AWAKENED.
‘What is it that love does to a woman?--without it
she only sleeps; with it alone, she lives.’
_Ariadne_.
Yet although these young people had arrived at such a satisfactory
conclusion with regard to the attitude they were to maintain towards
each other through life, they did not seem any the happier for the
arrangement. They grew less joyous, less confidential, less friendly
after that revelation on the landslip than before. They continued to
meet upon the sands of Ines-cedwyn. Not a day passed that Fenella
Barrington did not find Geoffrey Doyne waiting for her by the Beach
Bungalow; but though they greeted each other kindly, and talked
with alacrity of everything that was most indifferent to them on
earth, there was something between them which had not been there
before--unrecognised but felt--and it marred all their enjoyment.
Fenella would sit in the verandah of the ruined villa for half the
morning, stitching away as if her life depended on the rapidity of her
work; whilst Geoffrey would lie upon the sand, face downward, pitching
the pebbles about, and whistling to himself in a sort of discontented
undertone; and their mutual attempts at conversation drifted again and
again into silence.
On several occasions the girl introduced the subject of his engagement
to Jessie Robertson, and tried to make him talk of her personal
appearance, and surroundings, and the circumstances by which they had
been drawn together. But she found the subject a very unpalatable one.
Geoffrey growled, and grumbled, and bewailed his fate, and sometimes
even launched into imprecations which frightened his companion.
Everything seemed out of gear with him. He never alluded to his own
marriage but with the greatest distaste; and he teased Fenella on the
subject of hers until he nearly betrayed her into tears.
‘I shall never marry, Geoffrey,’ she kept on repeating. ‘I have always
said so, and I mean to keep to my word.’
‘Oh no, you won’t, child; everybody marries sooner or later, and you
are too pretty to remain an old maid. When I return from India, I shall
find my adopted sister a big lady--wife to a lord, perhaps, or some
swell in Parliament, and too grand to remember the brother she picked
up on the Ines-cedwyn sands.’
‘Oh, Geoffrey, as if I could ever forget you!’ Fenella faltered. ‘But
indeed you are mistaken. I mean to live with my mother and Bennett all
my life, and then some day perhaps--perhaps--’
‘Perhaps _what!_ dear?’
‘I was going to say,’ continued the girl, as she resolutely swallowed
something in her throat, ‘that some day perhaps, Geoffrey, when you
have--you have little children, they may learn to love me as if I
really were their aunt.’
Geoffrey Doyne gave vent to an oath that rung out discordantly upon the
still summer air.
‘Forgive me, Fenella,’ he pleaded. ‘I shouldn’t have said that,--but
I wish you wouldn’t talk in that way! It will never come to pass,
you know; it can’t--it must not--it is impossible!--Good Heavens!’
exclaimed the young man suddenly, as he leapt to his feet and paced up
and down the sand, ‘I believe that I shall go out of my mind.’
But one morning towards the close of the week he met her, with a face
from which all the perplexity and doubt had disappeared as if by magic.
‘Congratulate me, my dear girl!’ he exclaimed, as he ran up to meet
her. ‘I am so happy; such a load has been taken off my mind. I am the
most fortunate man in the world.’
‘What has happened, Geoffrey?’ she demanded in surprise.
There was no mistaking the joyousness of his demeanour, the glad light
flashing from his eyes, the new life that seemed to pervade his whole
being. But whence had it come--what had occasioned it? No idea of the
truth entered her mind.
‘Come inside the bungalow,’ he continued; ‘I have grand news to tell
you, and we must be alone.’
He dragged her into one of the empty rooms as he spoke, and perched her
on a window-sill, whilst he stood in front of her.
‘Fenella, dear, I am a free man!--say that you are as glad as I am!’
‘_A free man!_ Geoffrey, what do you mean?’
‘I could not bear my position with regard to Jessie Robertson any
longer, Fenella. It was growing more irksome, more distasteful to me
each day. I felt that I was living and acting a lie, and so at last
I made up my mind to write and tell her so; and she has released
me--released me from my engagement of her own free will--and I am a
happy man once more.’
‘What did you say to her?’ asked Fenella, trembling. Even in the
delight of hearing that Geoffrey Doyne was free again, even in
the whirl of the wild thoughts that swept through her mind at the
announcement, she could still feel for her rival; she could stop to
consider how much the renunciation would hurt _her_, and if she was to
be a sufferer by the arrangement.
‘What did you say to her?’ she repeated.
