"All excitements run to love in women of a certain--let us not say age,
but youth," says the professor. "An electrical current passing through a
coil of wire makes a magnet of a bar of iron lying within it, but not
touching it. So a woman is turned into a love-magnet, by a tingling
current of life running round her. I should like to see one of them
balanced on a pivot properly adjusted, and watch if she did not turn so as
to point north and south, as she would if the love-currents are like those
of the earth, our mother."
This passage indicates exactly the point at which Evadne had now arrived,
and where she was pausing.
The attempt to return to her books had been far from successful. Her eye
would traverse page after page without transferring a single record to her
brain, and she would sit with one open in her lap by the hour together,
not absorbed in thought, but lost in feeling. She was both glad and sad at
the same time, glad in her youth and strength, and sad in the sense of
something wanting; what was it?
If she had--Well! She longed, and knew not wherefore.
Had the world nothing she might live to care for?
No second self to say her evening prayer for?
The poor little bird loved the old nest, but she had unconsciously
outgrown it, and was perplexed to find no ease or comfort in it any more.
She certainly entertained the idea of marriage at this time. She had
acquired a sort of notion from her friends that it was good to marry, and
her own inclinations seconded the suggestion. She meant to marry when she
should find the right man, but the difficulty of choice disturbed her. She
had still much of the spirit which made her at twelve see nothing but
nonsense in the "Turn, Gentle Hermit of the Dale" drivel, and she was
quite prepared to decide with her mind. She never took her heart into
consideration, or the possibility of being overcome by a feeling which is
stronger than reason.
She made her future husband a subject of prayer, however. She prayed that
he might be an upright man, that he might come to her soon; she even asked
for some sign by which she should know him. This was during the morning
service in church one Sunday--not the little one on the cliff, which was
only a chapel-of-ease; but the parish church to which the whole family
went regularly. Her thoughts had wandered away, from the lesson that was
being read, to this subject of private devotion, and as she formulated the
desire for a sign, for some certainty by which she might know the man whom
the dear Lord intended to be her husband, she looked up, and from the
other side of the aisle she met a glance that abashed her. She looked
away, but her eyes were drawn back inevitably, and this time the glance of
those other eyes enlightened her. Her heart bounded--her face flushed.
This was the sign, she was sure of it. She had felt nothing like it
before, and although she never raised her eyes again, she thrilled through
the rest of the service to the consciousness that there, not many yards
away, her future husband sat and sighed for her.
After the service, the subject of her thoughts claimed her father's
acquaintance; and was introduced by him to her as Major Colquhoun. He
looked about thirty-eight, and was a big blond man, with a heavy
moustache, and a delicate skin that flushed easily. His hair was thin on
the forehead; in a few more years he would be bald there.
Mr. Frayling asked him to lunch, and Evadne sat beside him. She scarcely
spoke a word the whole time, or looked at him; but she knew that he looked
at her; and she glowed and was glad. The little church on the cliff seemed
a long way off, and out in the cold now. She was sorry for Mr. Borthwick.
She had full faith in the sign. Was not the fact that Major Colquhoun,
whom she had never even heard of in her life before, was sitting beside
her at that moment, confirmation strong, if any were wanting? But she
asked no more.
After lunch her father carried his guest off to smoke, and she went up to
her own room to be alone, and sat in the sun by the open window, with her
head resting on the back of her chair, looking up at the sky; and sighed,
and smiled, and clasped her hands to her breast, and revelled in
sensations.
Major Colquhoun had been staying with a neighbouring county gentleman, but
she found when she met him again at afternoon tea that her father had
persuaded him to come to Fraylingay for some shooting. He was to go back
that night, and return to them the following Tuesday. Evadne heard of the
arrangement in silence, and unsurprised. Had he gone and _not_
returned, she would have wondered; but this sudden admission of a stranger
to the family circle, although unusual, was not unprecedented at
Fraylingay, where, after it was certain that you knew the right people,
pleasant manners were the only passport necessary to secure a footing of
easy intimacy; and, besides, it was inevitable--that the sign might be
fulfilled. So Evadne folded her hands as it were, and calmly awaited the
course of events, not doubting for a moment that she knew exactly what
that course was to be.
