CHAPTER VII.
"A ROSE OF A HUNDRED LEAVES."
One morning in spring Aspatria stood in a balcony overlooking theprincipal thoroughfare of Rome,--the Rome of papal government,mythical, mystical, mediaeval in its character. A procession of friarshad just passed; a handsome boy was crying violets; some musicalpuppets were performing in the shadow of the opposite palace; aparty of brigands were going to the Angelo prison; the spirit of Caesarwas still abroad in the black-browed men and women, lounging andlaughing in their gaudy, picturesque costumes; and the spirit ofecclesiasticism lifted itself above every earthly object, andtouched proudly the bells of a thousand churches. Aspatria wasweary of all.
She had that morning an imperative nostalgia. She could see nothingbut the mountains of Cumberland, and the white sheep wandering abouttheir green sides. Through the church-bells she heard the sheep-bells.Above the boy crying violets she heard the boy whistling in thefresh-ploughed furrow. As for the violets, she knew how the wild oneswere blowing in Ambar wood, and how in the garden the daffodil-bedswere aglow, and the sweet thyme humbling itself at their feet, becauseeach bore a chalice. Oh for a breath from the mountains and the sea!The hot Roman streets, with their ever-changing human elements ofsorrow and mirth, sin and prayer, riches and poverty, made her sadand weary.
Sarah came toward her with a letter in her hand. "Ria," she said,"this is from Lady Redware. Your husband will be in England veryshortly."
It was the first time Sarah had ever called Ulfar Aspatria's husband.In conversation the two women had always spoken of him as "Ulfar." Thechange was significant. It implied that Sarah thought the time hadcome for Aspatria to act decisively.
"I shall be delighted to go back to England. We have been twentymonths away, Sarah. I was just feeling as if it were twenty years."
Sarah looked critically at the woman who was going to cast her lastdie for love. She was so entirely different from the girl who hadfirst won that love, how was it possible for her to recapture thesame sweet, faithless emotion? She had a swift memory of the slimgirl in the plain black frock whom she had seen sitting under thewhin-bushes. And then she glanced at Aspatria standing under theblue-and-red awning of the Roman palace. She was now twenty-sixyears old, and in the very glory of her womanhood, tall, superblyformed, graceful, calm, and benignant. Her face was luminous withintellect and feeling, her manner that of a woman high-bred andfamiliar with the world. Culture had done all for her that thelapidary does for the diamond; travel and social advantages hadadded to the gem a golden setting. She was so little like thesorrowful child whom Ulfar had last seen in the vicar's meadow thatSarah felt instantaneous recognition to be almost impossible.
After some hesitation, Aspatria agreed to accept Sarah's plan and waitin Richmond the development of events. At first she had been stronglyin favour of a return to Seat-Ambar. "If Ulfar really wants to seeme," she said, "he will be most likely to seek me there."
"But then, Ria, he may think he does not want to see you. Men neverknow what they really do want. You have to give them 'leadings.' IfUlfar can look on you now and have no curiosity about your identity, Ishould say the man was not worth a speculation from any point. See ifyou have hold sufficient on his memory to pique his curiosity. If youhave, lead him wherever you wish."
"But how? And where?"
"Do I carry a divining-cup, Ria? Can I foresee the probabilities of aman so impossible as Ulfar Fenwick? I only know that Richmond is agood place to watch events from."
And of course the Richmond house suited Brune. His love had grown tothe utmost of Sarah's expectations, and he was no longer to be put offwith smiles and pleasant words. Sarah had promised him an answer whenshe returned, and he claimed it with a passionate persistence that hadfinally something imperative in it. To this mood Sarah succumbed;though she declared that Brune had chosen the morning of all othersmost inconvenient for her. She was just leaving the house. She wasgoing to London about her jewels. Brune had arrested the coachman by aperemptory movement, and he looked as if he were quite prepared tolift Sarah out of the carriage.
