THE LOVERS MEET.
And in my heart, fair angel, chaste and wise,
I love you: start not, speak not, answer not.
I love you......
HEYWOOD.--_A Woman killed with Kindness._
It was a lovely night. The full harvest moon shed a soft brilliance
over the far-stretching meadow-lands; the sky was dotted with small
patches of light fleecy cloud, and a few dim stars. All was hushed
in that repose which lends a solemn grandeur to a night-scene, when
the sky, the stars, the silence--things suggestive of
infinity--become the objects of contemplation.
Cecil was not one to remain indifferent to such a scene: his
painter's eye and poet's heart were equally open to its mild
splendour. The tall trees standing dark against the sky, and the dim
outline of the woody heights around, no more escaped his notice, than
the picturesquely grouped cattle, one of which, a dun cow, with large
white face and chest, stood motionless amidst her recumbent
companions.
Although he could not resist the first burst of admiration, Cecil was
in no mood to luxuriate in the poetry of such a scene, as he would
have done at any other time; but, striking into the thick and shadowy
shrubbery, delicately chequered with interspaces of moonlight, he
began to consider the object of this nocturnal ramble.
It would be difficult to explain the motive which impelled him to
make this assignation. It was one of the sudden inspirations of
passion, which defeat whole months of calculated prudence. Nothing
could have been more opposed to his calculations than anything like
an express declaration, until he had ascertained the truth of what
Captain Heath had asserted. And although he rose from the table with
the resolution to be on his guard, and to watch closely the state of
affairs, his first act, as we have seen, was one of consummate
imprudence--one which inextricably entangled him in the very net from
which he was anxious to keep away. Now, upon Captain Heath's view of
his character, this was little less than madness--in short, it was
unintelligible. But it is intelligible enough upon a more
comprehensive view of human character; as every one will acknowledge
who has ever stood beside the girl he loves, in a room full of
people--the very restraint of the place sharpens desire, and makes
the timid bold. Hence one reason why so many more declarations are
made in ball-rooms, and at parties, than in _tête-à-têtes_.
Certain it is that Cecil, standing beside Blanche looking over the
same portfolio, their hands occasionally touching, their eyes
occasionally meeting, was in no condition to listen to the dictates
of reason. A tumult of desire beat at his heart. He was standing
within that atmosphere (if I may use the word) which surrounds the
beloved, and which, as by a magnetic power, inconceivably stirs the
voluptuousness latent in every soul. He was within the halo which
encircled her, and was dazzled by its lustre. Irresistibly urged by
his passion to call this lovely creature his own, he could not forego
bringing things to a crisis; and he made the assignation. Her
consent enchanted him. He was in a fever of impatience for her to
retire. He cursed the lagging time for its slowness; and, with a
thrill of delight, found himself in the open air, about to hear from
Blanche's own lips that which her eyes had so frequently expressed.
In a few minutes, all this impatience and delight subsided. He had
gained his point. Blanche had consented to meet him; and he had
contrived to come to the rendezvous without awakening any suspicion.
Now, for the first time, he began to consider seriously the object of
that meeting. He was calm now; and grew calmer the more he pondered.
"What an ass I have been!" he thought. "What the devil could induce
me to forget myself so far? She will come, expecting to hear me
declare myself. But I can't marry her. I can't offer her beggary as
a return for her love. If Heath should have told the truth. D--n
it, he can't be such an unfeeling egotist as not to make some
provision for his children! No, no; I'll not believe _that_. A few
thousands he must in common decency have set aside, or he would never
be able to look honest men in the face. Besides, Vyner doesn't
appear to be particularly selfish. However, it _may_ be true; and if
so----
"Can I invent something of importance to communicate instead of my
love? Let me see. That will look so odd--to make an assignation for
any other purpose than _the_ one! But she doesn't come. Can she be
hesitating? I wish her fears would get the better!
"She won't come. That will release me from the difficulty. It is
the best thing that could happen.
"I see a light in her room. What is she doing? Struggling with
herself perhaps; or perhaps waiting till the coast is clear. D--n
the cigar, out again!"
Upon what slight foundations sometimes hang the most important events!