She did not actually _see_ much of Major Colquhoun in the days that
followed, although, when he was not out shooting, he was always beside her;
but such timid glances as she stole satisfied her. And she heard her
mother say what a fine-looking man he was, and her father emphatically
pronounced him to be "a very good fellow." He was Irish by his mother's
side, Scotch by his father's, but much more Irish than Scotch by
predilection, and it was his mother tongue he spoke, exaggerating the
accent slightly to heighten the effect of a tender speech or a good story.
With the latter he kept Mr. Frayling well entertained, and Evadne he plied
with the former on every possible occasion.
His visit was to have been for a few days only, but it extended itself to
some weeks, at the end of which time Evadne had accepted him, the
engagement had been announced in the proper papers, Mrs. Frayling was
radiant, congratulations poured in, and everybody concerned was in a state
of pleasurable excitement from morning till night.
Mrs. Frayling was an affectionate woman, and it was touching to see her
writing fluent letters of announcement to her many friends, the smiles on
her lips broken by ominous quiverings now and then, and a handkerchief
held crumpled in her left hand, and growing gradually damper, as she
proceeded, with the happy tears that threatened her neat epistle with
blots and blisters.
"It has been the prettiest idyl to us onlookers," she wrote to Lady
Adeline. "Love at first sight with both of them, and their first glimpse
of each other was in church, which we all take to be the happiest omen
that God's blessing is upon them, and will sanctify their union. Evadne
says little, but there is such a delicate tinge of colour in her cheeks
always, and such a happy light in her eyes, that I cannot help looking at
her. George is senior major, and will command the regiment in a very short
time, and his means are quite ample enough for them to begin upon. There
is twenty years difference in their ages, which sounds too much
theoretically, but practically, when you see them together, you never
think of it. He is very handsome, every inch a soldier, and an Irishman,
with all an Irishman's brightness and wit, and altogether the most taking
manners. I tell Evadne I am quite in love with him myself! He is a
thoroughly good Churchman too, which is a great blessing--never misses a
service, and it is a beautiful sight to see him kneeling beside Evadne as
rapt and intent as she is. He was rather wild as a young man, I am sorry
to say, but he has been quite frank about all, that to Mr. Frayling, and
there is nothing now that we can object to. In fact, we think he is
exactly suited to Evadne, and we are thoroughly satisfied in every way.
You can imagine that I find it hard to part with her, but I always knew
that it would be the case as soon as she came out, and so was prepared in
a way; still, that will not lessen the wrench when it comes. But of course
I must not consider my own feelings when the dear child's happiness is in
question, and I think that long engagements are a mistake; and as there is
really no reason why they should wait, they are to be married at the end
of next month, which gives us only six weeks to get the trousseau. We are
going to town at once to see about it, and I think that probably the
ceremony will take place there too. It would be such a business at
Fraylingay, with all the tenants and everything, and altogether one has to
consider expense. But do write at once and promise me that we may expect
you, and Mr. Hamilton-Wells, and the _dear_ twins, wherever it is. In
fact, I believe Evadne is writing to Theodore at this moment to ask him to
be her page, and Angelica will, of course, be a bridesmaid."
During the first days of her absorbing passion Evadne's devotion to God
was intensified. "Sing to the Lord a new song" was forever upon her lips.
When the question of her engagement came to be mooted she had had a long
talk with her father, following upon a still longer talk which he had with
Major Colquhoun.
"And you are satisfied with my choice, father?" she said. "You consider
George in every respect a suitable husband for me?"
"In all respects, my dear," he answered heartily. "He is a very fine,
manly fellow."
"There was nothing in his past life to which I should object?" she
ventured timidly.
"Oh, nothing, nothing," he assured her. "He has been perfectly
straightforward about himself, and I am satisfied that he will make you an
excellent husband."
It was all the assurance she required, and after she had received it she
gave herself up to her happiness without a doubt, and unreservedly.
The time flew. Major Colquhoun's leave expired, and he was obliged to
return to his regiment at Shorncliffe; but they wrote to each other every
day, and this constant communion was a new source of delight to Evadne.
