DOWN THE PEMBERLEY ROAD
Three-quarters of an hour had elapsed before I ventured into the room
again; but at the first sound of my footsteps Gladys looked up, and
called to me in a voice changed and broken with happiness.
'Ursula, dear Ursula, come here.' And as I knelt down beside her and put
my arms round her she laid her cheek against my shoulder: it was wet with
tears.
'Ursula, I am so happy. Do you know that he loves me, that he has loved
me all through these years? You must not see what he says; it is only for
my eyes; it is too sweet and sacred to be repeated; but I never dreamt
that any one could care for me like that.'
I kissed her without speaking; there seemed a lump in my throat just
then. I did not often repine, but the yearning sense of pain was strong
on me. When would this cruel silence between me and Giles be broken? But
Gladys, wrapt in her own blissful thoughts, did not notice my emotion.
'He says that there is much that he can only tell me by word of mouth,
and that he dare not trust to a letter explanations for his silence, and
much that I shall have to tell him in return; for we shall need each
other's help in making everything clear.
'He seems to reproach himself bitterly, and asks my pardon over and over
again for misunderstanding me so. He says my giving up my work was the
first blow to his hopes, and then he had been told that I cared for my
cousin Claude. He believed until this morning that I was in love with
him; and it was your going to him--oh, my darling! how good you have been
to me and him!--that gave him courage to write this letter, Ursula.'
And here she cried a little. 'Was it Etta who told him this falsehood
about, Claude? How could she he so wicked and cruel?'
'Do not think about her to-day, my dearest,' I returned soothingly. 'Her
punishment will be great some day. We will not sit in judgment on her
just now. She cannot touch your happiness again, thank heaven!'
'No,' with a sigh; 'but, as Max says, it is difficult to forgive the
person who is the chief source of all our trouble. He did say that, and
then he reproached himself again for uncharitableness, and added that he
ought to have known me better.
'He does not seem quite certain yet that I can care for him, and he begs
for just one word to put him out of his suspense, to tell him if I can
ever love him well enough to be his wife. I don't want him to wait long
for my answer, Ursula: he has suffered too much already. I think I could
write a few words that would satisfy him, if I could only trust Chatty to
take them.'
'You had better wait until to-morrow morning and intrust your letter to
the "five-o'clock carrier."' And as my meaning dawned on her her doubtful
expression changed into a smile. 'Do wait, Gladys,' I continued
coaxingly. 'It is very selfish of me, perhaps, but I should like to give
that letter to Max.'
'You may have your wish, then, for I was half afraid of sending it by
Chatty. I have grown so nervous, Ursula, that I start at a shadow. I can
trust you better than myself. Well, I will write it, and then it will be
safe in your hands.'
I went away again after this, and left her alone in the quiet shady room.
I fought rather a battle with myself as I paced up and down Lady Betty's
spacious chamber. Why need I think of my own troubles? why could I not
keep down this pain? I would think only of Gladys's and of my dear Max's
happiness, and I dashed away hot tears that would keep blinding me as I
remembered the chilly greeting of the morning. And yet once--but no; I
would not recall that bitter-sweet memory. I left Gladys alone for an
hour: when I went back she was leaning wearily against the cushions of
her chair, the closely-written sheets still open on her lap, as though
she needed the evidence of sight and touch to remind her that it was not
part of her dream.
'Have you written your letter, Gladys?'
'Yes,' with a blush; 'but it is very short, only a few words. He will
understand that I am weak and cannot exert myself much. Will you read it,
Ursula, and tell me if it will do?'
I thought it better to set her mind at rest, so I took it without demur.
The pretty, clear handwriting was rather tremulous: he would be sorry to
see that.
'My dear Mr. Cunliffe,'--it said,--'Your letter has made me very happy.
I wish I could answer it as it ought to be answered; but I know you will
not misunderstand the reason why I say so little.
'I have been very ill, and am still very weak, and my hand trembles too
much when I try to write; but I am not ungrateful for all the kind things
you say; it makes me very happy to know you feel like that, even though I
do not deserve it.
'You must not blame yourself so much for misunderstanding me: we have
both been deceived; I know that now. It was wrong of me to give up my
work; but Etta told me that people were saying unkind things of me, and
I was a coward and listened to her: so you see I was to blame too.
