THE PERILS OF ONE NIGHT.
Words that weep, and tears that speak.
COWLEY.
Blanche's bed-room formed the angle of the right wing at the back of
the Hall. Her window looked upon the terrace. Between the right
wing and the offices ran an arcade, as a sort of a connecting link.
The top of this arcade formed an open gallery with heavy balustrades,
and paved with dark iron-grey tiles. A small side-door opened on to
it from the bed-room; and frequently, in summer, did Blanche sit out
in this gallery to enjoy the cool night-air, or, leaning against the
balustrade, gazed at the heavy curtain of clouds,--
"While the rare stars rush'd thro' them dim and fast."
At the end of the interior of the arcade was a niche, in which were
generally kept some of the girl's gardening tools, and a slight
ladder which they used.
Blanche was still dressed, as the light in her bed-room told Cecil,
who had stolen out in pursuance of the resolution recorded in the
last chapter. She was seated on the side of her bed in an attitude
of delicious reverie, her head slightly drooping, her hands
carelessly fallen on her lap, when the sound of a pebble striking
against the window-pane startled her. Again that sound--and again!
She rose and went to the window. The sky was overcast, and the night
was dark, but after a few seconds she recognised Cecil, and opened
the window.
"Are you dressed, dearest?"
"Yes."
"Then come out into the gallery. I want to speak to you. I can get
up by the ladder."
"Very well, but be careful."
She closed the window, and stepped out. He placed the top of the
ladder against the pediment of the arcade and quickly ascended.
They rushed into each other's arms of course. Lovers always do that
directly they are together, no matter what important business brings
them there.
"Blanche, my beloved, are you willing to share my fate, whatever that
may be?"
"Have you run all this risk to ask me that?" she said, reproachfully.
"No; but I must ask it you--and in saddest seriousness--before I
speak further."
Her lips sought his, and pressed them ardently.
"Our secret is discovered--your father even suspects it--we must
fly--will you be mine?--Hush! what is that?--hush!--I heard a door
shut.--Hark! yes, a footstep--do you not hear it?--a hurried
step.--It comes this way--good God! what shall we do?"
Blanche trembled with fright as the heavy sounds of an approaching
step smote upon her ears; but, with a sudden inspiration, she dragged
Cecil into her room, and opening her window leaned out as if
star-gazing, though the sky was starless. At length the sharp ring
of the footsteps upon the stone terrace was heard, and a male figure
was dimly visible. It came right opposite the window.
"Blanche! not yet in bed?" said Captain Heath; "and breathing the
autumnal night-air too?"
She shook slightly, but answered, "Yes. The night-air cools me."
Cecil was greatly agitated, but held his breath and listened.
Nothing more was said for some seconds; at last Blanche asked him
what brought him out so late.
"Inability to remain in doors. I have just had an interview with
_him_, which has greatly agitated me. He shewed himself selfish,
foolish, and contemptible."
Cecil was on the point of starting up, but restrained himself on
remembering where he was. Blanche was hurt, and replied, "Silence on
that subject. Remember you are speaking of one who is to be my
husband."
"God forbid!" he exclaimed.
She closed the discussion by shutting her window.
He moved away; but had not taken four steps when the ladder caught
his eye. The position of the ladder, coupled with Blanche at the
open window, still dressed, at that hour of the night, at once
convinced him that an elopement was meditated. A sick faintness
overcame him for a moment; but it was only for a moment. He rallied
immediately, and taking the ladder on his shoulder, carried it off.
Willing as he was to assist his rival in every honourable way, he
could not, after that evening's conversation with him, think of
allowing an elopement, which must not only deprive them of any chance
of assistance from her father, but also, by an unseemly
precipitation, plunge them both into a difficulty it was his care, as
Blanche's protector, to save them from. Having carried away their
ladder, he then proceeded to the lodge-gates to see if a post-chaise
was in waiting.
Meanwhile, the lovers had recovered from their agitation, and were
arranging their plans of escape for the following night. The first
tremor of modesty Blanche felt, on becoming aware that she had
introduced Cecil into her bed-room, was completely set aside--the
more so as, with a delicacy which often distinguished this weak,
selfish, but still in many respects, admirable man, Cecil kept
himself at a distance from her, and though holding her hand, did not
even raise it to his lips. By that mute language which is more
eloquent than words, he had assured her that the situation only
increased his respect, and that nothing should make him take a base
advantage of her momentary forgetfulness.
There was something deeply interesting and even touching in the
situation of these two lovers. Shut up in a bed-room with him at
midnight, she was as sacred in his eyes as she would have been in
broad daylight, and surrounded by friends. She felt her security;
and this gave a frankness and tenderness to her manner, which plainly
spoke her thanks.