So Aspatria went alone. She was glad of the swift movement in thefresh air, she was glad that she could be quiet and let it blowpassively upon her. The restlessness of watching had made herfeverish. She had the "strait" of a strong mind which longs to meether destiny. For her love for her husband had grown steadily with herefforts to be worthy of that love, and she longed to meet him face toface and try the power of her personality over him. The trial did notfrighten her; she felt within her the ability to accomplish it; herfeet were on a level with her task; she was the height of a womanabove it.
Musing on this subject, letting her mind shoot to and fro like ashuttle between the past and the present, she reached Piccadilly, andentered a large jeweller's shop. The proprietor was talking to agentleman who was exhibiting a number of uncut gems. Aspatria knew himinstantly. It was Ulfar Fenwick,--the same Ulfar, older, and yetdistinctly handsomer. For the dark hair slightly whitened, and thethin, worn cheeks, had an intensely human aspect. She saw that he hadsuffered; that the sum of life was on his face,--toil, difficulty,endurance, mind, and also that pathetic sadness which tells ofendurance without avail.
She went to the extreme end of the counter, and began to examine thejewels which Sarah had sent to be reset. Some were finished; otherswere waiting for the selection of a particular style, and Aspatrialooked critically at the models shown her. The occupation gave her anopportunity to calm and consider herself; she could look at the jewelsa few moments without expressing an opinion.
Then she gave, in a clear, distinct voice, some order regarding apearl necklace; and Ulfar turned like a flash, and looked at thewoman who had spoken. She had the pearls in one hand; the othertouched a satin cushion on which lay many ornaments of diamonds,sapphires, and rubies. The moonlight iridescence of the pearls, thesparkling glory of the gems, seemed to be a part of her noble beauty.He forgot his own treasures, and stood looking at the woman whosevoice had called to him out of the past, had penetrated his heart likea bell struck sharply in its innermost room. Who was it? Where hadthey met before? He knew the face. He knew, and yet he did not know,the whole charming personality. As she turned, his eyes met her eyes,and the pure pallor of her cheeks was flooded with crimson.
She passed him within touch; the rustle of her garments, their faintperfume, the simple sense of her nearness, thrilled his beingwondrously. And, above all, that sense of familiarity! What could itmean? He gave the stones into the jeweller's care, and hurriedlyfollowed her steps.
"That is Sarah Sandys's carriage, my barony for it!" he exclaimed;"and the men are in the Sandys livery. Sarah, then, is in Richmond;and the woman who rides in her carriage is very likely in her house;but who can it be?"
The face haunted him, the voice tormented him like a melody that wecontinually try to catch. He endeavoured to place both as he rode outto Richmond. More than once the thought of Aspatria came to him, buthe could not make any memory of her fit that splendid vision of thewoman with uplifted hand and the string of pearls dropping from it.Her exquisite face, between the beauty of their reflection and theflashing of the gems beneath, retained in his memory a kind of glory."Such loveliness is the proper setting for pearls and diamonds," hesaid. "Many a beauty I have seen, but none that can touch the heel ofher shoe."
For he really thought that it was her personal charms which had somoved him. It was the sense of familiarity; it was in a far deeperand dimmer way a presentiment of right, of possession, a feeling ofpersonal touch in the emotion, which perplexed and stimulated him asthe mere mystery and beauty of the flesh could never have done.
As soon as he reached the top of Richmond Hill he saw Sarah. She wassauntering along that loveliest of cliffs, with Brune. An orderly wasleading Brune's horse; he himself was in the first ecstasy of Sarah'sacknowledged love. Ulfar went into the Star and Garter Inn and watchedSarah. He had no claim upon her, and yet he felt as if she had beenfalse to him. "And for a mere soldier!" Then he lo
oked critically atthe soldier, and said, with some contempt: "I am sorry for him! SarahSandys will have her pastime, and then say, 'Farewell, good sir!'" Asfor the mere soldier being Brune Anneys, that was a thought out ofUlfar's horizon.