'I have not answered your question yet, but I think I will do so by
signing myself,
'Yours, always and for ever,
'Gladys.'
'Will he understand that, Ursula?'
'Surely, dear; the end is plain enough: you belong to Max now.'
'I like to know that,' she returned simply. 'Oh, the rest of feeling that
he will take care of me now! it is too good to talk about. But I hope I
am sufficiently thankful.' And Gladys's lovely eyes were full of solemn
feeling as she spoke.
I thought she wanted to be quiet,--it was difficult for her to realise
her happiness at once,--so I told her that I had some letters to write,
and carried my desk into the next room, but she followed me after a time,
and we had a long talk about Max.
When Mr. Hamilton came up in the evening he noticed the improvement in
Gladys's appearance.
'You are better to-night, my dear.'
'Oh yes, so much better,' looking up in his face with a smile. 'Giles, do
you think it would hurt me to have a drive to-morrow? I am so tired of
these two rooms. A drive alone with Ursula would be delicious. We could
go down the Redstone lanes towards Pemberley: one always has a whiff of
sea-air there over the downs.'
Gladys's request surprised me quite as much as it did Mr. Hamilton. She
had proposed it in all innocence; no idea of encountering Max entered her
head for a moment; Gladys's simplicity would be incapable of laying plans
of this sort. Her new-born happiness made her anxious to lay aside her
invalid habits; she wanted to be strong, to resume daily life, to breathe
the fresh outer air.
As for Mr. Hamilton, he did not try to conceal his pleasure.
'I see we shall soon lose our patient, nurse,' he said, with one of his
old droll looks. 'She is anxious to make herself independent of us.--Oh,
you shall go, by all means. I will go round to the stable and tell
Atkinson myself. It is an excellent idea, Gladys.'
'I am so glad you do not object. I am so much stronger this evening,
and I have wanted to go out for days; but, Giles,'--touching his arm
gently,--'you will make Etta understand that I want to go alone with
Ursula.'
'Certainly, my dear.' He would not cross her whim; she might have her way
if she liked; but the slight frown on his face showed that he was not
pleased at this allusion to Miss Darrell. He thought Gladys was almost
morbidly prejudiced against her cousin; but he prudently refrained from
telling her so, and Gladys went to bed happy.
I had taken the precaution of asking Chatty to wake me the next morning.
I had slept little the previous night, and was afraid that I might
oversleep myself in consequence. It was rather a trial when her touch
roused me out of a delicious dream; but one glance at Gladys's pale face
made me ashamed of my indolence. I dressed myself as quickly as I could,
and then looked at my little clock. Chatty had been better than her word:
it had not struck five yet.
Max would not be out for another hour, I thought, but all the same I
might as well take advantage of the morning freshness: so I summoned
Chatty to let me out as noiselessly as possible, and then I stole through
the shrubberies, breaking a silver-spangled cobweb or two and feeling the
wet beads of dew on my face.
I walked slowly down the road, drinking deep draughts of the pure morning
air. I had some thoughts of sitting down in the churchyard until I saw
some sign of life in the vicarage; but as I turned the corner I heard a
gate swing back on its hinges, and there was Max standing bareheaded in
the road, as though he had come out to reconnoitre; but directly he
caught sight of me two or three strides seemed to bring him to my side.
'Have you brought it?' he asked breathlessly.
'Yes, Max.' And I put the letter in his outstretched hand; and then,
without looking at him, I turned quietly and retraced my steps. I would
not wait with him while he read it; he should be alone, with only the
sunshine round him and the birds singing their joyous melodies in his
ear. No doubt he would join his _Te Deum_ with theirs. Happy Max, who had
won his Lady of Delight!
But I had not quite crossed the green when I heard his footsteps behind
me, and turned to meet him.
'Ursula, you naughty child! why have you run away without waiting to
congratulate me? And yet I'll be bound you knew the contents of this
letter.'
'Yes, Max, and from my heart I wish you and Gladys every happiness.'
'Good little Ursula! Oh yes, we shall be happy.' And the satisfaction in
Max's brown eyes was pleasant to see. 'She will need all the care and
tenderness that I can give her. We must make her forget all these sad
years. Do you think that she will be content at the old vicarage,
Ursula?' But as he asked the question there was no doubt--no doubt at
all--on his face.
