A month had elapsed, a month which Eline spent with the Ferelyns, as
Jeanne would not allow her to go until she had quite recovered. Reyer
had told them that Eline had caught a severe cold which, with the least
neglect, might prove fatal. Jeanne in the meantime tended her with
gentle care; Frans’s little office she had had fitted up specially for
her, and when Eline protested and began again to talk about an hotel,
Frans himself declared that he thought he ought not to work so hard, a
little rest was necessary for him. Eline, therefore, embraced Jeanne
with a passionate gratitude and stayed on, while her violent fits of
coughing filled the little house as with a painful echo.
Her cough was a little better now; she felt not quite as much pain on
her chest. But she had grown very thin, her eyes were hollow and dull,
and her face was wan and sallow. She sat in a big chair close to the
little stove, and she gazed out of the window and amused herself a
little watching the tradesmen—the butcher, the greengrocer, the
milkman—as they called from house to house; she amused herself watching
the servants who opened the door—a stout, red-faced one here, a tall
thin one there, then again the mistress herself, in a black apron and a
dirty little lace cap.
Then she rose and looked in the little black-framed glass, simple as
all around her was. She expected some one, and she looked eagerly at
her face; it was such a long time since she had seen him; what sort of
impression would she make on him, with that sallow face and those
sunken eyes?
For Betsy had written a long letter to her uncle, Daniel Vere, who
during Eline’s minority had been her guardian, and who was only lately
married and living in Brussels. When old Aunt Vere died he was still
single, so that it was out of the question for Eline to make her home
with him. He came but seldom to the Hague, and when he received Betsy’s
letter, in which Eline’s flight was described to him, it seemed to him
that he was being drawn into matters that did not concern him. He
replied to it, however, and at the same time wrote to Eline, asking her
for an interview. His letter surprised her, and agreeably so, and she
thought that through him she could see a relief from her present
position, which, when she should have quite recovered, would certainly
be no longer bearable to her. She therefore replied to him in the most
amiable terms, and promised to do as he required her on the one
condition only, that he did not ask her to make her peace with her
sister and again to make her home with the Van Raats; that she should
on any account have to refuse, as the past had already taught her that
Betsy and she could not get on together; with whom the fault was it was
not for her to say.
Vere then telegraphed what day and hour he would be coming to see
Eline. And now she awaited him, and examined her emaciated features,
and feared, as she saw herself so worn and emaciated, that she would
not be able to shed around her that all-powerful charm with which she
attracted every man towards her. She drew down the curtain a little, so
that the light should not fall with such a glare on her sallow
complexion. In the afternoon he came.
He was tall and slender, with the somewhat languid movements peculiar
to all the Veres except Betsy, who was more like her mother. On Eline,
who had not seen him for two years, he made a very favourable
impression. He had the appearance of a thorough man of the world, and
she felt a little ashamed to receive him in this little room and amid
these humble surroundings. She rose slowly and languidly from her seat,
and walked towards him, while Jeanne shut the door and retired.
“How do you do, uncle?” said Eline softly. “I am very glad to see you,
very glad.”
She held out her hand to him, and pointed to a chair. He sat down,
looked at her rather searchingly, smiled a little sad smile, and shook
his head.
“For shame, Eline,” he began slowly. “What sorrow you have caused me.
Do you know I’m very dissatisfied with you, little girl?”
“I suppose Betsy has written all sorts of things about me?” she asked
with assumed indifference, but with real curiosity.
“What Betsy has written me came upon me like a thunderbolt. I had no
idea that you were so out of sympathy with your sister. I thought you
were very happy at the Van Raats’. Last spring you wrote me such an
enthusiastic letter about your engagement, and now Betsy tells me that
you have released Van Erlevoort from his word. But still I had no idea
whatever that such scenes had taken place. Eline, Eline, how can you
allow yourself to be carried away like this by your feelings, without
the slightest attempt at self-control?”
He searched a little for his words, proceeding cautiously, with much
misgiving whether she would allow him to persuade her to another
course. The news of her flight had given him the idea that she was a
very violent, impetuous creature. Now her gentle reticence seemed to
him very suspicious, and he feared every moment that she would jump up
and do something desperate. But she replied very quietly—
“Look here, uncle. I ran away from Henk and Betsy, it is true; but that
is no reason why you should imagine that I do nothing but silly things.
I was beside myself with passion because of Betsy’s aggravating manner.
