“Oh, you wrong yourself, my dear Fröken,” he murmured softly, with a sickly attempt at tenderness in his tone. “You really wrong yourself! It is impossible, — for me at least, not to be interested in you, — even for our dear Lord’s sake. It troubles me to the inmost depths of my soul to behold in you one of the foolish virgins whose light hath been extinguished for lack of the saving oil, — to see you wandering as a lost sheep in the paths of darkness and error, without a hand to rescue your steps from the near and dreadful precipice! Ay, truly! . . . my spirit yearneth for you as a mother for an own babe — fain would I save you from the devices of the evil one, — fain would I—” here the minister drew out his handkerchief and pressed it lightly to his eyes, — then, as if with an effort overcoming his emotion, he added, with the gravity of a butcher presenting an extortionate bill, “but first, — before my own humble desires for your salvation — first, ere I go further in converse, it behoveth me to enter on the Lord’s business!”
Thelma bent her head slightly, with an air as though she said: “Indeed; pray do not be long about it!” And, leaning back against the porch, she waited somewhat impatiently.
“The image I have just restored to you,” went on Mr. Dyceworthy in his most pompous and ponderous manner, “you say belonged to your unhappy—”
“She was not unhappy,” interposed the girl, calmly.
“Ay, ay!” and the minister nodded with a superior air of wisdom. “So you imagine, so you think, — you must have been too young to judge of these things. She died—”
“I saw her die,” again she interrupted, with a musing tenderness in her voice. “She smiled and kissed me, — then she laid her thin, white hand on this crucifix, and, closing her eyes, she went to sleep. They told me it was death, since then I have known that death is beautiful!”
Mr. Dyceworthy coughed, — a little cough of quiet incredulity. He was not fond of sentiment in any form, and the girl’s dreamily pensive manner annoyed him. Death “beautiful?” Faugh! it was the one thing of all others that he dreaded; it was an unpleasant necessity, concerning which he thought as little as possible. Though he preached frequently on the peace of the grave and the joys of heaven, — he was far from believing in either, — he was nervously terrified of illness, and fled like a frightened hare from the very rumor of any infectious disorder, and he had never been known to attend a death-bed. And now, in answer to Thelma, he nodded piously and rubbed his hands, and said —
“Yes, yes; no doubt, no doubt! All very proper on your part, I am sure! But concerning this same image of which I came to speak, — it is most imperative that you should be brought to recognize it as a purely carnal object, unfitting a maiden’s eyes to rest upon. The true followers of the Gospel are those who strive to forget the sufferings of our dear Lord as much as possible, — or to think of them only in spirit. The minds of sinners, alas! are easily influenced, — and it is both unseemly and dangerous to gaze freely upon the carven semblance of the Lord’s limbs! Yea, truly, it hath oft been considered as damnatory to the soul, — more especially in the cases of women immured as nuns, who encourage themselves in an undue familiarity with our Lord, by gazing long and earnestly upon his body nailed to the accursèd tree.”
Here Mr. Dyceworthy paused for breath. Thelma was silent, but a faint smile gleamed on her face.
“Wherefore,” he went on, “I do adjure you, as you desire grace and redemption, to utterly cast from you the vile trinket, I have, — Heaven knows how reluctantly! . . . returned to your keeping, — to trample upon it, and renounce it as a device of Satan. . .” He stopped, surprised and indignant, as she raised the much-abused emblem to her lips and kissed it reverently.
“It is the sign of peace and salvation,” she said steadily, “to me, at least. You waste your words, Mr. Dyceworthy; I am a Catholic.”
“Oh, say not so!” exclaimed the minister, now thoroughly roused to a pitch of unctuous enthusiasm. “Say not so. Poor child! who knowest not the meaning of the word used. Catholic signifies universal. God forbid a universal Papacy! You are not a Catholic — no! You are a Roman — by which name we understand all that is most loathsome and unpleasing unto God! But I will wrestle for your soul, — yea, night and day will I bend my spiritual sinews to the task, — I will obtain the victory, — I will exorcise the fiend! Alas, alas! you are on the brink of hell — think of it!” and Mr. Dyceworthy stretched out his hand with his favorite pulpit gesture. “Think of the roasting and burning, — the scorching and withering of souls! Imagine, if you can, the hopeless, bitter, eternal damnation,” and here he smacked his lips as though he were tasting something excellent,— “from which there is no escape! . . . for which there shall be no remedy!”