‘I just told her the truth--that I thought we had been in too great a
hurry in the matter; that marriage was a very solemn business, and once
done there was no undoing it; and I was sure we should never be happy
together. Of course I couldn’t say I wouldn’t marry her,--no man of
honour could do that,--but I put things before her in a proper light,
and left her to take the initiative, which she has done.’
‘And is she glad too?’ asked Fenella.
‘I think she sees the sense of it--in fact, she must. Any way, she sent
me back my letters this morning, with one or two presents I had been
fool enough to give her--which, of course, is as good as telling me the
engagement is cancelled. And so I am free, child, quite free, and you
have not yet congratulated me.’
‘She did not write a single word to you?’ said Fenella wistfully; ‘not
to say she was glad or sorry? Isn’t that very strange, Geoffrey?’
‘I don’t think it is. She could hardly have said she was sorry (that
would have been _infra dig_. for a young lady), and, on the other hand,
it would have been very rude to say she was glad. No! in my opinion
she’s done just the right thing, and I didn’t credit little Jessie with
so much sense. She simply returned my letters and presents--that was
dignified and decisive; and when I saw them, I was the happiest fellow
in Christendom.’
He took both her hands in his own as he spoke, and squeezed them, and
tried to look into the eyes which she kept fixed upon the ground.
‘Fenella,’ he whispered presently, ‘don’t you know _why_ I am so happy
at getting my release?’
‘Because you didn’t love her,’ replied the girl in a low voice.
‘There is another reason than that, my darling--an insurmountable
obstacle to my ever learning to love her--because all my heart and soul
are devoted to another woman. Oh, Fenella, you know who that is! Say
with me that you are glad.’
She raised her eyes to his. He was looking at her with ineffable
tenderness, and his arms were extended towards her. With a cry that was
half joy and half astonishment she flung herself into them.
‘Oh, Geoffrey!’ she exclaimed, ‘how could I be anything but glad when
it half killed me?’
His strong arms closed about her light form and twisted it round, so
that her face lay uppermost upon his breast.
‘My darling,’ he murmured, in a voice full of passion--‘my own, own
darling! I have never loved anything in this world as I love you!’
His eyes gazed straight into her eyes, and his handsome head drooped
lower and lower, until his burning lips baptized her lips with the
first kiss of love. Between fear and excitement, Fenella burst into a
rain of tears, and hid her face upon his breast, whilst he continued to
kiss the crown of her head, and the fair hair that fell like a veil of
gold about her, and tried to soothe her agitation.
‘I believe I loved you from the moment we met,’ he said. ‘Do you
remember how I gazed at you both at Calais and Dover, and made old
Bennett angry? I could not take my eyes off you; I felt somehow as if
it were my fate to look at and remember you. And when we met upon these
sands, I knew I was not mistaken. From that day, my darling, I have
been miserable--miserable to think that I was fettered by that wretched
engagement, and bound in honour not to tell you all I felt. I tried to
console myself a little by pledging eternal friendship to you; but it
was a sham, Fenella, and we both knew it was. I cannot be your brother;
you cannot be my sister. We must be much more to each other--or we must
be nothing at all.’
Fenella shuddered.
‘Oh, Geoffrey! what is this that has come over me? I feel if you were
to leave me that I should die.’
‘I shall never leave you, my dearest. We know each other’s hearts now,
and we must not be separated again. You will not refuse to share my
lot, Fenella. You will come with me to that horrid hot India we have so
often talked about together, and be my companion, and my friend, and my
wife to our lives’ end--will you not?’
A beautiful hot flush spread itself all over the girl’s fair face.
‘_Your wife!_’ she repeated, with a sort of gasp,--‘your wife,
Geoffrey! Oh, I am not worthy!’
She had no need now to ask why one man and one woman should promise
to keep to each other for evermore. Love had taught her all that. The
jealousy of love had seized upon her heart, and made her feel that if
she could not have this wonderful new-found treasure to herself, she
would not have it at all. But to be worthy of so much happiness--that
was another question.
‘Not worthy!’ echoed her lover, as he strained her again to his bosom;
‘then who is? Fenella, you are the one only woman in the world for me!
I love you, my darling, with all the strength and fervour of a man’s
first real love, and were Heaven to snatch you from my arms to-morrow,
the void you would leave in my heart could never be filled by any other
being! It is _I_, my love, who am not worthy to possess your purity and
innocence; but I will hold it, nevertheless, until my life’s end.’
The girl looked up at him through eyes that swam in tears, like
dew-washed violets.
