CHAPTER XI.
SHE COMES AND SPEAKS.
"SHE is coming, Mr. Verney," said Miss Sheckleton, speaking low andquietly; but her voice sounded a little strangely, and I think thegood-natured spinster was agitated.
Cleve, walking by her side, made no answer. He saw Margaret approach,and while she was yet a good way off, suddenly stop. She had not seenthem there before. There seemed no indecision. It was simply that shewas startled, and stood still.
"Pray, Miss Sheckleton, do you go on alone. _Entreat_ her not to refuseme a few minutes," said he.
"I will--she shall--I will, indeed, Mr. Verney," said Miss Sheckleton,very much fidgetted. "But you had better remain where we were, just now;I will return to you, and--there are some French servants at thehouse--will you think me very strange--unkind, I am sure, you will_not_--if I say it is only common prudence that you should not be seenat the house? You understand why I say so."
"Certainly. I shall do whatever you think best," he answered. They hadarrested their walk, as Margaret had done, during this little parley.Perhaps she was uncertain whether her approach had been observed. Thesun had gone down by this time, and the twilight had begun to makedistant objects a little indistinct.
But there was no time for manoeuvring here, for Miss Fanshawe resumedher walk, and her cousin, Anne Sheckleton, advanced alone to meet her.
"Margaret, dear, a friend has unexpectedly arrived," began MissSheckleton.
"And gone, perhaps," answered Margaret Fanshawe, in one of her moods."_Better_ gone--come, darling, let us turn, and go towards home--it isgrowing so dark."
And with these words, taking Miss Sheckleton's hand in hers, she turnedtowards the house, not choosing to see the friend whom that elderly ladyhad so eagerly indicated.
Strangely did Cleve Verney feel. That beautiful, cruel girl!--what couldshe mean?--how could she treat him so? Is there not, in strangecountries, where people meet, a kindlier impulse than elsewhere?--andhere--could anything be more stony and utterly cruel? The samewonderful _Cenci_--the same low, sweet voice--the same laugh, even--justfor a moment heard--but now--how unspeakably cruel! He could see thatMiss Sheckleton was talking earnestly to her, as they walked slowlyaway. It all seemed like a dream. The formal old wood--the grey chateauin the background, rising, with its round turrets, and conical tops, andsteep roofs against the rose-tinted sky of evening; and in theforeground--not two score steps away--those figures--that girl to whomso lately he was so near being all the world--to whom, it now appeared,he was absolutely nothing--oh! that he had never heard, in Shakspeare'sphrase, that mermaid voice!
His pride was wounded. With a yearning that amounted to agony, hewatched their receding steps. Follow them he would not. He leanedagainst the tree by which Miss Sheckleton had left him, and halfresolved to quit that melancholy scene of his worst disaster withoutanother look or word--with only the regrets of all a life.
When Miss Sheckleton had reached Margaret, before the young lady spoke,she saw, by her unusual paleness and by something at once of pain andanger in her face, that she had seen Cleve Verney.
"Well, Margaret, if you _will_ go, you _will_; but, before you make itirreparable, you must, at least, think."
"Think of what?" said Margaret, a little disdainfully.
"Think that he has come all this way for nothing but the chance ofseeing you; of perhaps saying a few words to set himself right."
"If he wished to speak to me, he might have said so," she answered. "Notthat I see any reason to change my mind on that point, or any good thatcan come, possibly, or for ever, if he could talk and I listen for solong."
"Well, but you can't doubt what he has come for," said Miss Sheckleton.
"I don't doubt, because I don't mean to think about it," said the younglady, looking fiercely up toward the gilded weather vanes that glimmeredon the grey pinnacles of the chateau.
"Yes, but it _is_ not a matter of doubt, or of thinking, but of fact,for he _did_ say so," pleaded Miss Sheckleton.
"I wish we were in Italy, or some out-of-the-way part of Spain," saidthe handsome girl, in the same vein, and walking still onward; "I alwayssaid this was too near England, too much in the current."
"No, dear, it is a quiet place," said good Anne Sheckleton.
"No, cousin Anne, it is the most _un_quiet place in all the world,"answered the girl, in a wild, low tone, as she walked on.
"And he wants to speak to you; he entreats a few words, a very few."
"You _know_ I ought not," said she.
"I know you _ought_, my dear; you'll be sorry for it, all your days,Margaret, if you don't," replied Anne Sheckleton.