He felt also the charm of the situation, but with the charm, the
danger, and therefore dared not keep his eyes from her, dared not
look upon the bed or toilet-table, and strove by looking only at her
to forget the place.
Modest and respectful as his attitude was, there was an exquisite
feeling engendered by that situation which he had never felt before,
and which those will comprehend who have trembled with secret
pleasure at the delicious nothings--an accidental touch of the
hand--the contact of a ringlet against the cheek--nothings which love
invests with an incomparable charm. It is like a coy lingering at
the gates of paradise, whose splendour the soul anticipates with
delicious awe.
But the time fled rapidly, and the first cold streaks of dawn,
struggling with the faint starlight, warned him that he must depart,
ere it seemed to him that he had said all there was to say.
Repeating every detail of their plan once more, they arose. He
timidly offered her his lips, as begging but not demanding a kiss,
and she threw herself into his arms. There was gratitude in her
embrace, though she knew not for what. Her innocence concealed from
her the perilous situation she had gone through; but her instinct
told her confusedly that she had been spared. He pressed her closer
to him, and felt a thousand-fold repaid.
She opened the door, and they stepped out into the gallery. Horror
stiffened their features as they missed the ladder. "Gone! gone!" he
hoarsely whispered. "Then, we are lost. It's that meddler, Heath!
... He knew I was in your room, and he took that method of ... But
I'll be revenged. The scoundrel!"
Blanche was too terrified to weep; she did nothing but wring her
hands piteously.
What was to be done? The arcade was too high to allow him to drop;
and yet there seemed to be no other mode of escape possible.
It was a moment of horrible suspense.
"Heath loves you, Blanche," he said presently, with a certain
fierceness in his tone.
"I know it," she said, sadly.
There was a pause. She watched his countenance with anxiety: angry
passions seemed drifting over his soul like the clouds over a stormy
sky; and she, not understanding the tortures of jealousy, of hate, of
revenge, of fierce resolutions as quickly chased away as formed,
which then agitated him, looked with trembling at his distorted face.
"By God!" he suddenly exclaimed, "I will triumph yet."
Then seizing her by the waist, he carried her back again into the
room.
"Cecil, Cecil," she said, "let me go. What do you mean? Cecil, you
alarm me--set me down."
He tried to stop her mouth, but she struggled in his grasp, from
which she at length freed herself.
"Blanche," he said, "we are betrayed. We shall be separated for
ever--for ever! There is but one way to prevent it, but one way to
defy them."
He approached her, but she eluded his grasp, and said: "Oh! dearest,
dearest Cecil! do not ... do not outrage the memory of this night,
hitherto so sacred ... do not lower me in your eyes, and my own."
"It must ... it shall be..."
"No, no; do not say it!"
"It is our only hope," he said, as he again clasped her in his arms.
"Cecil, Cecil, I am yours ... yours only will I be ... can you doubt
it? ... but, oh! leave me now! leave me! leave me!"
She sank at his feet, raising her hands imploringly, and wept.
He was touched. The sight of this lovely girl, thus passionate in
her sorrow, kneeling at his feet and imploring his pity, was more
than he could withstand. All the wild passion and gross instincts
which had been roused, were now calmed again with the rapidity which
is usual in such moments of delirious excitement, when the soul seems
not only susceptible of every influence bad or good, but also
susceptible of the most violent and rapid changes.
He threw himself upon a chair, and bade her rise.
"God bless you! God bless you for that word!" she sobbed. "There
spoke my own Cecil."
He was silent and humiliated. The flaring light of the candles just
expiring in the socket, told her that they would soon be in darkness;
and she shuddered at the thought, though not daring to disturb the
sullen meditation in which he was indulging, by any prayer to him to
depart. Each time the wayward light in its capricious action seemed
on the point of being extinguished, a thrill of horror ran over her.
The returning brightness brought returning courage.
Silent he sat,
Still as any stone,
His eyes fixed on the floor, a prey to a sort of remorseful stupid
anger, not only at having been foiled, but at finding himself
helpless in the dilemma.
One of the candles went out. Only a feeble vacillating glimmer was
shed by the other; but it was enough to show him that Blanche had
fainted. The emotions of the night had so enfeebled her, that the
terror of approaching darkness made her senseless.
"I have killed her!" was the horrible thought that presented itself
to his mind. He sprang forwards, raised her in his arms, and looked
eagerly into her ashy-pale countenance.
The second candle went out, and left them in obscurity, which the
delicate tints of early morning peering through the window-curtains
scarcely lessened.
