TOO LATE.
"So mournfully she gaz'd on him,
As if her heart would break;
Her silence more upbraided him,
Than all her tongue might speak!
She could do nought but gaze on him,
For answer she had none,
But tears that could not be repress'd,
Fell slowly, one by one.
Alas! that life should be so short--
So short and yet so sad;
Alas! that we so late are taught
To prize the time we had!"
CHARLES SWAIN.
It was the evening after Amy had pledged herself to Robert Vavasour. The
sun had slowly faded away, and twilight threw but a faint light into the
room where she sat close to her mother's feet.
Amy had been reading to Mrs. Neville and the book still open; lay in her
lap, but it was too dark to read now, too dark for her mother to see
her face, so Amy drew closer still ere she broached the subject nearest
her heart. There was no shrinking or timidity, as there might have been
had her love been wholly his, whose wife she had promised to become.
"Mamma, did Mr. Vavasour ever speak to you of his love for me?" The
words were spoken firmly, though almost in a whisper.
"He did, Amy; and he also said you had refused his love."
"I knew so little of him then, that when he named his love it seemed
like a dream, so sudden and unexpected. I had never given it a thought,
or believed such a thing possible. I know him better now; he is so good,
so kind."
She paused, perhaps hoping her mother would speak, but Mrs. Neville said
not a word, and Amy went on somewhat falteringly, although she tried
hard to speak steadily.
"Mamma, I promised last evening I would be his wife--"
"Have you done wisely, Amy? Are you sure you love him as his promised
wife should?"
"Yes," replied Amy, dreamily. "I like him, I am sure I like him very
much indeed,--and--and then he is so gentle and loving with me; surely
no one could help liking him."
Mrs. Neville half raised herself on the sofa. "Amy! Amy! liking will not
do. Do you love him, child?"
"Yes, Mamma. Yes, I think so."
"Only _think_, child? Nay you must be sure of it. Ask your heart if the
time passes slowly when he is absent from the cottage. Do you watch and
wait, and listen for his returning footsteps? Do you feel that without
him life is not worth having, the world a blank? Is your whole heart
with him when he is at your side? Do you tremble when his hand touches
yours; and your voice grow softer as you speak to him? Do you feel that
you dare not look up lest he should see the deep love in your eyes? if
so Amy, then gladly will I consent to give you to him. But if not, I
would rather, far rather see you in your grave than wedded to him."
Amy was silent; not from any wish to draw back from her word or plighted
troth; no, she had made up her mind to be Robert Vavasour's wife, her
mother's thin wasted hand as it rested on hers only strengthened that
resolution; the very feebleness with which she raised herself on the
couch showed Amy how very weak and ill she was, and this one act might
restore her to health. She did not hesitate, she would not draw back;
had Charles loved her, it might have been different, but convinced of
his falseness and trifling, no regret for him, now struggled at her
heart, only shame that she could ever have allowed it to be drawn
towards him, unsought.
"You hesitate. You do not answer, Amy?" said Mrs. Neville, sadly, "and
have deceived yourself and him."
"No, Mamma, you are wrong. Although I do not love Mr. Vavasour like
that; still I do love him, and in time, when I am his wife, I shall
very dearly."
Mrs. Neville sighed. "In this one important step of your life, Amy, when
your whole future well-being depends upon it, there should be no secrets
between us, recollect this one act may entail much misery; you cannot
tell how much. Think of being bound for life to a man you do not love,
think of the remorse you will feel at not being able to give him the
love of your whole heart in return for his. Amy, my child, his very
presence would be painful to you, his very love and kindness your
greatest punishment and sorrow."
"Yes Mamma, if I did not love him; but it will not be so. I shall love
him."
"And yet Amy, your very words almost forbid it, and fill my heart with
fear and trembling," and again Mrs. Neville clasped her daughter's hand,
while Amy, fairly overcome, bent down and laying her forehead on the
soft pitying hand, burst into tears.
"Hush, Amy! hush! You have done foolishly, but there is yet time; better
give him sorrow and pain now than later."
"No, Mamma, no; there is no need to give him pain," said Amy, presently.
"Alas!" replied Mrs. Neville, "then why these tears?"