‘And only a month ago,’ she murmured, ‘I was so ungrateful and so
silly, I thought that no one would ever care for me again. I felt as if
my life was already over, and I should be lonely and miserable to my
death! And then you came, Geoffrey, and everything seemed to change!
The sun shone, and the birds sang, and the roses blew, and I became a
different girl altogether. Was I asleep before, or was I dead? I feel
as if the old earth had gone away from me and I was in another world!
Has it gone away, Geoffrey, and is this heaven that we are living in
now?’
‘Yes, my darling, it is! It is the heaven of love--the best heaven God
has bestowed on man; and whilst we have it, we need no other. Fenella,
I have given you my heart and soul! What will you give me in exchange?’
‘_My life_,’ said the girl faintly. ‘You gave it to me, Geoffrey. I did
not live until I saw you. Take it back again and do what you will with
it.’
And in those words Fenella betrayed the fact that her childhood had
passed away from her for ever. Love had forced the blossom of her
womanhood into premature fruition, beneath the heat of Geoffrey Doyne’s
words and glances. The man who first makes a woman realise the fact
of her sex, who makes her feel she is the weaker and the subjugated
one, who asserts himself (by right of love alone) her master--that man
will rule that woman’s life, let who may come after him. The feminine
nature, like the masculine, may love many times, but it succumbs but
once.
But when the first rapturous feeling at the discovery of their mutual
affection had somewhat subsided, Fenella’s thoughts flew back again to
her absent unknown rival.
‘Are you _sure_,’ she said to Geoffrey, ‘that Miss Robertson will not
be very unhappy about this? Is it possible she can give you up without
pain?’
The young man laughed.
‘I don’t believe she will care two straws about it,’ he replied. ‘You
mustn’t think she loves me as you do, Fenella. She could not understand
such love as ours, so don’t trouble your dear little head about her! I
daresay she will be disappointed at first, but it will soon blow over,
and she will forget all about it and look out for somebody else.’
‘Then she could never have been worthy of you,’ said Fenella
indignantly, ‘and I will not be sorry for her any more! Oh, Geoffrey!
it seems very wonderful that this has come to pass! Do you know what
I have prayed for, every day since that miserable afternoon on the
landslip when you told me you were engaged to her?’
‘No, dearest; how should I?’
‘That you might not marry her!--I hope it was not wrong,’ she continued
timidly; ‘but it seemed so dreadful to me that you should take her into
a church and swear to love her all your life, when you knew that you
didn’t love her at all. It wasn’t for _myself_, you know, Geoffrey. I
knew you loved me, but I never thought you would want to marry me; but
I felt so ashamed and so sorry that you should have to tell a lie, and
to God too! For it would have been a lie--wouldn’t it?’
‘It would indeed, my darling. I should have perjured myself (as
thousands do) for fear of what the world would say of me.’
‘That swearing in church is dreadful,’ resumed Fenella thoughtfully;
‘it is positively wicked. It ought not to be allowed.’
‘But you’ll have to swear in church for me, you know,’ said Geoffrey,
laughing.
She grew scarlet.
‘Oh yes! but that will be quite another thing.’
‘How so?’
‘Because I have sworn already--in my heart. The church can’t make any
difference to me. I shall always be true to you, Geoffrey, as long as I
live.’
‘My darling girl, how sweet of you to say so! Yes; that is just what
I feel myself, Fenella. Love is the true marriage. You are mine
already--my own wife--and no one shall ever take you from me.’
Then they began to discuss ways and means, and what the higher
authorities would be likely to say to their intentions.
‘I must see your mother on the first opportunity,’ said Geoffrey Doyne.
‘When is she likely to return home?’
‘We don’t know at all; we have not even heard from her yet.’
‘Well, if she remains much longer abroad, I must go over and find her.
We have no time to lose, my darling. I must leave England in October.’
‘Suppose mamma were to say “No”?’ said the girl, trembling.
‘I don’t think she’s likely to do that,’ replied Geoffrey Doyne; ‘for
without wishing to seem conceited, Fenella, I am not a bad match, and
that is the reason the Robertsons were so anxious to secure me for
Jessie. I have a very fair income of my own, inherited from my mother,
and my prospects are excellent. Added to which, my father is a wealthy
man and a liberal one, and would make me an allowance during his
lifetime if I needed it. So there is no fear of my not being able to
keep you in a proper position. And your mother, you say, is not rich;
and she is not very fond of you?’
‘No,’ said Fenella, shaking her head, ‘she is not at all fond of me. I
think she will be very glad to get rid of me.’
