LOVERS
THIS was the letter that Adrienne had received that day.
"MY DEAREST ADRIENNE,—
"I am sitting down to break a bit of news to you. It may astonish you,
it has astonished me myself, but it has just seemed to happen in some
inexplicable fashion. I am going to marry Florence Winter. We have been
old friends for many a long day, as you know. I think if it had not
been for Tom, it might have happened ten years ago, but she did not
like him, and he did not like her, and I would never have left him to
set up a separate establishment. When I was up in town a short while
ago, I saw a good bit of her, but I never intended anything more than
to strengthen our friendship.
"Then I went home, and the house was I confess it unbearably lonely.
I felt that I could not urge you to come back when your aunt needed you
so much, and, as time slipped on, I began to think that it might be a
happier life for you over in France than with one old man in a small
country village. Your aunt wrote saying she was going to Orleans, where
she could give you a good time. This her illness has stopped for the
present. I longed to come over and have a good talk with you, but you
wrote, saying it was best not. And then I was restless awaiting your
return, and I went up to town again, and the long and short of it is we
settled it up.
"I hope you may be glad, for it will leave you free to live the life
you like the best. Only remember a home with me is always waiting
for you. I know you like Florence, and she's ready to mother you if
necessary—in any case to welcome you always. We are such old folk that
we mean to walk in quietly to a London church one day very soon and
come out man and wife. Write to me, dear, and let me know what you
think of—
"Your devoted old Uncle
"DERRICK.
"Tell me how your aunt is, and when you go to Orleans. I am so thankful
that the responsibility of the Château will no longer be hers."
Guy read this through, folded it up slowly and thoughtfully and then
handed it back to Adrienne. "You have been between two fires," he said.
"Each of them wanting you badly. Poor little woman!"
His sympathetic tone brought the tears again with a rush.
"I can't explain it to you, but everything, everyone seems to be swept
away from me. I was so happy, so content before I came over here! And
now—now my two best friends have married, or are just going to marry
each other, and neither of them will be the same to me again. Uncle
Derrick I adored! And now he, and my home will not be mine any longer.
Mrs. Winter is nice, but she's a London Society woman, and I hate town
and town ways. It's just pure selfishness on my part, for I believe
she'll make Uncle Derrick very happy. They've always been fond of each
other. Well, I have failed him, and made him feel lonely and forlorn,
and now it's my turn, and I can't complain!"
There was a moment's pause. Adrienne felt ashamed of her outburst, and
was pulling herself together when Guy deliberately put his arm round
her and drew her towards himself.
"You shall not be either lonely or forlorn," he said, strong passion
vibrating in his voice. "I want you as never man wanted a woman before.
And I'll undertake to keep you from tears if you give yourself to me.
I've been snubbed off, I know, but I'm not going to be snubbed off
now. I know this, that if love and devotion can make you happy, you'll
have it in me. Give me a chance to show you what I can do. I'm tired
of restraining and curbing my feelings. I want to tell you what you've
been to me since that first happy day when your little feet entered my
home. Don't fret over your uncle! If you knew how desolate a man's life
can be when he's shut into himself and grey memories, without any hope
to look forward to, you would be glad that he's solved his problem.
In any case, he wouldn't have wished to keep you single all your life
just to attend on him. Adrienne sweet, dearest, let me kiss those
tear-stained eyes. I must. I long to comfort you so!"
Utterly unable to withstand him, Adrienne let her head sink on his
shoulder. It was broad enough and strong enough to bear all her life's
burdens, she knew. She was a little dazed and bewildered by his
impetuosity, and then remembered that this was more like the cousin
who had come down to her uncles and insisted that she should come to
the aid of her aunt. It was only lately that he had been so grave and
self-contained.
And Guy had no single thought now but of kissing away his loved one's
tears, of seeing the light gradually creep into her soft grey eyes, and
the sunshiny smile return to her quivering lips.