That is rather a profound remark; not positively new, perhaps, but
singularly true. It has escaped from my pen, and as a pencil mark of
approbation is sure to be made against it in every copy in every
circulating library, why should I hesitate to let it go forth?
A fine essay might be written entitled, "The Philosophy of Life, as
collected from the _marked passages_ in modern novels." And I offer
the essayist, the remark above, as his opening aphorism.
But I digress.
The situation which suggested the foregoing aphorism was curious
enough to warrant my writing it; for had Blanche appeared at the
rendezvous at this time, or a few minutes earlier, it is most likely,
from the frame of mind in which her lover then was, that he would
have made some shuffling excuse or other, and declared anything to
her but his love. But she hesitated. With a coyness natural to the
sex, she shrunk back from that which she most desired. Nothing would
have given her greater pleasure than to hear Cecil swear he loved
her, and yet she trembled at the idea of meeting him to hear it said.
She kept him waiting half an hour.
Whoever has been accustomed to analyze his own feelings, will at once
foresee that Cecil, after coming to the determination that he had
acted with consummate folly in making the assignation, now began to
get uneasy at the idea of her not keeping it. Obstacles irritate
desires. If "the course of true love" does not "run smooth," so much
the deeper will it run. Cecil, willing enough to blame himself for
his rashness, now began to feel piqued at her indifference. Ten
minutes before, the sight of her coming from the house would have
been painful; now he was irritated by her absence. He was several
times on the point of sulkily going back to the drawing-room; but the
thought "if she should come" arrested him.
She came at last, and his heart leapt as he beheld her.
"Have I kept you long?" she asked.
"Every minute away from you is an hour. But you are with me now," he
replied, as he folded her to his breast and kissed her burning lips.
Having expressed what was in their hearts by this long eloquent
embrace, he twined his arm around her waist, clasping her hand in
his, walked slowly with her to the river-side.
While they are thus lovingly employed, I wish to make one remark on
the superiority of actions to words. Here were two lovers morally
certain of each other's affection, but wanting the confirmation of an
oath. They met for the express purpose of saying, in good set terms,
that which only wanted the ratification of words; and instead of
saying anything on the subject they allowed a kiss--and very eloquent
such kisses are--to settle the matter. What could they have said
which would have so well expressed it?
Although they walked down to the river, and sat upon the trunk of a
fallen tree to admire the shimmer of moonlight upon the gently
running stream, and the cool, crisp, delightful sound of the water as
it dashed over the huge stones that formed a weir, and then fell over
in guise of a little waterfall, they made no allusion to the
"important communication" which had drawn them both out. They had
too much to talk about. They had to confess when it was their love
began, and to vow that it would never end. They had the most
charming confidences to make respecting what had been done and said
by each, and what each had felt thereat; confidences which, though
full of "eloquent music" to them, may very well be spared here.
Nor did they much admire the river by moonlight, in spite of its
brilliant tracks of light, and dusky patches of shade thrown from the
overhanging trees; hand clasped in hand, they looked into each
other's eyes, from which no landscape in the world could have seduced
them.
Oh, what exquisite bliss was crowded into that brief hour! How their
pulses throbbed, and their hearts bounded! How their souls looked
from out their eyes as if to plunge into an indissoluble union! A
strange fire burnt in their veins, and made them almost faint with
pleasure too intense for mortal endurance. He crushed her hand in
his with almost savage fury, and she returned the pressure.
Love! divine delirium, exquisite pain! rich as thou art in rapture,
potent as thou art o'er the witcheries of moments which reveal to
mortal sense some glimpses of immortal bliss, thou hast no such
second moment as that which succeeds the first avowal of two
passionate natures. Other joys thou hast in store, but no repetition
of this one thrilling ecstacy.
Love has its virginity--its bloom--its first, but perishable melody,
which sounds but once, and then is heard no more. This melody was
now sounding in their hearts, as, seated on that fallen trunk, they
heeded the world no more than the moonlit stream which glided at
their feet. One hour of intense, suffocating, overwhelming rapture
did they pass together; an hour never to be forgotten; an hour worth
a life.