In a couple of hours he went to Sarah's. She met him with realdelight.
"You are just five years lovelier, Sarah," he said.
"Admiration from Sir Ulfar Fenwick is admiration indeed!"
"Yes; I say you are beautiful, though I have just seen the mostbewitching woman that ever blessed my eyes,--in your carriage too."And then, swift as light or thought, there flashed across his mind aconviction that the Beauty and Aspatria were identical. It was amomentary intelligence; he grasped it merely as a clew that might leadhim somewhere.
"In my carriage? I dare say it was Ria. She went to Piccadilly thismorning about some jewels."
"She reminded me of Aspatria."
"Have you brought back with you that old trouble? I have no mind tohear more of it."
"Who is the lady I saw this morning?"
"She is the sister of the man I am going to marry. In four months shewill be my sister."
"What is her name?"
"That is to tell you my secret, sir."
"I saw you throwing your enchantments over some soldier. I knew justhow the poor fellow felt."
"Then you also have been in Arcadia. Be thankful for your pastblessings. I do not expect you to rejoice with me; none of theapostolic precepts are so hard as that which bids us rejoice withthose who do rejoice."
"Neither Elizabeth nor you have ever named Aspatria in your letters."
"Did you expect us to change guard over Ambar-Side? I dare sayAspatria has grown into a buxom, rosy-cheeked woman and quiteforgotten you."
"I must go and see her."
"I think you ought. Also, you should give her her freedom. I consideryour behaviour a dog-in-the-manger atrocity."
"Can you not pick nicer words, Sarah?"
"I would not if I could."
"Sarah, tell me truly, have I lost my good looks?"
She regarded him attentively a moment, and answered: "Not quite. Youhave some good points yet. You have grown thin and gray, and lostsomething, and perhaps gained something; but you are not very old, andthen, you know, you have your title, and your castle, and your veryold, old family, and I suppose a good deal of money." In reality, shewas sure that he had never before been so attractive; for he had nowthe magic of a countenance informed by intellect and experience, eyesbrimming with light, lips neither loose nor coarse, yet full ofpassion and the faculty of enjoyment.
He smiled grimly at Sarah's list of his charms, and said, "When willyou introduce me to your future sister?"
"This evening. Come about nine. I have a few sober people who will bedelighted to hear your South American adventures. Ria goes to LadyChester's ball soon after nine. Do not miss your chance."
"Could I see her now?"
"You could not."
"What for?"
"Do you suppose she would leave a _modiste_ for--you?"
"I wonder where Aspatria is!"
"Go and find out."
"Sarah, who is the young lady I saw in your carriage?"
"She is the sister of the officer you saw me with, the man I am goingto marry."
"Where did you meet him?"
"At a friend's house."
"Where did you meet her?"
"Her brother brought her to my house. I asked her to stay with me, andfinally we went to Italy together."
"She has a very aristocratic manner."
"She ought to have. She was educated at Mrs. St. Alban's, and shevisits at the Earl of Arundel's, the Duke of Norfolk's, and the veryexclusive Boleyns',--Lady Mary Boleyn is her friend, and she has alsohad the great advantage of my society for nearly two years."
"Then of course she is not Aspatria, and my heart is a liar, and mymemory is a traitor, and my eyes do not see correctly. I will callabout nine. I am at the Star and Garter. If she should name me atall--"
"Do you imagine she noticed you? and in such a public place asHowell's?"
"I really do imagine she noticed me. Ask her."
"I see you are in love again. After all that experience has done foryou! It is a Nemesis, Ulfar. I have often noticed that, howeverfaithless a man may be, there comes at last one woman who avenges allthe rest. Enter Nemesis at nine to-night!"
"Sarah, you are an angel."
"Thank you, Ulfar. I thought you classed me with the other side."
