisfactorily than much logic. Though Evan claimed only the hand-
kerchief he had won, his heart sank at the sound. Miss Bonner watched
him, and springing forward, said sharply:
'May I tell you something?'
'You may tell me what you please.'
'Then, whether I offend you or not, you had better leave this.'
'I am going,' said Evan. 'I am only waiting to introduce your tutor to
you.'
She kept her eyes on him, and in her voice as well there was a depth, as
she returned:
'Mr. Laxley, Mr. Forth, and Harry, are going to Lymport to-morrow.'
Evan was looking at a figure, whose shadow was thrown towards the house
from the margin of the stream.
He stood up, and taking the hand of Miss Bonner, said:
'I thank you. I may, perhaps, start with them. At any rate, you have
done me a great service, which I shall not forget.'
The figure by the stream he knew to be that of Rose. He released Miss
Bonner's trembling moist hand, and as he continued standing, she moved to
the door, after once following the line of his eyes into the moonlight.
Outside the door a noise was audible. Andrew had come to sit with his
dear boy, and the Countess had met and engaged and driven him to the
other end of the passage, where he hung remonstrating with her.
'Why, Van,' he said, as Evan came up to him, 'I thought you were in a
profound sleep. Louisa said--'
'Silly Andrew!' interposed the Countess, 'do you not observe he is sleep-
walking now?' and she left them with a light laugh to go to Juliana, whom
she found in tears. The Countess was quite aware of the efficacy of a
little bit of burlesque lying to cover her retreat from any petty
exposure.
Evan soon got free from Andrew. He was under the dim stars, walking to
the great fire in the East. The cool air refreshed him. He was simply
going to ask for his own, before he went, and had no cause to fear what
would be thought by any one. A handkerchief! A man might fairly win
that, and carry it out of a very noble family, without having to blush
for himself.
I cannot say whether he inherited his feeling for rank from Mel, his
father, or that the Countess had succeeded in instilling it, but Evan
never took Republican ground in opposition to those who insulted him,
and never lashed his 'manhood' to assert itself, nor compared the
fineness of his instincts with the behaviour of titled gentlemen.
Rather he seemed to admit the distinction between his birth and that
of a gentleman, admitting it to his own soul, as it were, and struggled
simply as men struggle against a destiny. The news Miss Bonner had given
him sufficed to break a spell which could not have endured another week;
and Andrew, besides, had told him of Caroline's illness. He walked to
meet Rose, honestly intending to ask for his own, and wish her good-bye.
Rose saw him approach, and knew him in the distance. She was sitting on
a lower branch of the aspen, that shot out almost from the root, and
stretched over the intervolving rays of light on the tremulous water.
She could not move to meet him. She was not the Rose whom we have
hitherto known. Love may spring in the bosom of a young girl, like
Helper in the evening sky, a grey speck in a field of grey, and not be
seen or known, till surely as the circle advances the faint planet
gathers fire, and, coming nearer earth, dilates, and will and must be
seen and known. When Evan lay like a dead man on the ground, Rose turned
upon herself as the author of his death, and then she felt this presence
within her, and her heart all day had talked to her of it, and was
throbbing now, and would not be quieted. She could only lift her eyes
and give him her hand; she could not speak. She thought him cold, and he
was; cold enough to think that she and her cousin were not unlike in
their manner, though not deep enough to reflect that it was from the same
cause.
She was the first to find her wits: but not before she spoke did she
feel, and start to feel, how long had been the silence, and that her hand
was still in his.
'Why did you come out, Evan? It was not right.'
'I came to speak to you. I shall leave early to-morrow, and may not see
you alone.'
'You are going----?'
She checked her voice, and left the thrill of it wavering in him.
'Yes, Rose, I am going; I should have gone before.'
'Evan!' she grasped his hand, and then timidly retained it. 'You have
not forgiven me? I see now. I did not think of any risk to you. I only
wanted you to beat. I wanted you to be first and best. If you knew how
I thank God for saving you! What my punishment would have been!'
Till her eyes were full she kept them on him, too deep in emotion to be
conscious of it.
He could gaze on her tears coldly.