'I think she will be content anywhere with you, Max. Gladys loves you
dearly.'
'Ah,' he said humbly, 'I know it now, I am sure of it; but I wish I
deserved my blessing. All these years I have known her goodness. She used
to show me all that was in her heart with the simplicity of a child. Such
sweet frankness! such noble unselfishness! was it a wonder that I loved
her? If I were only more worthy to be her husband!'
I liked Max to say this: there was nothing unmanly or strained in this
humility. The man who loves can never think himself worthy of the woman
he worships: his very affection casts a glamour over her. When I told Max
that I thought his wife would be a happy woman, he only smiled and said
that he hoped so too. He had not the faintest idea what a hero he was
in our eyes; he would not have believed me if I had told him.
Max said very little to me after that: happiness made him reticent. Only,
just as he was leaving me, I said carelessly, 'Max, do you ever go to
Pemberley?'
'Oh yes, sometimes, when the Calverleys are at the Hall,' he returned,
rather absently.
'Pemberley is a very pretty place,' I went on, stopping to pick a little
piece of sweet-brier that attracted me by its sweetness: 'it is very
pleasant to walk there through the Redstone lanes. There is a fine view
over the down, and at four o'clock, for example--'
'What about four o'clock?' he demanded: and now there was a little
excitement in his manner.
'Well, if you should by chance be in one of the Redstone lanes about
then, you might possibly see an open barouche with two ladies in it.'
'Ursula, you are a darling!' And Max seized my wrists so vigorously that
he hurt me. 'Four--did you say four o'clock?'
'It was very wrong of me to say anything about it. Gladys would be
shocked at my making an appointment. I believe you are demoralising me,
Max; but I do not mean to tell her.' And then, after a few more eager
questions on Max's part, he reluctantly let me go.
I had plenty to tell Gladys when she woke that morning, but I prudently
kept part of our conversation to myself. She wanted to know how Max
looked when he got her letter. Did he seem happy? had he sent her any
message? And when I had satisfied her on these points she had a hundred
other questions to ask. 'I am engaged to him, and yet we cannot speak
to each other,' she finished, a little mournfully.
I turned her thoughts at last by speaking about the promised drive. We
decided she should put on her pretty gray dress and bonnet to do honour
to the day. 'It is a fête-day, Gladys,' I said cheerfully, 'and we must
be as gay as possible.' And she agreed to this.
At the appointed time we heard the horses coming round from the stables,
and Mr. Hamilton came upstairs himself to fetch his sister. Chatty had
told me privately that Miss Darrell had been very cross all day. She had
wanted the carriage for herself that afternoon, and had spoken quite
angrily to Mr. Hamilton about it; but he had told her rather coldly that
she must give up her wishes for once. Thornton heard master say that he
was surprised at her selfishness: he had thought she would be glad that
Miss Gladys should have a drive. 'Miss Darrell looked as black as
possible, Thornton said, ma'am,' continued Chatty; 'but she did not dare
argue with master; he always has the best of it with her.'
As we drove off, I saw Miss Darrell watching us from the study window:
evidently her bad temper had not evaporated, for she had not taken the
trouble to come out in the hall to speak to Gladys, and yet they had not
met for a month. Gladys did not see her: she was smiling at her brother,
who was waving a good-bye from the open door. My heart smote me a little
as I looked at him. Would he think me very deceitful, I wondered, for
giving Max that clue? but after a moment I abandoned these thoughts and
gave myself up to the afternoon's enjoyment.
The air was delicious, the summer heat tempered by cool breezes that
seemed to come straight from the sea. Gladys lay back luxuriously among
the cushions, watching the flicker of green leaves over our heads, or the
soft shadows that lurked in the distant meadows, or admiring the
picturesque groups of cattle under some wide-spreading tree.
We had nearly reached Pemberley, the white roofs of the cottages were
gleaming through a belt of firs, when I at last caught sight of Max. He
was half hidden by some blackberry-bushes. I think he was sitting on a
stile resting himself; but when he heard the carriage-wheels he came
slowly towards us and put up his hand as a sign that Atkinson should pull
up.
I shall never forget the sudden illumination that lit up Gladys's face
when she saw him: a lovely colour tinged her cheeks as their eyes met,
and she put out her little gray-gloved hand to touch his. I opened the
carriage door and slipped down into the road.