"Come home, dear, come home, darling," said the girl, peremptorily, butsadly.
"I say, Margaret, if you let him go without speaking to him, you willregret it all your days."
"You have no right to talk this way, cousin Anne; I am unhappy enough asit is. Let us go on," she said.
"If you send him away, as I say, it is all over between you."
"So it is, it _is_ all over; let the dead rest."
"The world is wide enough; there are many beautiful creatures there, andhe is himself so beautiful, and so clever; be very sure you care nothingfor him, before you send him away, for you will never see him again,"said Miss Anne Sheckleton.
"I know--I am sure--I have thought of everything. I have made up myaccount long ago, for now, and for all my days," said she.
"So you _have_," answered Miss Sheckleton. "But while you have a momentstill allowed you, Margaret, review it, I implore of you."
"Come, darling, come--come--you ought not to have spoken to me; why haveyou said all this?" said Margaret, sadly and hurriedly.
"Now, Margaret darling, you are going to stay for a moment, and I willcall him."
"_No!_" said the girl, passionately, "my mind's made up; not in haste,cousin Anne, but long ago. I've looked my last on him."
"Darling, listen: you know _I've_ seen him, he's looking ill, I think;and I've told him that you _must_ speak to him, Margaret; and I tell_you_ you must," said Miss Sheckleton, blushing in her eagerness.
"No, cousin Anne, let there be an end of this between us; I thought itwas over long ago. To him, I will never, never--while liferemains--never speak more."
As she thus spoke, walking more hurriedly toward the house, she heard avoice beside her say,--
"Margaret! Margaret, _darling_--one word!"
And turning suddenly, she saw Cleve Verney before her. Under the thickfolds of her chestnut hair, her features were pale as marble, and for atime it seemed to him he saw nothing but her wild, beautiful eyes fixedupon him.
Still as a statue, she stood confronting him. One little foot advanced,and her tiny hand closed, and pressed to her heart in the attitude inwhich an affrighted nun might hold her crucifix.
"Yes, Margaret," he said at last, "I was as near going--as you were nearleaving me--unheard; but, thank God! _that_ is not to be. No, Margaretdarling, you _could_ not. Wild as my words may sound in your ears, youwill listen to them, for they shall be few; you will listen to them, foryou are too good to condemn any one that ever loved you, unheard."
There was a little pause, during which all that passed was a silentpressure of Miss Sheckleton's hand upon Margaret's, as very pale, andwith her brow knit in a painful anxiety, she drew hurriedly back, andleft the two young people together, standing by the roots of the oldtree, under the faint, rose-tinted sky of evening.
Lovers' promises or lovers' cruelties--which oaths are most enduring?Where now were Margaret's vows? Oh! inexhaustible fountain of pity, andbeautiful mutability of woman's heart! In the passion avowed, so oftensomething of simulation; in the feeling disowned, so often the true andbeautiful life. Who shall read this wonderful riddle, running inromance, and in song, and in war, the world's history through?
"Margaret, will you hear me?" he pleaded.
To her it was like a voice in a dream, and a form seen there, in thatdream-land in which we meet the dead, without
wonder, forgetting timeand separation.
"I don't know that I ought to change my purpose. I don't know why I do;but we shall never meet again, I am sure, so speak on."
"Yes, Margaret, I will speak on, and tell you how entirely you havemistaken and wronged me," said Cleve Verney, in the same sad andpassionate tones.
Good-natured Anne Sheckleton, watching at a little distance, saw thatthe talk--at first belonging altogether to Mr. Verney, at last began todivide itself a little; then side by side they walked a few steps, andthen paused again: and so once more a short way, the lady looking down,and then on and on to the margin of that long straight pond, on which intheir season are floating water-lilies, and, under its great oblongmirror, gliding those golden fishes which are, as we have seen, one ofour spinster friend's kindly resources in this quaint exile. And so thetwilight deepened: and Miss Sheckleton saw these two figures likeshadows gliding side by side, to and fro, along the margin, till themoonlight came and lighted the still pool over, and dappled the swardwith the shadows of the trees, and made the old chateau in thebackground, with its white front, its turrets and pinnacles and gildedvanes, look filmy as a fairy castle.
Wrapping her cloak about her, she sat herself down upon the marble seatclose by, unobserved and pleased, watching this picture of Lorenzo andJessica, and of all such moonlighted colloquies, with a wonderful andexcited interest--with, indeed, a mixture of melancholy and delight andfear.