'I should be happy to take the leap any day for the prize you offered.
I have come for that.'
'For what, Evan?' But while she was speaking the colour mounted in her
cheeks, and she went on rapidly:
'Did you think it unkind of me not to come to nurse you. I must tell
you, to defend myself. It was the Countess, Evan. She is offended with
me--very justly, I dare say. She would not let me come. What could I
do? I had no claim to come.'
Rose was not aware of the import of her speech. Evan, though he felt
more in it, and had some secret nerves set tingling and dancing, was not
to be moved from his demand.
'Do you intend to withhold it, Rose?'
'Withhold what, Evan? Anything that you wish for is yours.'
'The handkerchief. Is not that mine?'
Rose faltered a word. Why did he ask for it? Because he asked for
nothing else, and wanted no other thing save that.
Why did she hesitate? Because it was so poor a gift, and so unworthy of
him.
And why did he insist? Because in honour she was bound to surrender it.
And why did she hesitate still? Let her answer.
'Oh, Evan! I would give you anything but that; and if you are going
away, I should beg so much to keep it.'
He must have been in a singular state not to see her heart in the
refusal, as was she not to see his in the request. But Love is blindest
just when the bandage is being removed from his forehead.
'Then you will not give it me, Rose? Do you think I shall go about
boasting "This is Miss Jocelyn's handkerchief, and I, poor as I am, have
won it"?'
The taunt struck aslant in Rose's breast with a peculiar sting. She
stood up.
'I will give it you, Evan.'
Turning from him she drew it forth, and handed it to him hurriedly.
It was warm. It was stained with his blood. He guessed where it had
been nestling, and, now, as if by revelation, he saw that large sole star
in the bosom of his darling, and was blinded by it and lost his senses.
'Rose! beloved!'
Like the flower of his nightly phantasy bending over the stream, he
looked and saw in her sweet face the living wonders that encircled his
image; she murmuring: 'No, you must hate me.'
'I love you, Rose, and dare to say it--and it 's unpardonable. Can you
forgive me?'
She raised her face to him.
'Forgive you for loving me?' she said.
Holy to them grew the stillness: the ripple suffused in golden moonlight:
the dark edges of the leaves against superlative brightness. Not a chirp
was heard, nor anything save the cool and endless carol of the happy
waters, whose voices are the spirits of silence. Nature seemed
consenting that their hands should be joined, their eyes intermingling.
And when Evan, with a lover's craving, wished her lips to say what her
eyes said so well, Rose drew his fingers up, and, with an arch smile and
a blush, kissed them. The simple act set his heart thumping, and from
the look of love, she saw an expression of pain pass through him. Her
fealty--her guileless, fearless truth--which the kissing of his hand
brought vividly before him, conjured its contrast as well in this that
was hidden from her, or but half suspected. Did she know--know and love
him still? He thought it might be: but that fell dead on her asking:
'Shall I speak to Mama to-night?'
A load of lead crushed him.
'Rose!' he said; but could get no farther.
Innocently, or with well-masked design, Rose branched off into little
sweet words about his bruised shoulder, touching it softly, as if she
knew the virtue that was in her touch, and accusing her selfish self as
she caressed it:
'Dearest Evan! you must have been sure I thought no one like you. Why
did you not tell me before? I can hardly believe it now! Do you know,'
she hurried on, 'they think me cold and heartless,--am I? I must be, to
have made you run such risk; but yet I'm sure I could not have survived
you.'
Dropping her voice, Rose quoted Ruth. As Evan listened, the words were
like food from heaven poured into his spirit.
'To-morrow,' he kept saying to himself, 'to-morrow I will tell her all.
Let her think well of me a few short hours.'
But the passing minutes locked them closer; each had a new link--in a
word, or a speechless breath, or a touch: and to break the marriage of
their eyes there must be infinite baseness on one side, or on the other
disloyalty to love.
The moon was a silver ball, high up through the aspen-leaves. Evan
kissed the hand of Rose, and led her back to the house. He had appeased
his conscience by restraining his wild desire to kiss her lips.
In the hall they parted. Rose whispered, 'Till death!' giving him her
hands.