"As for Aspatria--"
"Life is too short to discuss Aspatria. I remember one day at Redwarebeing sharply requested to keep silence on that subject. The wheel ofretribution has made a perfect circle as regards Aspatria! I shallcertainly tell Ria that you have made her the heroine of yourdisagreeable matrimonial romance."
"No, no, Sarah! Do not say a word to her. I must wait until nine, Isuppose? And I am so anxious and so fearful, Sarah."
"You must wait until nine. And as for the rest, I know very well thatin the present age a lover's cares and fears have
Dwindled to the smallest span.
Do go to your hotel, and get clothed and in your right mind. You aremost unbecomingly dressed. Good-by, old friend, good-by!" And she lefthim with an elaborate courtesy.
Ulfar was now in a vortex. Things went around and around in hisconsciousness; and whenever he endeavoured to examine events with hisreason, then feeling advanced some unsupported conviction, and threwhim back into the same senseless whirl of emotion.
He had failed to catch the point which would have given him the clewto the whole mystery,--the identity of Brune with the splendidlyaccoutred officer Sarah avowed to be her intended husband. Withouttaking special note of him, Ulfar had seen certain signs ofbirth, breeding, and assured position. In his mind there was agreat gulf between the haughty-looking soldier and the simple,handsome, but rather boorish-looking young Squire of Ambar-Side.The two individualities were as far apart in social claims asthe north and south poles are apart physically.
And if this beautiful woman were indeed Aspatria, how could hereconcile the fact with her education at St. Alban's, her friendshipwith such exalted families, her relationship to an officer of evidentbirth and position? When he thought thus, he acknowledged theimpossibility; but then no sooner had he acknowledged it than hisheart passionately denied the deduction, with the simple iteration,"It is Aspatria! It is Aspatria!"
Aspatria or not, he told himself that he was at last genuinely inlove. Every affair before was tame, pale, uninteresting. If it was notAspatria, then the first Aspatria was the shadow of the second andreal one; the preface to love's glorious tale; the prelude to hissong; the gray, sweet dawn to his perfect day. He could not eat, norsit still, nor think reasonably, nor yet stop thinking. The sun stoodstill; the minutes were hours; at four o'clock he wished to fling thetimepiece out of the window.
Aspatria had the immense strength of certainty. She knew. Also, shehad Sarah to advise with. Still better, she had the conviction thatUlfar loved her. Perhaps Sarah had exaggerated Ulfar's desperatecondition; if so, she had done it consciously, for she knew that assoon as a woman is sure of her power she puts on an authority whichcommands it. She was now only afraid that Ulfar would not be kept insuspense long enough, that Aspatria would forgive him too easily.
"Do make yourself as puzzling as you can, for this one night,Aspatria," she urged. "Try to outvie and outdo and even affront thatdove-like simplicity he used to adore in you, and into which you arestill apt to relapse. He told me once that you looked like a Quakeresswhen he first saw you."
"I was just home from Miss Gilpin's school in Kendal. It was a Quakerschool. I have always kept a black gown ready, like the one he saw mefirst in."
"No black gown to-night. I have a mind to stay here and see that youturn the Quakeress into a princess."
"I will do all you wish. To-night you shall have your way; but poorUlfar must have suffered, and--"
"Poor Ulfar, indeed! Be me
rry; that is the best armour against love.What ruins women? Revery and sentimentality. A woman who does notlaugh ought to be watched."
But though she lectured and advised Aspatria as to the ways of men andthe ways of love, Sarah had not much faith in her own counsels. "Noone can draw out a programme for a woman's happiness," she mused; "shewill not keep to its lines. Now, I do wonder whether she will dressgorgeously or not? What did Solomon in all his glory wear? If Aspatriaonly knew how dress catches a man's eye, and then touches his vanity,and then sets fire to his imagination, and finally, somehow, someway,gets to his heart! If she only knew,--
'All thoughts, all passions, all delights, Whatever stirs this mortal frame, Are but the ministers of Love, And feed his sacred flame!'"