Half-hour after half-hour glided by, as she looked on this picture, andread in fancy the romance that was weaving itself out of the silverythread of their discourse in this sad old scene. And then she looked ather watch, and wondered how the time had sped, and sighed; and smilingand asking no question, came before them, and in a low, gentle warning,told them that the hour for parting had come.
As they stood side by side in the moonlight, did the beautiful girl,with the flush of that romantic hour, never, never to be forgotten, onher cheek, with its light in her wonderful eyes, ever look so beautifulbefore? Or did that young man, Cleve Verney, whom she thought sheunderstood, but did not, ever look so handsome?--the enthusiasm and theglow of his victory in his strangely beautiful face.
There were a few silent moments: and she thought could fancy paint amore beautiful young couple than these!
There are scenes--only momentary--so near Paradise--sights, so nearlyangelic, that they touch us with a mysterious ecstasy and sorrow. In theglory and translation of the moment, the feeling of its transitoriness,and the sense of our mortal lot, cross and thrill us with a strangepain, like the anguish that mingles in the rapture of sublime music. So,Miss Sheckleton, very pale, smiling very tenderly, sobbed and wept, onewould have said bitterly, for a little while; and, drying her eyesquickly, saw before her the same beautiful young faces, looking uponhers; and the old lady took their hands and pressed them, and smiled agreat deal through her tears, and said--"All, at last, as I wished it:God bless you both--God Almighty bless you, my darling:" and she put herarms about Margaret's neck, and kissed her very tenderly.
And then came the reminder, that must not be slighted. The hour hadcome, indeed, and Cleve must positively go. Miss Sheckleton would hearof no further delay--no, not another minute. Her fear of Sir Booth wasprofound; so, with a "God bless you, darling," and a very pale face,and--why should there not be?--one long, long kiss, Cleve Verney tookhis leave, and was gone; and the sailing moon lost herself among clouds,so darkness stole swiftly over the landscape.
Margaret Fanshawe drew her dear old cousin near to her, and in her turn,placing her arms round her neck, folded her close, and Anne Sheckletoncould feel the wild throbbing of the young girl's heart close to herown.
Margaret was not weeping, but she stood very pale, with her arms stilllaid on her cousin's shoulders, and looked almost wildly down into herwistful eyes.
"Cousin Anne--oh, darling! you must pray for me," said MargaretFanshawe. "I thought it could never be; I thought I knew myself, but all_that_ is vain: there is another will above us--Fate--Eternal Fate, andI am where I am, I know not how."
"Why, Margaret, darling, it is what I have been longing for--the verybest thing that could have happened; you ought to be the happiest girlin the world," urged Miss Anne Sheckleton, cheerily.
"No, darling; I am not happy, except in this, that I know I love him,and would not give him up for all the world; but it seems to me to havebeen, from first to last, a fatality, and I can't shake off the fearthat lies at my heart."
"Hush, dear--I hear wheels, I think," said Miss Sheckleton, listening.
Margaret was pre-occupied, and did not listen. I don't think she caredmuch at that moment who came or went, except that one to whom her lovewas now irrevocably given.
"No; I can't hear--no; but he will be here immediately. We must not beout, you know; he may ask for me, and he is so--so very--what shall Isay?"
Margaret did not mind. She turned a wild and plaintive look upwardtowards the struggling moon--now emerging, now lost again.
"Come, darling--let us go," said Margaret.
And she looked round her gently, as if awaking from a dream.
"Yes, darling, come," she continued, placing her hand on AnneSheckleton's arm.
"And you are not to tease yourself, Margaret, dear, with fancies andfollies. As I said before, you ought to be one of the happiest girls inexistence."
"So I am," she answered, dreamily--"very happy--oh! wonderfullyhappy--but there is the feeling of something--_fatal_, as I said; and,be it what it may, let it come. I could not lose him now, for all theworld."
She was looking up, as she spoke, towards the broken moonlight, herselfas pale, and a strange plaintive smile of rapture broke over herbeautiful face, as if answering the smile of a spirit in the air.
"Come quickly, darling, come," whispered Miss Sheckleton, and theywalked side by side in silence to the house, and so to Margaret's room,where she sat down by the window, looking out, and kind Anne Sheckletonsat by the table, with her thin old hand to her cheek, watching herfondly, and awaiting an opportunity to speak, for she was longing tohear a great deal more.
The Tenants of Malory, Volume 2 Page 11
