THE WOOING IN THE WOOD
In the afternoon she took a book and went for a ramble out of doors.
It was a novel of the ultra-sentimental school, and only the other day
the first portion of the story had impressed her with the belief that
it was written by a person who had sounded the heights and depths of
life. She thought differently now. It was the story of a woman who,
for love's sake, had almost--but not quite--thrown her life away This
seemed to her absurd, for, in the light of her new philosophy, she
thought she knew that the thing called love was non-existent in the
world. And for love's sake to throw one's life away!
It was not until she reached a leafy glade which ran down to the edge
of the cliff that she opened the book. She seated herself on a little
mossy bank with her back against the trunk of a great old tree, and
placed the book on her knees. After she had read for a time she began
to be annoyed. The heroine, firmly persuaded that life without love
was worthless, was calmly arranging to sacrifice as fine prospects as
a woman ever had, so as to enable her to sink to the social position
of her lover, an artisan. The artisan belonged to the new gospel which
teaches that it is only artisans who have a right to live. He was a
wood-engraver, she was the daughter of a hundred earls. As a
wood-engraver--who declined to take large prices for his work--he
considered that she was in an infinitely lower sphere than he: a state
of degradation to be sorrowed over at the best. So she was making the
most complicated arrangements to free herself from the paternity--and
wealth--of the hundred earls.
Miss Truscott became exceedingly annoyed at the picture of devotion
presented by these two, and threw the book from her in disgust.
"What nonsense it all is! How people do exaggerate these things. I
don't believe that love makes the slightest difference in anybody's
life. I do believe that people love a good dinner, or a pretty frock,
or ten thousand pounds a year, but anything else----!" She shrugged
her shoulders with a significant gesture. "There may be weak-minded
people somewhere who believe in love, but even that sort is the love
that loves and rides away. As for love in married life! In the present
state of society, if it did exist it is quite clear to me that it
would be the most uncomfortable thing about the whole affair. Mr. Ely
is a sensible man. He wants a wife, not a woman who loves him. That's
the royal road to marriage!"
As Miss Truscott arrived at this conclusion, she rose from her mossy
seat and shook herself all over, as if she were shaking off the last
remnants of her belief in love.
"Miss Truscott!"
She stood amazed, motionless, with a curious, sudden fascination as
the sound of a voice fell on her ears. It came again.
"Miss Truscott, won't you turn and look at me?"
She turned and looked, and there was a man. She seemed wonderstruck. A
very perceptible change came over her. She became more womanly as she
looked: softer, more feminine. The scornful look passed from her eyes
and face and bearing. She became almost afraid.
"Mr. Summers! Is it you?"
It was a new voice which spoke, a voice which Mr. Ely would never live
to hear. And in it there was a hidden music which was sweeter that the
music of the birds.
"Yes, Miss Truscott, it is I."
He held out his hand. She timidly advanced, and he advanced a step,
and their two hands met. And their eyes met, too. And both of them
were still. Then she gently disengaged her hand, and looked at the
bracken at her feet.
"Some spirit of the wild wood must have led me. I have come straight
up from the station here. It must have been some curious instinct
which told me where you would be found."
"Oh, I am often here--you know that I am often here."
"I know you used to be."
"I think that most of my habits are still unchanged. And where have
you been this great, long time? I thought that you would never come
again."
"Did you think that? Is that true?"
He leaned forward. He spoke in a low, eager, insistent tone, which,
for some cause, made the blood surge about the region of her heart,
and made her conscious that new life was in her veins.
"Oh! I did not think of it at all. Out of sight is out of mind, you
know!"
"And I have been thinking of you all the time. You have been with me
in my dreams both day and night. Your face has stared at me from every
canvas which I touched. You were at the end of every brush. Everything
I tried to paint turned into you. I thought my heart would burst at
the anticipation of meeting you again."
She was silent: for the world she could not have spoken then. This
sceptic maiden, who but a moment back was so incredulous of the
existence of the thing called love, was stricken dumb, conquered by
the magic of the spell woven by this man's tongue and eyes.
"I tried to paint you, and I failed--there are fifty failures in my
room! But one night there came to me the glamour of my lady's eyes. At
the first dawn of day I stood before my canvas, and all at once, as if
it were by witchcraft, I had you there. You shall look at that
portrait one fine day, and you shall know that I have you even when
you are not near. And so, through all the weary time, you have been
there; sleeping and waking I have had you by my side. And you--not
once--have thought of me!"
Silence. Then she raised her head and looked at him.
"I have thought of you--at times."
"What times?"
There was a pause before she spoke, as if each was conscious of a
fascination in the other's glance; eyes continued looking into eyes.
"All times--I think."
"Lady of my heart's desire!"
He still carried the bludgeon which we have seen he had in Mr. Ash's
office. He let it fall upon the ground. He stretched out his two
hands, and, as if unconsciously, she yielded hers to his. So they were
face to face, hands clasped in hands.
"Love lives no longer now. They tell us that it is only in the fables
it is found. Yet I think that they are wrong--nay, it is certain that
I know they are--for I love you better than my life!"
Silence. Even the myriad sounds of nature seemed to be suddenly quite
still. There was no rustling of leaves, no twittering of birds, there
was not even audible the murmuring of the sea. And he went on--
"I pray you tell me--do you love me?"
"Willy!"
That was all she said. Then he stooped and kissed her on the lips. "My
dear!" he said.
Then they were still. He did not even draw her to him. He only held
her hands and looked upon her face. And she regarded him with shy,
proud eyes.