This Adrienne, lonely, forlorn and dejected, disappointed and
disillusioned in her childhood's home, was a different girl to the
dignified stately young lady who had accused him of being all that
she disliked, mysterious, reserved and complacent in his reticence.
That accusation had hurt him; he had no room in his heart for hurts
or injuries now, it was all taken up with his overflowing love and
passion for her. If Adrienne had wished to free herself from his strong
protective hold, she could not. But she lay passive in his arms, and
when his lips touched hers, she could only turn her face a little, and
hide it on his shoulder.
"You—you haven't allowed me time or breath to speak," she at last
managed to say.
"My darling, I'm waiting to hear you. But I'm not afraid. If I haven't
inspired you with feelings of love or confidence in myself, I know
that I've the power in me to do it. It has come to me now that you and
I are meant for each other, that God above has drawn us together, and
has been slowly but surely demolishing all the barriers that might have
loomed up between us."
Then he added:
"I asked you before to join me in making a home. I had that vision
perpetually before my eyes—but now it isn't the home I think about, it
is you yourself, and only yourself that I want to win."
And then Adrienne looked up at him, and the light shone in her eyes and
smile.
"And that is what I want to hear," she whispered; "and I only want in
the whole wide world, just you."
It was winter time, but the pines whispered and rustled their tops
together above them, and the golden sun that was already nearing the
horizon sent its shafts of glory across the wood to greet the pair of
lovers. The golden rays hovered on the two heads so close together, the
cheerful chattering of the birds preparing their beds for the night
gradually ceased, and a sudden hush fell upon the woodlands round them.
Adrienne roused herself with a little quivering laugh:
"You certainly know how to dry tears, Guy. I wonder if dear Uncle
Derrick and Mrs. Winter are as happy as we are? I could not tell you
just now, but deep down in my heart I was crying for you. I did want
you so badly. Ever since I sent you to America with such hasty words
as I used, I have been consumed with shame and remorse. And I felt you
had given up caring about me, that you were expecting me to leave the
Château as soon as I could. When Uncle Derrick's letter came, and I
felt that he didn't want me, I wondered where on earth I could go, to
get away from you both!"
Then she stood up. Even in this golden moment of happiness, her duty in
life came before her.
"I must go back to Aunt Cecily. Nurse will be wanting her tea."
"Ah!" said Guy, getting up and stretching himself. "Now I see freedom
before me! I dared not make a move before, because of frightening you
away. Now the first thing that I shall do will be to get another good
nurse, and relieve you of this constant attendance in a sick-room."
"But," said Adrienne in her usual cheery tone, "I am not going to
forsake Aunt Cecily. I am too fond of her for that."
"We'll discuss the subject later."
They walked back to the Château together, Adrienne feeling as if she
were in a dream.
Was it the level-headed, rather aloof Guy now speaking to her with such
passionate earnestness?
"I fell in love with you at first sight," he was telling her; "I used
to shut my eyes often and see you in that English drawing-room of yours
at the piano singing that song about giving. The windows were open, and
I can smell the sweet jasmine now that was climbing up outside. I was
desperately afraid you would not come over, and when you did, I was
afraid you would not stay. I have so many pictures of you, Adrienne.
I took them all away to America with me, and looked at them again and
again. Do you remember when I first came upon you in the wood? The sun
was on your hair, and if I hadn't had plenty of self-control, I could
have taken you up and kissed you there and then."
"You had consummate self-control," said Adrienne, looking up at him
with her sunny smile. "You seemed above and beyond me altogether; and
when you did ask me to make a home for you, I felt it was the home you
were thinking about, and not me."
"I was crude in expression. I've never had a home all my life—home is
where love blossoms and ripens and stays. I never had anyone to care
for me. Even my mother was bored with me. She hated children and she
died when I was five. I wasn't French enough for my father. We were
good friends—nothing more. And when my stepmother came into my father's
life, I was in America, a grown man."
"Did you never know Mathilde? I thought her rather nice, though she
lived, I think, entirely for amusement."