‘And I shall be very glad to take you off her hands!’ exclaimed
Geoffrey playfully. ‘But come, my darling, we must have no tears; never
mind who _doesn’t_ love you now, so long as I _do_.’
‘Oh, Geoffrey!’ she cried, sobbing, ‘promise--_promise_ that you’ll
always love me, for I have no one in the world but you.’
And he called God to witness that he would be true to her so long as
they both had life.
‘And now we are really married,’ said Fenella, smiling through her
tears. ‘That is the same as you will say in church--isn’t it, Geoffrey?
And you asked God to hear you too.’
‘Yes; I can never say any more than that,’ he answered; ‘and I can
never feel any more, Fenella; and may God deal with me as I keep my
word to Him! And now, my dear girl, may I ask you a favour?’
‘No, don’t ask me a favour, Geoffrey. _Order_ me to do something, so
that I may feel that I am really going to be your wife.’
‘Very well, if you will have it so,’ he said, smiling. ‘I _order_ you,
then, my darling, not to make a confidante of your servant in this
matter, until I have communicated with Mrs Barrington.’
‘I am not to tell Bennett anything about our engagement?’
‘I think it will be better not. She is only a servant, you see, and
servants will talk. And then she will probably come prying down here
after us, and spoiling all our enjoyment. She is up again--did you not
tell me so?’
‘Yes, but I am afraid she will not be able to walk for some time yet.
Dr Redfern is going to bring her a pair of crutches to-morrow, so that
she may get about the garden; but she is dreadfully weak, poor thing!
She has been in bed now for five weeks.’
Geoffrey looked properly concerned.
‘Yes, it has been a bad accident for her, but a lucky one for us! If
she had always accompanied you to the sands, who knows if we should
ever have been allowed to pursue our acquaintance--eh, Fenella?’
‘Oh, Geoffrey, is it not wicked to be glad for what makes other people
unhappy?’
‘Well, we didn’t break the old woman’s leg, dear, so I don’t think we
need trouble ourselves about that. And I think, since it has gone so
far without her knowledge, that it would be a pity to tell her now. In
fact, your mother has undoubtedly a right to the first intelligence.
And I think, my darling, our love is too beautiful and too sacred a
thing to be told to everybody we meet--don’t you?’
The look she gave him in return was sufficient answer. Geoffrey Doyne
might rest assured that from that moment he would sway every action of
her life. Hearts such as Fenella’s are not given by halves. He left her
shortly after this, having made an appointment to take his sisters out
walking.
‘I think it will be as well for me to do duty with them occasionally
now, as I don’t want to arouse their suspicions before this matter
is properly settled,’ he said; ‘and I know they think I have some
attraction over at Ines-cedwyn as it is. But I cannot part with you
like this, my darling. I must see you again before I sleep! If I ride
over this evening after dinner--say at eight o’clock--could you manage
to run down and meet me at the landslip? It will be beautifully cool by
that time, and we have not been there since that miserable afternoon.
Ah! how different it will look to us now.’
‘Of course I will come,’ said Fenella confidently. ‘Why should I
not? Bennett never asks me where I am going. Yes, I shall love to sit
there with you--in that very same place, Geoffrey, under the stars,
and--thank God!’
So they parted, full of youth, love, and trust in each other and
themselves, pledged to meet again when the veil of evening was being
drawn as a shroud across the land and sea.
There was no one to control Fenella’s actions; no one to question
her comings and goings; no one even cognisant of the burning secret
that filled her heart. Bennett, worn out with the unusual exertion of
leaving her bed, had gladly retired again, and Martha and Benjamin were
busy with their poultry and flowers. So the girl--who had but this one
great love to consider, who had found her world in Geoffrey Doyne--went
down alone, under cover of the dusk, to meet her lover.
And as she reached the spot where they had picniced together, and he
had crushed her heart with the intelligence of his engagement to Jessie
Robertson, she saw the lithe, graceful figure she had grown to love so
well--the figure that should haunt her restless dreams for many weary
years to come--waiting to receive her, and sprang forward with a cry
of joy to greet him. Geoffrey Doyne strained her to his heart for a
few moments; then, with his arms still round her girlish form, he led
her through the leafy bower. So might Paul and Virginia have wandered
beneath the banyan leaves of the West Indian isles; or, rather, so
might Adam and Eve have explored their new-found paradise, without a
thought of the serpent that tracked their footsteps.
END OF VOL. I.
COLSTON AND SON, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.
Transcriber’s Notes
Spelling, punctuation, and hyphens standardised across the text.
p173: perfer changed to “gentlemen could prefer”.