He dragged her out into the gallery, where in a few minutes the keen
air of morning revived her. On coming to herself, she saw the cold
grey sky above, and Cecil's anxious face bending down to catch the
first glimpse of returning life. A sweet sigh burst from her, as she
closed her eyes again, and leaned her head upon his shoulder. It was
like awaking from a nightmare!
In a few minutes, she was sufficiently revived to be able to stand.
Not a word passed; but her eyes were most eloquent, as in mute
thankfulness she fixed them on his agitated face.
Perhaps in all the emotions of that eventful night, there had been
none which rivalled in peculiar and indescribable delight their
present sense of subsided agitation and terror. A heavenly calmness
had descended upon their spirits. It was like the hushed stillness
which succeeds a storm, when the only sound is that of the gentle
dripping of rain-drops from the leaves. Their feelings were in
harmony with the scene. The twittering of a few early birds made
them sensible of the deep repose and quiet of the hour; and the pale
streaks of golden light, mixed with the heavy clouds which during the
night had lowered from the sky, not inaptly represented the streaks
of light which in their own souls drove away the clouds of darkness
and tempest.
While in the mute enjoyment of this scene, they were suddenly alarmed
by the appearance of a man emerging from the wood. Another glance
assured them it was Captain Heath; and to avoid being seen they
returned to the bed-room.
"Heath is still prowling about," said Cecil to her. "No doubt on the
watch; so if any means could be devised of my descending on to the
terrace, he would be certain to see me. I must make a bold venture,
and go through the house. At this early hour, no one can be awake.
I will take off my boots, and creep noiselessly along."
Captain Heath was returning, trying to persuade himself that the
ladder placed against the arcade was purely accidental. No traces of
a post-chaise were to be seen; and, after all, was not an elopement
most improbable, when his interview with Cecil was kept in mind?
It may seem strange, that one capable of assisting his rival should
feel so hurt at the thought of an elopement. Yet the shock had
almost unmanned him. He roamed about, like a criminal in a condemned
cell, endeavouring to persuade himself that his doom cannot be
executed--that a reprieve must come. The truth is--and let it not
impeach his heroism, but rather enhance it, by showing how great was
his sacrifice--he had not fortitude enough to bear the blow when it
fell. He had made up his mind to see his beloved the wife of
another; but he had not made up his mind to see it so suddenly.
Resigned to his fate, he had not imagined his doom so near its
execution. Perhaps, in the secret recesses of his soul, there were
vague, unexpressed hopes that _something_ might occur to prevent the
marriage--that Vyner would refuse--that Cecil would repent. In
short, the vicissitudes of life opened to him a hope; and faint as
that hope might be, we know at what reeds the sinking man will snatch.
Rather than believe in an elopement, he made up his mind to the
position of the ladder being an accident; and resolved at length to
seek his couch in sleep to forget the troubles of his soul.
His bedroom was situated at the corner of a corridor, at the end of
which was Blanche's room. His hand was upon the lock, and the door
ajar, when, emerging from the corridor, Cecil turned the corner and
came full upon his rival.
What a look was that darted from each startled and indignant face at
this encounter! Both were speechless--both deadly pale; the muscles
frightfully rigid; the eyes--oh! who shall describe the lightnings of
their terrible eyes, glaring at each other like famished jaguars!
It was but a look, and they separated.
In that look of horror, of rage, of triumph, and despair, Cecil
concentrated all the hate and jealousy he felt, as well as all the
triumph in the pain he was inflicting--and Captain Heath all the
anguish at the discovery of his rival having passed the night in
Blanche's room, and despair at the irremediable destruction of all
his hopes.
Throughout the varied scenes of after life, that look was never
altogether forgotten; from time to time it would rise in the memory,
recalling with it all the poignant sensations which the emotions of
years could not efface.
Not a word passed between them. The captain went into his room, and
closed the door. Cecil crept to his room, and threw himself
undressed upon his bed; there, worn out with the excitement of the
last few hours, he sank into a deep and dreamless sleep.
Watching the flood of light gradually spreading over the sky;
watching, to use Browning's fine expression,
Day, like a mighty river, flowing in,
Captain Heath sat forlorn at his window; sleepless, motionless,
hopeless. Measuring, with cruel calmness, the wreck of all his
hopes; and, with stoic bitterness, the extent of his suffering.
Learning to look his misery in the face; learning to stifle every
vain regret; learning to bear with manly courage that which no
unmanly wailing could alleviate.
Before he rose, he felt with the poet, that
Meeting what must be
Is half commanding it.