A little before nine, Ulfar entered Sarah's drawing-room. It waslighted with wax candles. It was sweet with fresh violets, and at thefarther end Aspatria stood by her harp. She was dressed for LadyChester's ball, and was waiting her chaperon; but there had been alittle rebellion against her leaving without giving her admirers onesong. Every person was suggesting his or her favourite; and she stoodsmiling, uncertain, listening, watching, for one voice and face.
Her dazzling bodice was clasped with emeralds; her draperies were ofdamasked gauze, shot with gold and silver, and abloom with flowers.Her fair neck sparkled with diamonds; and the long white fingers whichtouched the strings so firmly glinted with flashing gems. The momentUlfar entered, she saw him. His eyes, full of fiery prescience, forcedher to meet their inquiry; and then it was that she sat down andfilled the room with tinkling notes, that made every one remember themountains, and the merry racing of the spring winds, and the tricklingof half-hidden fountains.
Sarah advanced with him. She touched Aspatria slightly, and said:"Hush! a moment. This is my friend Sir Ulfar Fenwick, Ria."
Ria lifted her eyes sweetly to his eyes; she bowed with the grace andbenignity of a queen, and adroitly avoided speech by turning themelody into song:--
"I never shall forget The mountain maid that once I met By the cold river's side. I met her on the mountain-side; She watched her herds unnoticed there: 'Trim-bodiced maiden, hail!' I cried. She answered, 'Whither, Wanderer? For thou hast lost thy way.'"
Every word went to Ulfar's heart, and amid all the soft cries ofdelight he alone was silent. She was beaming with smiles; she wasradiant as a goddess; the light seemed to vanish from the room whenshe went away. Her adieu was a general one, excepting to Ulfar. Onhim she turned her bright eyes, and courtesied low with one upwardglance. It set his heart on fire. He knew that glance. They might saythis or that, they might lie to him neck-deep, he knew it wasAspatria! He was cross with Sarah. He accused her of downrightdeception. He told her frankly that he believed nothing about thesoldier and his sister.
She bade him come in the morning and talk to Ria; and he askedimpetuously: "How soon? Twelve, I suppose? How am I to pass the timeuntil twelve to-morrow?"
"Why this haste?"
"Why this deception?"
"After seven years' indifference, are you suddenly gone mad?"
"I feel as if I was being very badly used."
"How does the real Aspatria feel? Go at once to Ambar-Side."
"The real Aspatria is here. I know it! I feel it!"
"In a court of law, what evidence would feeling be?"
"In a court of love--"
"Try it."
"I will, to-morrow, at ten o'clock."
His impetuosity pleased her. She was disposed to leave him to Aspatrianow. And Aspatria was disposed on the following morning to make hisconfession very easy to him. She dressed herself in the simple blackgown she had kept ready for this event. It had the short elbowsleeves, and the ruffle round the open throat, and the daffodilagainst her snowy breast, that distinguished the first costume he hadever seen her in. She loosened her hair and let it fall in two longbraids behind her ears. She was, as far as dress could make her so,the Aspatria who had held the light to welcome him to Ambar-Side thatstormy night ten years ago.
He was standing in the middle of the room, restless and expectant,when she opened the door. He called her by name, and went to meet her.She trembled and was silent.
"Aspatria, it is you! My Life! My Soul! It is you!"
He took her hands; they were as cold as ice. He drew her close to hisside; he stooped to see her eyes; he whispered word upon word ofaffection,--sweet-meaning nouns and adjectives that caught a realphysical heat from the impatient heart and tongue that forged anduttered them.
"Forgive me, my dearest! Forgive me fully! Forgive me at once andaltogether! Aspatria, I love you! I love none but you! I will adoreyou all my life! Speak one word to me, one word, my love, one word:say only 'Ulfar!'"