'The horses can stand in the shade a little while, Atkinson,' I said
carelessly: 'I want to get some of those poppies, if the stile be not
very high.' I knew he would be watching me and looking after Whitefoot,
who was often a little fidgety, and would take the vicar's appearance on
the Pemberley road as a matter of course.
I was a long time gathering those poppies. Once I peeped through the
hedge. I could see two heads very close together. Max's arms were on the
carriage; the little gray-gloved hands were not to be seen; the sunshine
was shining on Gladys's fair hair and Max's beard. Were they speaking at
all? Could Atkinson have heard one of those low tones? And then I went
on with my poppies.
It was more than a quarter of an hour when I climbed over the stile
again, laden with scarlet poppies and pale-coloured convolvuli. Gladys
saw me first. 'Here is Ursula,' I heard her say; and Max moved away
reluctantly.
'I do not see why we should not drive you back to Heathfield, Max,' I
remarked coolly; and, as neither of them had any objection to raise, we
soon made room for Max.
There was very little said by any of us during the drive home; only
Gladys pressed my hand in token of gratitude; her eyes were shining with
happiness. As Max looked at the pale, sweet face opposite to him his
heart must have swelled with pride and joy: nothing could come between
those two now; henceforth they would belong to each other for time and
eternity.
Max asked us to put him down at the Three Firs; he had to call at 'The
Gowans,' he said. 'In two or three days--I cannot wait longer,' he said,
in a meaning tone, as he bade good-bye to Gladys. She blushed and smiled
in answer.
'What does Max mean?' I asked, as we left him behind us in the road.
'It is only that he wishes to speak to Giles,' she returned shyly. 'I
asked him to wait a day or two until I felt better; but he does not wish
to delay it; he says Giles has always wanted it so, but that he has long
lost hope about it.'
'I don't see why Max need have waited an hour,' was my reply; but there
was no time for Gladys to answer me, for we were turning in at the gate,
and there were Mr. Hamilton and Miss Darrell walking up and down the lawn
watching for us.
Mr. Hamilton came towards us at once, and gave his hand to Gladys.
'I need not ask how you have enjoyed your drive,' he said, looking at her
bright face with evident satisfaction.
'Oh, it has been lovely!' she returned, with such unwonted animation that
Miss Darrell stared at her. 'How do you do, Etta? It is long since we
have met.--Giles, if you will give me your arm, I think I will go
upstairs at once, for I am certainly a little tired.--Come, Ursula.'
'We met Mr. Cunliffe in the Pemberley Road, and drove him back,' I
observed carelessly, when Miss Darrell was out of hearing. I thought it
better to allude to Max in case Atkinson mentioned it to one of the
servants.
'You should have brought him in to dinner,' was Mr. Hamilton's only
comment. 'By the bye, Miss Garston, when do you intend to honour us with
your company downstairs? Your patient is convalescent now.'
'I have just awoke to that fact,' was my reply, 'and I have told Mrs.
Barton that she will soon see me back at the White Cottage. Miss Watson
leaves next Tuesday: I think Gladys could spare me by then.'
Gladys shook her head. 'I shall never willingly spare you, Ursula; but of
course I shall have no right to trespass on your time.'
'No, of course not,' returned her brother sharply; 'Miss Garston has been
too good to us already: we cannot expect her to sacrifice herself any
longer. We will say Tuesday, then. You will come downstairs on Sunday,
Gladys?'
'Yes,' with a faint sigh.
'We need not talk about my going yet, when Gladys is tired,' I returned,
feeling inclined to scold Mr. Hamilton for his want of tact. Tuesday, and
it was Wednesday now,--not quite a week more; but, looking up, I saw Mr.
Hamilton regarding me so strangely, and yet so sorrowfully, that my
brief irritability vanished. He was sorry that I was going; he seemed
about to speak; his lips unclosed, then a sudden frown of recollection
crossed his brow, and with a curt good-night he left us.
'What is the matter with Giles?' asked Gladys, rather wearily: I could
see she was very tired by this time. 'Have you and he quarrelled,
Ursula?'
'Not to my knowledge,' I replied quietly, turning away, that she should
not see my burning cheeks. 'There is Chatty bringing the tea: are you not
glad, dear?' And I busied myself in clearing the table.