Now I’m sorry that I did not control myself, that I did not simply turn
my back on her, to leave her house the next day in peace and quietness.
But I think you will agree with me that there are moments in life
when—yes, when one is no longer master of oneself.”
“And you are determined, then, that you will not return?”
“I thought I had told you as much in my letter,” she answered, a little
piqued.
“That is true; but I hoped—perhaps you would alter your mind.”
“Never!” she said calmly and deliberately, and still with a certain
hauteur.
“Very well then; if that is the case we shall not return to it. I am
sorry if that is your decision, but I suppose you have considered
everything?”
“Oh yes,” she said, and gave a little cough.
“Well, then I must propose something else; or rather—what do you think
of doing when you have got rid of that wretched cough?”
Eline looked at him with some anxiety, and all her pride vanished.
“I have been thinking about it myself. I really don’t know. Perhaps I
shall go and live by myself. I have a good many things of my own, and I
can be economical. Then perhaps too I can get some one to stay with
me.”
And in her fancy she already saw herself ensconced in a set of quaint
little rooms something like those she occupied now, and her eyes filled
with tears.
“That is a sensible idea, at all events. Here in the Hague do you
think?”
“Well, yes, I dare say; but I really am not certain. Maybe I shall go
to a smaller place.”
“Well, anyhow that is an after consideration. The fact is, there is
something I wanted to propose to you myself.”
He took her hand, and glanced at her with his lack-lustre eyes. And she
thought that perhaps he was about to ask her to come and stay with them
in Brussels; if so, should she accept?
“I am going abroad with your aunt, Eline, for the winter. I cannot help
laughing when I speak about your ‘aunt,’ for, as you know, she is
scarcely five years your senior. We are first going to Paris, and then
perhaps to Spain. And so now I wanted to suggest that you should
accompany us. You want a little change after what has happened; we may
perhaps stay abroad right through the winter. When you get tired of it
you can leave, and then there will be time enough to go and live by
yourself. With my wife I dare say you will get on very well, she is
very good company, a real Française. What do you think of this plan?”
Eline looked at him confusedly with her tearful eyes. Yes, it was very
true she needed change, and she should travel about right through the
winter! And at that thought it was as if a flood of sunshine had
suddenly lit up the sombre darkness of her soul. No life without change
Vincent had said.
“I really do not know what to say, uncle,” she said with some emotion.
“I am not very cheerful just now, and I fear you won’t find me pleasant
company.”
“That is nothing at all, my girl; when you find yourself in different
surroundings, and see different faces, your ideas will change too.
There is nothing so necessary in this life as change; we cannot live
without it!”
She started, and looked at him with a smile. It was as if Vincent had
spoken! And she felt grateful, very grateful, for his kind offer, for
his kindly voice. Yes, she consented, consented with gratitude.
“You see, you can come and stay with us in Brussels for a few days
first, and then we can go; we do a deal of travelling, and we do it
economically, but without denying ourselves any pleasure. You see, we
understand the art, and as for you—you have money enough, you are a
good catch for anybody, aren’t you, eh?” he concluded smilingly.
“I a good catch? My wealth is not very great, I can tell you, and I am
no longer in the market,” she said with a little sad smile. “You see, I
am getting old gradually; I’ve served my time.”
He spoke to her as cheeringly as he could. Her trip would cure her of
all those gloomy ideas. After Jeanne, whom Eline had called into the
room, had been told of the plan, he left; he had still to pay a visit
to the Nassauplein, to the Van Raats.
Eline remained alone while Jeanne conducted him to the door. A
multitude of thoughts rushed through her brain, like showering
rose-leaves, like sparks of sunshine, like glittering bubbles of soap.
She looked out of the window at the great clouds of dust which the wind
blew up from the paths and roadways. And she turned away shuddering at
the grave tints of autumn that met her gaze, when all at once her eye
fell on Frans’s diary, which was hanging on the wall, with the date
15th November distinctly visible.
Great heavens! that was the very day which only a few months ago Otto
and herself had fixed upon as—their wedding day! Her gaze was as
transfixed on those black figures. A wild, a hopeless grief and remorse
suddenly overwhelmed all her new bright happiness, and savagely she
flung herself into her big chair and sobbed as if she would sob her
very life out.
The news soon spread; the Eekhofs, the Hydrechts, and the Van Larens
repeated it to one another; Eline Vere was going abroad with her uncle,
Daniel Vere, who lived in Brussels and had only been married a year.