She forgot in a moment all that she had suffered. She forgot all shehad promised Sarah, all her intents of coldness, all reproaches; sheforgot even to forgive him. She just put her arms around his neck andkissed him. She blotted out the past forever in that one whisperedword, "Ulfar."
And then he took her to his heart; he kissed her for very wonder; hekissed her for very joy; but most of all he kissed her for ferventlove. Then once more life was an "Interlude in Heaven." Every hourheld some sweet surprise, some accidental joy. It was Brune, it wasSarah, it was some eulogium of Ulfar in the great London weeklies. Hehad fought in the good fight for freedom; he had done great deeds ofmercy as well as of valour; he had crossed primeval forests, andbrought back wonderful medicines, and dyes, and many new specimens forthe botanist and the naturalist. The papers were never weary inpraising his pluck, his bravery, his generosity, and his endurance;the Geographical Society sent him its coveted blue ribbon. In his ownway Ulfar had made himself a fit mate for the new Aspatria.
And she was a constant wonder to him. Nothing in all his strangeexperience touched his heart like the thought of his simple, patientwife, studying to please him, to be worthy of his love. Every dayrevealed her in some new and charming light. She was one hundredAspatrias in a single, lovable, lovely woman. On what ever subjectUlfar spoke, she understood, supplemented, sympathized with, orassisted him. She could talk in French and Italian; she was notignorant of botany and natural science, and she was delighted to behis pupil.
In a single month they became all the world to each other; and thenthey began to long for the lonely old castle fronting the wild NorthSea, to plan for its restoration, and for a sweet home-life, whichalone could satisfy the thirst of their hearts for each other'spresence. At the end of June they went northward.
It was the month of the rose, and the hedges were pink, and the gardenwas a garden of roses. There were banks of roses, mazes of roses,walks and standards of roses, masses of glorious colour, and breezesscented with roses. Butterflies were chasing one another among theflowers; nightingales, languid with love, were singing softly abovethem. And in the midst was a gray old castle, flying its old borderflags, and looking as happy as if it were at a festival.
Aspatria was enraptured, spellbound with delight. With Ulfar shewandered from one beauty to another, until they finally reached agreat standard of pale-pink roses. Their loveliness was beyondcompare; their scent went to the brain like some divine essence. Itwas a glory,--a prayer,--a song of joy! Aspatria stood beside it, andseemed to Ulfar but its mortal manifestation. She was clothed in agown of pale-pink brocade, with a little mantle of the same, trimmedwith white lace, and a bonnet of white lace and pink roses. She was aperfect rose of womanhood. She was the glory of his life, his prayer,his song of joy!
"It is the loveliest place in the world!" he said, "and you! you arethe loveliest woman! My sweet Aspatria!"
She smiled divinely. "And yet," she answered, "I remember, Ulfar, asong of yours that said something very different. Listen:--
'There is a rose of a hundred leaves, _But the wild rose is the sweetest_!'"
And as she sang the words, Ulfar had a vision of a young girl, freshand pure as a mountain bluebell, in her scrimp black frock. He saw thewind blowing it tight over h
er virgin form; he saw her fair, childish,troubled face as she kissed him farewell in the vicar's meadows; andthen he saw the glorious woman, nobly planned, perfect on every side,that the child wife had grown to.
So, when she ceased, he pulled the fairest rose on the tree; he tookfrom it every thorn, he put it in her breast, he kissed the rose, andhe kissed her rose-like face. Then he took up the song where shedropped it; and hand in hand, keeping time to its melody, they crossedthe threshold of their blessed home.
"The robin sang beneath the eaves: 'There is a rose of a hundred leaves, _But the wild rose is the sweetest_!'
"The nightingale made answer clear: '_O darling rose! more fair, more dear! O rose of a hundred leaves_!'"
THE END.
* * * * *
Transcriber Notes
Archaic spelling preserved, including pottle and alterative.
Passages in italics indicated by _underscores_.
A Rose of a Hundred Leaves: A Love Story Page 7