Just before they left Fraylingay she went to see her aunt, Mrs. Orton Beg.
The latter had sprained her ankle severely, and would therefore not be
able to go to Evadne's wedding. She lived in Morningquest, and had a
little house in the Close there. Morningquest was only twenty miles from
Fraylingay, but the trains were tiresomely slow, and did not run in
connection, so that it took as long to get there as it did to go to
London, and people might live their lives in Fraylingay, and know nothing
of Morningquest.
Mrs. Orton Beg's husband was buried in the old cathedral city, and she
lived there to be near his grave. She could never tear herself away from
it for long together. The light of her life had gone out when he died, and
was buried with him; but the light of her love, fed upon the blessed hope
of immortality, burnt brighter every day.
Her existence in the quiet Close was a very peaceful, dreamy one, soothed
by the chime, uplifted by the sight of the beautiful old cathedral, and
regulated by its service.
Evadne found her lying on a couch beside an open window in the drawing
room, which was a long, low room, running the full width of the house, and
with a window at either end, one looking up the Close to the north, the
other to the south, into a high-walled, old-fashioned flower garden; and
this was the one near which Mrs. Orton Beg was lying.
"I think I should turn to the cathedral, Aunt Olive," Evadne said.
"I do," her aunt answered; "but not at this time of day. I travel round
with the sun."
"It would fill my mind with beautiful thoughts to live here," Evadne said,
looking up at the lonely spire reverently.
"I have no doubt that your mind is always full of beautiful thoughts," her
aunt rejoined, smiling. "But I know what you mean. There are thoughts
carved on those dumb gray stones which can only come to us from such a
source of inspiration. The sincerity of the old workmen, their love and
their reverence, were wrought into all they produced, and if only we hold
our own minds in the right attitude, we receive something of their grace.
Do you remember that passage of Longfellow's?--
"Ah! from what agonies of heart and brain,
What exultations trampling on despair,
What tenderness, what tears, what hate of wrong,
What passionate outcry of a soul in pain,
Uprose this poem of the earth and air,
This medieval miracle,...!
"Sitting here alone, sometimes I seem to feel it all--all the capacity for
loving sacrifice and all the energy of human passion which wrought itself
into that beautiful offering of its devotion, and made it acceptable. But,
tell me, Evadne--are you very happy?"
"I am _too_ happy, I think, auntie. But I can't talk about it. I must
keep the consciousness of it close in my own heart, and guard it
jealously, lest I dissipate any atom of it by attempting to describe it."
"Do you think, then, that love is such a delicate thing that the slightest
exposure will destroy it?"
"I don't know what I think. But the feeling is so fresh now, auntie, I am
afraid to run the risk of uttering a word, or hearing one, that might
tarnish it."
She strolled out into the garden during the afternoon, and sat on a
high-backed chair in the shade of the old brick wall, with eyes half
closed and a smile hovering about her lips. The wall was curtained with
canaryensis, virginia creeper rich in autumn tints, ivy, and giant
nasturtiums. Great sunflowers grew up against it, and a row of single
dahlias of every possible hue crowded up close to the sunflowers. They
made a background to the girl's slender figure.
She sat there a long time, happily absorbed, and Mrs. Orton Beg's memory,
as she watched her, slipped back inevitably to her own love days, till
tears came of the inward supplication that Evadne's future might never
know the terrible blight which had fallen upon her own life.
Evadne walked through the village on her way back to Fraylingay. A young
woman with her baby in her arms was standing at the door of her cottage
looking out as she passed, and she stopped to speak to her. The child held
out his little arms, and kicked and crowed to be taken, and when his
mother had intrusted him to Evadne, he clasped her tight round the neck,
and nibbled her cheek with his warm, moist mouth, sending a delicious
thrill through every fibre of her body, a first foretaste of maternity.
She hurried on to hide her emotion.
But all the way home there was a singing at her heart, a certainty of joys
undreamt of hitherto, the tenderest, sweetest, most womanly joys--her own
house, her own husband, her own children--perhaps; it all lay in that, her
_own_!