“It is a gloomy picture,” said Thelma, with a quiet sparkle in her eye. “I am sorry, — for you. But I am happier, — my faith teaches of purgatory — there is always a little hope!”
“There is none! there is none!” exclaimed the minister rising in excitement from his seat, and swaying ponderously to and fro as he gesticulated with hands and head. “You are doomed, — doomed! There is no middle course between hell and heaven. It must be one thing or the other; God deals not in half-measures! Pause, oh pause, ere you decide to fall! Even at the latest hour the Lord desires to save your soul, — the Lord yearns for your redemption, and maketh me to yearn also. Fröken Thelma!” and Mr. Dyceworthy’s voice deepened in solemnity, “there is a way which the Lord hath whispered in mine ears, — a way that pointeth to the white robe and the crown of glory, — a way by which you shall possess the inner peace of the heart with bliss on earth as the forerunner of bliss in heaven!”
She looked at him steadfastly. “And that way is — what?” she inquired.
Mr. Dyceworthy hesitated, and wished with all his heart that this girl was not so thoroughly self-possessed. Any sign of timidity in her would have given him an increase of hardihood. But her eyes were coldly brilliant, and glanced him over without the smallest embarrassment. He took refuge in his never-failing remedy, his benevolent smile — a smile that covered a multitude of hypocrisies.
“You ask a plain question, Fröken,” he said sweetly, “and I should be loth not to give you a plain answer. That way — that glorious way of salvation for you is — through me!”
And his countenance shone with smug self-satisfaction as he spoke, and he repeated softly, “Yes, yes; that way is through me!”
She moved with a slight gesture of impatience. “It is a pity to talk any more,” she said rather wearily. “It is all no use! Why do you wish to change me in my religion? I do not wish to change you. I do not see why we should speak of such things at all.”
“Of course!” replied Mr. Dyceworthy blandly. “Of course you do not see. And why? Because you are blind.” Here he drew a little nearer to her, and looked covetously at the curve of her full, firm waist.
“Oh, why!” he resumed in a sort of rapture— “why should we say it is a pity to talk any more? Why should we say it is all no use? It is of use, — it is noble, it is edifying to converse of the Lord’s good pleasure! And what is His good pleasure at this moment? To unite two souls in His service! Yea, He hath turned my desire towards you, Fröken Thelma, — even as Jacob’s desire was towards Rachel! Let me see this hand.” He made a furtive grab at the white taper fingers that played listlessly with the jessamine leaves on the porch, but the girl dexterously withdrew them from his clutch and moved a little further back, her face flushing proudly. “Oh, will it not come to me? Cruel hand!” and he rolled his little eyes with an absurdly sentimental air of reproach. “It is shy — it will not clasp the hand of its protector! Do not be afraid, Fröken! . . . I, Charles Dyceworthy, am not the man to trifle with your young affections! Let them rest where they have flown! I accept them! Yea! . . . in spite of wrath and error and moral destitution, — my spirit inclineth towards you, — in the language of carnal men, I love you! More than this, I am willing to take you as my lawful wife—”
He bro
ke off abruptly, somewhat startled at the bitter scorn of the flashing eyes that, like two quivering stars, were blazing upon him. Her voice, clear as a bell ringing in frosty air, cut through the silence like a sweep of a sword-blade.
“How dare you!” she said, with a wrathful thrill in her low, intense tones. “How dare you come here to insult me!”
Insult her! He, — the Reverend Charles Dyceworthy, — considered guilty of insult in offering honorable marriage to a mere farmer’s daughter! He could not believe his own ears, — and in his astonishment he looked up at her. Looking, he recoiled and shrank into himself, like a convicted knave before some queenly accuser. The whole form of the girl seemed to dilate with indignation. From her proud mouth, arched like a bow, sprang barbed arrows of scorn that flew straightly and struck home.