"I weep," answered Amy, flinging--dashing back the tears as they crowded
into her eyes, "I weep to think I have allowed my heart to think of
another; one, too all unworthy of a woman's love; one who flirted and
pretended to care for me; I weep for very shame, mother, to think how
foolish I was, and how unworthy I am to be Robert Vavasour's wife."
"You have been unhappy, my child, so unhappy; but I almost guessed it
when I looked in your face months ago."
"Yes, but not unhappy now, Mamma. I was very miserable, for I thought he
loved me until he left me--went away without a word. Oh! mother, _that_
was a bitter trial to me, and instead of trying to rouse myself and
cast his image out of my heart, knowing I had done wrong in ever loving
him, and doubly so now I had found out his cruel unworthiness, I nursed
my love; bemoaned my fate; and steadily shut my heart against Mr.
Vavasour. But it could not be; he was too noble hearted, so patient
under my waywardness; sorrowful, but never reproachful; and--and so
Mamma I have promised to become his wife; and am happy, not grieved or
sad, at the idea; no, I will be his faithful, loving wife, and in his
true heart forget this early foolish love that caused me so much
unhappiness, and nearly lost me the heart of him who is now to be my
husband."
"You are right, Amy, to forget _him_, right to tear _his_ image from
your heart; a man to treat you so is unworthy of any woman's love; and
yet--yet I am scarcely satisfied. I fear this engagement. Is it not
hasty, too hasty? Do not rush into a marriage hoping to escape from a
love, however unworthy, still struggling at your heart; such a mistake
might make the one regret of your whole life."
"I do not. I will not," replied Amy firmly, as she rose, and stooping
over her mother, kissed her fondly; "If this is the only reason you
have, dear Mamma, for fear, then rest content: my engagement with Mr.
Vavasour is for my--all our happiness; will you try and think so? I
should feel very unhappy indeed if you refused your consent; or that my
marriage grieved you."
"It does not grieve me, Amy. Only," sighed Mrs. Neville, "I wish he had
been your first love."
"Nay, that is foolish, Mamma. Now often have I heard you say that few
girls marry their first love."
Again Mrs. Neville was silent. "Have you told Mr. Vavasour of this old
love, Amy?" asked she presently.
"Oh! no, no, Mamma. What good could it do? It would only grieve him;
I,--I told him this much, that I--I hoped to love him better in time."
"And he was satisfied?"
"Quite," answered Amy, "and will you not say you are too, dearest
Mamma?" and she laid her head lovingly on her mother's shoulder, and
looked entreatingly in her face.
"God bless and protect you, my child," said Mrs. Neville fervently,
drawing her closer still, and kissing her fondly. "May He guide and
strengthen us both, for indeed I am very sorrowful, and scarcely know
whether this marriage is for my child's happiness or no; but I pray it
may be with all my heart. You have your mother's best, holiest wishes,
Amy."
So Amy Neville became, with her mother's sanction, Robert Vavasour's
affianced wife.
Yet for days after that Mrs. Neville's heart seemed troubled and ill at
ease, and she lay on the sofa watching, noting Amy's every look or
action, until, by degrees, the troubled anxious look wore away; Amy
seemed so contented and happy that her mother, who, in her secret
heart, wished the marriage might be, gradually lost her fears, and each
hour gained renewed confidence and hope. She grew better and stronger,
and this alone in itself was sufficient to bring back the smiles into
Amy's face, while each day disclosed some fresh trait of Robert
Vavasour's goodness and kindness of heart. It was his voice read of an
evening to her mother and never seemed to weary. It was his hand raised
the invalid, or lifted her, as her strength increased, from the sofa to
the easy chair.
Amy rejoiced in the change, and while she never allowed her thoughts to
wander to the past, with all its cruel hopes and fears, so she never
halted or looked onward to the future; her life was of to-day, neither
more nor less. Her mother was better; it was her act, her will, that had
done it all. She was contented that it should be so, and fancied herself
happy; perhaps was at this time really so, and might have been for ever,
had she never seen Charles Linchmore again, never known how he, not
she, had been deceived, but that was to be the one thorn in her onward
path.
In less than a month Amy was to be married. Mrs. Neville's objections as
to haste were overruled, even old Mrs. Elrington had sided with the
rest; but then Mrs. Neville knew nothing of Dr. Ashley's opinion, or
that Amy had confided to her old friend the necessity there was for an
immediate change.