"Why have you been so long?"
"Because I had made myself a promise."
"What promise?"
"That I would earn my prize."
"How could you do that?"
"Ah! how indeed! For, truly, it could not be earned. But when I saw
you first I was the laziest of men. Until that hour I had thrown my
life away. I told myself that until I had done something to redeem the
past, until I had made my mark upon the time, I might not make my
petition for the prize."
"Then it is your fault, my friend."
"If there is a fault, it certainly is mine, for I am full of fault.
But what especial evil have I done?"
She removed her hands from his, and tapping a pebble with her little
foot, she smiled.
"You can never guess."
"Is it so black a crime?"
Suddenly she put her two hands to her face and laughed. But her cheeks
were crimson all the same.
"Oh! what have I done? I shall never dare to tell." She peeped at him
round the edges of her hands. "Shall you be angry with me, Will?"
"Never, if you call me Will!"
"Do you know--- But let me begin at the beginning." She removed her
hands, and putting them behind her back, looked at him shyly, and then
looked down. "Do you know, I thought that you would never come again."
He laughed, and there was something in his laughter made her laugh
too. "So I was not happy--for I loved you all the time." He laughed
again, and, putting his arm about her waist, drew her closer to his
side. "Do you know what happened yesterday?"
"Did the cat drink all the cream?"
"No, worse than that--for we haven't got a cat. Have you forgotten
Pompey, sir? Somebody asked me to be his wife!"
"What! Who?"
"Do you know Mr. Frederic Ely?"
"Good heavens! Was he the man?"
"What man? Willy--surely you do not know!"
"So that was what he was coming into the country for! To think of the
little beggar's impudence. And I wished him luck, by gad!"
He laughed. But she was still.
"Willy! what do you mean? Do you know all about it, then?"
"Why, it was a bargain, sweet. He was to try his luck, and then I
mine. I was so sure of you, you see!"
She released herself from his embrace, and again covering her face
with her hands, she shivered.
"What have you done?"
"It was this way; let me unfold the tale. I went to Mr. Ash and told
him what you know: how all my life was centred in my love for you. He
told me that just before I came another man had brought to him the
self-same tale."
"Surely not quite the same? Surely he did not say that all his life
was centred in his love for me?"
"No, not exactly that! Yet, sweet, why not? For who shall know you and
not love you as his life? But at least another man had come to him who
wished to win your hand--that priceless hand! And he had given him his
word. So it was agreed that he should try his fortune first, and if he
failed--I knew that he would fail!--I should try mine. And if I
won--ah, how I longed to win!--Mr. Ash would crown success with his
consent."
Silence reigned again. They stood a little way apart, he with his eyes
fixed on her face, she with hers upon the ground.
"What have I done?" The words were whispered in an undertone. Then she
looked up at him with a sudden fire in her eyes. "Do you know what I
have done? I have promised this other man to be his wife."
"What! Good God! Lily! what do you mean?"
"He asked me to be his wife. I said I would. I thought that you were
false, you see."
"You thought that I was false! But--it is madness! It is a foolish
dream!"
"Do not look so utterly dismayed. You said that you would not be
vexed, you know. Besides, now it is another thing."
"Another thing! But--Lily, tell me exactly what it is that you have
done."
"I will tell you just exactly what it is that I have done. To begin,
then. You see, I have not been happy--ever since you went away."
"You foolish maid! And yet you wisest of them all."
"I waited--oh, Will, I waited such a weary time! I thought that you
would write, or--or do something that you never did. And at last I
began to think that waiting was in vain. And when I was in the most
hopeless of my hopeless moods--it was no further back than yesterday,
yet it seemed years ago!"--she put forth her hand and touched his arm,
and he laughed beneath his breath--"a letter came from Mr. Ash. He
said that Mr. Ely was coming here. I showed the letter to my aunt. She
seemed to take it for granted that I would do exactly what my guardian
wished me to--as though it were a decree that was written in the
skies. So when he came, and asked me to be his wife--just out of spite
and wickedness I said I would. He never asked me if I loved him; he
never pretended even to love me. It was just a bargain: I was to be
his wife."
"My little love! What is it you have done? And now, pray, what is it
that you mean to do?"
"I shall write and tell him I have changed my mind."
"Changed your mind! What do you suppose that he will say to that?"
"Why, what can he say? It is like a commercial treaty which is in the
air. There are some of the clauses to which I am unable to agree. So I
withdraw from the negotiations and refuse to sign."
"One thing is sure: you cannot be his wife."
"Will, I am just like you! I love you better than my life!"
"Sweetheart! Then I have won the prize! I thought that I had won the
prize! Will you forgive me my presumption in that I thought that I had
won the prize?"
"You should not have kept me so long waiting. It is your fault that I
have sinned."
"You shall not have cause again to esteem me false; and observe, fair
maid, I had a higher estimate of you."
"Willy! That is unkind!"
Then she turned her face up to his, and when he saw that sweet face
upturned and those sweet eyes, what could he do but kiss, not once nor
twice, but many times, those sweetest lips? And by this time the two
were close together. He had his arm about her waist and pressed her to
his breast.
"Do you know that, from my point of view, fair queen, this was worth
waiting for?"
"And do you know, sir, that is my point of view as well?"
Then there was silence, and they feasted on the love that was in each
other's eyes.
"Lily! Mr. Summers!"
And while they were still engaged in this delectable pursuit, all at
once their names were spoken from behind; and turning, they saw that
Mrs. Clive was standing in the shadow of the trees.