“Always I have guessed what you wanted,” she went on in that deep, vibrating tone which had such a rich quiver of anger within it; “but I never thought you would—” She paused, and a little disdainful laugh broke from her lips. “You would make me your wife — me? You think me likely to accept such an offer?” And she drew herself up with a superb gesture, and regarded him fixedly.
“Oh, pride, pride!” murmured the unabashed Dyceworthy, recovering from the momentary abasement into which he had been thrown by her look and manner. “How it overcometh our natures and mastereth our spirits! My dear, my dearest Fröken, — I fear you do not understand me! Yet it is natural that you should not; you were not prepared for the offer of my — my affections,” — and he beamed all over with benevolence,— “and I can appreciate a maidenly and becoming coyness, even though it assume the form of a repellant and unreasonable anger. But take courage, my — my dear girl! — our Lord forbid that I should wantonly play with the delicate emotions of your heart! Poor little heart! does it flutter?” and Mr. Dyceworthy leered sweetly. “I will give it time to recover itself! Yes, yes! a little time! and then you will put that pretty hand in mine” — here he drew nearer to her, “and with one kiss we will seal the compact!”
And he attempted to steal his arm round her waist, but the girl sprang back indignantly, and pulling down a thick branch of the clambering prickly roses from the porch, held it in front of her by way of protection. Mr. Dyceworthy laughed indulgently.
“Very pretty — very pretty indeed!” he mildly observed, eyeing her as she stood at bay barricaded by the roses. “Quite a picture! There, there! do not be frightened, — such shyness is very natural! We will embrace in the Lord another day! In the meantime one little word — the word — will suffice me, — yea, even one little smile, — to show me that you understand my words, — that you love me” — here he clasped his plump hands together in flabby ecstasy— “even as you are loved!”
His absurd attitude, — the weak, knock-kneed manner in which his clumsy legs seemed, from the force of sheer sentiment, to bend under his weighty body, and the inanely amatory expression of his puffy countenance, would have excited most women to laughter, — and Thelma was perfectly conscious of his utterly ridiculous appearance, but she was too thoroughly indignant to take the matter in a humorous light.
“Love you!” she exclaimed, with a movement of irrepressible loathing. “You must be mad! I would rather die than marry you!”
Mr. Dyceworthy’s face grew livid and his little eyes sparkled vindictively, — but he restrained his inward rage, and merely smiled, rubbing his hands softly one against the other.
“Let us be calm!” he said soothingly. “Whatever we do, let us be calm! Let us not provoke one another to wrath! Above all things, let us, in a spirit of charity and patience, reason out this matter without undue excitement. My ears have most painfully heard your last words, which, taken literally, might mean that you reject my honorable offer. The question is, do they mean this? I cannot, — I will not believe that you would foolishly stand in the way of your own salvation,” — and he shook his head with doleful gentleness. “Moreover, Fröken Thelma, though it sorely distresses me to speak of it, — it is my duty, as a minister of the Lord, to remind you that an honest marriage, — a marriage of virtue and respectability such as I propose, is the only way to restore your reputation, — which, alas! is sorely damaged, and—”
Mr. Dyceworthy stopped abruptly, a little alarmed, as she suddenly cast aside the barrier of roses and advanced toward him, her blue eyes blazing.
“My reputation!” she said haughtily. “Who speaks of it?”
“Oh dear, dear me!” moaned the minister pathetically. “Sad! . . . very sad to see so ungovernable a temper, so wild and untrained a disposition! Alas, alas! how frail we are without the Lord’s support, — without the strong staff of the Lord’s mercy to lean upon! Not I, my poor child, not I, but the whole village speaks of you; to you the ignorant people attribute all the sundry evils that of late have fallen sorely upon them, — bad harvests, ill-luck with the fishing, poverty, sickness,” — here Mr. Dyceworthy pressed the tips of his fingers delicately together, and looked at her with a benevolent compassion,— “and they call it witchcraft, — yes! strange, very strange! But so it is, — ignorant as they are, such ignorance is not easily enlightened, — and though I,” he sighed, “have done my poor best to disabuse their minds of the suspicions against you, I find it is a matter in which I, though a humble mouthpiece of the Gospel, am powerless — quite powerless!”