"We met occasionally. The Château was not a happy home. It is only
since I have watched your love for it that I began to think I might
come to care for it too."
"You do love it, don't you?"
"I think it's a good setting for the light of my eyes and the centre of
my life. I have been remote and unfriendly, sweetest, but I dared not
be anything else. And it was a great shock when I heard about my little
son. It seemed to place you at a greater distance from me. I thought
you might object to that former bit of my life. When you took him to
your heart, I thanked God and took courage. And lately hope sprang up.
You seemed content and happy here. I can't express what your presence
in the Château has been. Pierre told me that you were the sunny angel
of the house. You flit about singing your little songs, and turning a
shining face to everyone. We all brighten up when you pass by. I don't
wonder ma mère is frantic at the idea of losing you."
"Oh, Guy, don't flatter so. But seriously, I must go home to Uncle
Derrick. He is all I have of my own. You know what I mean, and—and I
want to tell him about ourselves."
"Of course you shall. I know you will come back to me, so will spare
you willingly. I have been feeling for some time that you ought to
go, but I frankly confess I was afraid of losing you. I've always had
jealous fears about that young squire so close to you."
"Oh, Godfrey! Why, Guy, I refused him before I came out here, and now
he's going to marry my best girl friend."
"Then we'll find another good nurse as soon as we can, so that you can
leave your aunt without a qualm. And I think you'd better let me come
over and fetch you back. I'm sure you'd like to be married from your
uncle's house."
"You take my breath away."
"Think it over, darling. There's nothing to wait for."
Adrienne was silent, then they came to the end of the wood from where
they had a view of the old house and gardens.
Adrienne's eyes glowed as she looked upon it.
"Darling old Château!" she said. "I little thought you were going to
be my home, when you crept inside me, and snuggled so close up in my
heart!"
Guy threw back his head and laughed. Adrienne had always felt the charm
of his laugh.
She turned to him and clasped his arm with both her hands.
"I mean to make you laugh often and often till you chase your wrinkles
away," she said; "I love you when you do it. Oh, Guy, the cares of this
life are rolling off my shoulders. I can't even feel sorry for Aunt
Cecily. All her anxieties are over; she will never be plunging into
debt and borrowing money any more, and we shall have no anxiety over
her. She seems so peaceful and happy! When she gets stronger she will
come downstairs, a peaceful, contented old lady. You see if she does
not! Her whole nature seems to be altering."
But Guy looked grave.
"We'll make her last years happy if we can," he said; "I feel that you
are beginning married life with two responsibilities, my darling. It's
hardly fair on you, but your aunt and the small boy must look upon this
as their home."
"I should rather think so. You will be my only responsibility, Guy;
they're just happy incidents, but you,—"
She paused, shook her head and gave it up.
And then they came indoors, and Guy, in the overflowing joy of his
heart, said to Pierre as he came forward in the hall:
"Mademoiselle is never going to leave us, Pierre. Wish me joy. She will
be your mistress."
Pierre, like an excitable Frenchman, began to wave his hands.
"Ah, bon, bon!" he ejaculated. And then he began to invoke so many
blessings on Adrienne's head that she ran away from him crying:
"I shall suffer from a swollen head very soon."
She stopped at her aunt's door.
Her first impulse had been to tell her of her happiness, and then she
began to wonder whether her aunt would consider it good news or not.
She might not like the idea of Adrienne becoming mistress of the
Château. If she were in normal health and strength, Adrienne was sure
that the idea of being superseded would not please her. She finally
decided not to tell her. So she went in and relieved the nurse in her
usual way.
Later on she had another talk with Guy, and before she went to bed that
night had written to her uncle telling him of her engagement and saying
that she hoped to be home in a few days' time. She also congratulated
him very warmly on his own contemplated marriage.
"We will not be married together on the same day," she wrote; "for
I want you to give me away. But I want my wedding to be very quiet,
and Guy agrees with me. I am longing to see you and talk to you. If
you only knew how I have longed for you, and how lonely I have been
feeling, you wouldn't imagine that I had forgotten you. It was when
Guy found me crying my eyes out that he promptly said he meant to take
care of me for the future. He's an adept at comforting. He's stiff and
matter of fact outside, but at heart is the tenderest, most feeling
person in the world."