They were to go to Italy. Amy, her husband, and mother, with little
Sarah, and even old Hannah accompanying them. What a pleasant party it
would be! Already Amy began to picture to herself the delight she would
experience in watching her mother's restoration to health and strength
in that warm sunny clime, and how happy she would be by-and-by in
bringing her back when quite well, to live in her own and Vavasour's
home, that home he had so often talked to her of, and where, in a few
weeks, she would be roaming about at will as its mistress.
The days crept on steadily and surely slowly to all but Mrs. Neville,
and with her the time seemed to fly; she was anxious and restless, while
her doubts and fears only shaped themselves in words in old Hannah's
presence; to the rest, even to Amy, she was passive and quiet,
apparently resigned, only at heart sad.
But old Hannah was a remorseless tyrant, who, feeling deeply and
sorrowfully her darling's departure from home, sighing and even dropping
a tear or two in secret, yet she never allowed Mrs. Neville to bewail
it, but, on the contrary, seemed to look upon her doing so as a weakness
and sin, requiring a steady though somewhat underhand reproof. Perhaps
the very strength of mind Hannah displayed encouraged and strengthened
her mistress.
"We are to lose Miss Amy to-morrow, Hannah," said Mrs. Neville, in a sad
tone of voice. "I wish the wedding had not been so sudden."
"There, Ma'am, I don't call it sudden at all in the light wind," then
silently and steadily went upstairs to change her bridal attire for a
travelling dress.
It would be quite half-an-hour before Vavasour could return; so she sat
quietly awaiting him in the little sitting-room, perhaps for the first
time that day feeling sad, just realising her position as a wife, and
looking onwards into the future.
She sat lost in a dreamy reverie, and heard not the swift opening and
shutting of the little garden gate, or the sound of the still swifter
step across the gravel walk, until it sounded quick and strong in the
passage; then she started and arose quickly. Her husband had returned!
and sooner than she expected. With a smile she turned to greet him, but
it was Charles Linchmore who stood in the doorway, flushed and heated
with the haste and impatience of his hurried ride from the station, and
still more hasty journey.
Amy's heart stood still. Why had he come? Then, woman-like, almost
guessed before he spoke what he had come to say. But ere she could
recover from the sudden shock of his presence he, with all the old
impetuosity of his nature, was at her feet, pouring forth his long
pent-up love, with all its wild jealousy and anguish. How he had been
deceived by Frances, and driven well-nigh distracted. How through Anne's
agency he had found out her deceit, and had started at once to explain
all and be forgiven; how he believed now she had loved him, and still
loved, or would love him again; all--all he told, while his words came
fast and strong. Amy never attempted to stay them, neither could she, if
she would. So he went on to the end; then looked up into her face, that
white, wan, pale face, bending so sadly over him, with an agonised stony
look spread over each feature, striking dismay into his heart and soul.
"Speak to me!" he cried passionately. "Only say you forgive me my hasty
belief in your falseness, only say that you love me still, and that I am
not too late to make amends. Amy! my own Amy, speak to me!" and again
he looked up beseechingly, with all his deep, earnest love written on
his face, and speaking in his eyes.
But she was silent and still, very still.
Then the hand he held so tightly drew away from his hot, burning ones,
and turning slowly, showed the wife's symbol, the plain gold band
encircling the one small finger, while the pale, sad lips parted, and
words came mournfully at last, but slowly and distinctly, settling like
ice about his heart.
"It is too late--I am married."
Again that hasty, hurried step sounded, ringing out fiercely in the
passage and along the quiet gravel walk. Once again the gate swung
harshly and roughly on its frail hinges; then the sudden rush of a
horse's quick hoofs rung out startlingly in the still, soft air, and in
another moment died away in the far-off distance.
"Where is your mistress? is she ready?" asked Vavasour of Amy's new
maid, as ten minutes later he hastily entered the cottage.
"My mistress is not ready, Sir," was the reply, with a pert toss of the
head, while a peculiar expression played round the corners of her lips.
"She is in the parlour, Sir. Mrs. Elrington thinks it's the heat of the
day and the worry that has caused her to faint away."
Yes; Amy lay on the sofa, quiet and motionless with scarcely any sign of
life on her pale, sad face, while onward, onward, faster and faster
still, rode Charles Linchmore.
Would they ever meet again; and how?