Very few people were told of Adrienne's engagement. But she made a
point of telling little Agatha herself.
Agatha wisely smiled.
"I knew it would come, Mademoiselle. The good God lets me know things,
because my life is so quiet. And the Count will settle down amongst us
at last. It will be good for us all—very good. See how God has arranged
for you, and for the poor Countess. She will die happily in her old
home, and you will take her place, and be held tightly in the hearts of
us all."
"Oh, Agatha, do you think my aunt is going to die? I wonder and think
so much of her. I long that she should get into touch with the unseen
land before she goes there, but she speaks so seldom now, and with so
much difficulty. I wish I knew about her."
"Dear Mademoiselle, the Lord has found her and is keeping her safely in
His Arms."
"How do you know?"
Agatha laughed in her gentle, joyous way.
"I do know. I haven't a fear now. I talked about her much, and now I
have been assured. Keep on reading to her, Mademoiselle, and talk to
her as you do when you visit the little Alain in his bed."
"I think you are a wizard, Agatha. I never told you how I talk to
Alain."
But when she was reading to her aunt that evening, she felt as if
Agatha's words were true. The Countess listened as if she liked to
listen, and smiled more than once as if she were comforted and pleased.
Coming out of the bedroom, Adrienne went downstairs into the salon,
where a blazing wood fire was burning. She piled some cushions together
on the hearthrug and sank down into them. As a little child she had
always loved making pictures in the fire. Guy was busy writing letters
in the library, but she loved the solitude of the old Château and never
felt lonely in it. She did not hear Guy's step, so deep was she in her
dreams, until a soft touch on her hair made her look round.
"All alone, sweetheart?"
"Sit down by me and let us be children together. Only one more evening
and then the ocean will be between us. Have you written to Mathilde?"
"I came to tell you that this evening's post has brought a letter from
her. She is on her way here. She is not surprised at her mother's
illness. She tells me she had a very slight seizure once before."
"I am glad she's coming. I shall not be missed."
"No? It will be only losing our light and hope and sunshine. But we
shall weather through."
"You will be very happy, and so shall I, looking forward to our next
meeting."
Guy would not sit down: he was standing with his back to the fire,
looking down upon her.
"Sometimes," he said, "I can't believe in my luck. And I am wondering
if, when you get back to your old environment, it will take possession
of you again, and you will feel you cannot give it all up for a very
mundane middle-aged widower. You will be beginning your married life,
poor child, with ready-made cares, a restless little stepson and a
sick aunt, to say nothing of a husband who intends to monopolize you
entirely whenever he gets a chance."
Adrienne looked up at him with radiant eyes.
"What good times we shall have! And if—if I come back by Christmas,
what a lovely Christmas with a child to enjoy it, and all the villagers
to surprise and please with gifts. We'll give the old Château a good
time, too. It has been so very dull and sedate for so many years."
"I believe the Château comes first sometimes with you."
"Are you jealous of it?"
Then Adrienne rose and put her slender arms round his neck, drawing his
head down to her.
"Oh, Guy, Guy, how you've made me love you! Do you think that any old
environment of mine could wean me away from all I have here? And could
the Château itself compare with you! I shall be counting the days to
when you come over to claim me."
"Yes," said Guy with emphatic assurance in his tone, "I am living for
that day too. I don't think anything in this whole wide world would
make me forgo my claim. But I shall want you to myself. Will you come
over to America with me for a few weeks? I should like to show you my
mother's old home in Virginia. One of her aunts, an old lady of eighty
years, is living there in old-fashioned state. We will get Mathilde to
stay on here till we return."
"I will go anywhere with you," Adrienne whispered.
And then Pierre came in to extinguish the candelabra, and she said good
night in a very matter of fact way and went off to bed.