She relaxed her defiant attitude, and moved away from him; the shadow of a smile was on her lips.
“It is not my fault if the people are foolish,” she said coldly; “I have never done harm to any one that I know of.” And turning abruptly, she seemed about to enter the house, but the minister dexterously placed himself in her way, and barred her passage.
“Stay, oh, stay!” he exclaimed with unctuous fervor. “Pause, unfortunate girl, ere you reject the strong shield and buckler that the Lord has, in His great mercy, offered you, in my person! For I must warn you, — Fröken Thelma, I must warn you seriously of the danger you run! I will not pain you by referring to the grave charges brought against your father, who is, alas! in spite of my spiritual wrestling with the Lord for his sake, still no better than a heathen savage; no! I will say nothing of this. But what, — what shall I say,” — here he lowered his voice to a tone of mysterious and weighty reproach,— “what shall I say of your most unseemly and indiscreet companionship with these worldly young men who are visiting the Fjord for their idle pastime? Ah dear, dear! This is indeed a heavy scandal and a sore burden to my soul, — for up to this time I have, in spite of many faults in your disposition, considered you were at least of a most maidenly and decorous deportment, — but now — now! to think that you should, of your own free will and choice, consent to be the plaything of this idle stroller from the wicked haunts of fashion, — the hour’s toy of this Sir Philip Errington! Fröken Thelma, I would never have believed it of you!” And he drew himself up with ponderous and sorrowful dignity.
A burning blush had covered Thelma’s face at the mention of Errington’s name, but it soon faded, leaving her very pale. She changed her position so that she confronted Mr. Dyceworthy, — her clear blue eyes regarded him steadfastly.
“Is this what is said of me?” she asked calmly.
“It is, — it is, most unfortunately!” returned the minister, shaking his bullet-like head a great many times; then, with a sort of elephantine cheerfulness, he added, “but what matter? There is time to remedy these things. I am willing to set myself as a strong barrier against the evil noises of rumor! Am I selfish or ungenerous? The Lord forbid it! No matter how I am compromised, no matter how I am misjudged, — I am still willing to take you as my lawful wife Fröken Thelma, — but,” and here he shook his forefinger at her with a pretended playfulness, “I will permit no more converse with Sir Philip Errington; no, no! I cannot allow it! . . . I cannot, indeed!”
She still looked straight at him, — her bosom rose and fell rapidly with her passionate breath, and there was such an eloquent breath of scorn in her face
that he winced under it as though struck by a sharp scourge.
“You are not worth my anger!” she said slowly, this time without a tremor in her rich voice. “One must have something to be angry with, and you — you are nothing! Neither man nor beast, — for men are brave, and beasts tell no lies! Your wife! I!” and she laughed aloud, — then with a gesture of command, “Go!” she exclaimed, “and never let me see your face again!”
The clear scornful laughter, — the air of absolute authority with which she spoke, — would have stung the most self-opinionated of men, even though his conscience were enveloped in a moral leather casing of hypocrisy and arrogance. And, notwithstanding his invariable air of mildness, Mr. Dyceworthy had a temper. That temper rose to a white heat just now, — every drop of blood receded from his countenance, — and his soft hands clenched themselves in a particularly ugly and threatening manner. Yet he managed to preserve his suave composure.
“Alas, alas!” he murmured. “How sorely my soul is afflicted to see you thus, Fröken! I am amazed — I am distressed! Such language from your lips! oh fie, fie! And has it come to this! And must I resign the hope I had of saving your poor soul? and must I withdraw my spiritual protection from you?” This he asked with a suggestive sneer of his prim mouth, — and then continued, “I must — alas, I must! My conscience will not permit me to do more than pray for you! And as is my duty, I shall, in a spirit of forbearance and charity, speak warningly to Sir Philip concerning—”
But Thelma did not permit him to finish his sentence. She sprang forward like a young leopardess, and with a magnificent outward sweep of her arm motioned him down the garden path.
“Out of my sight, — coward!” she cried, and then stood waiting for him to obey her, her whole frame vibrating with indignation like a harp struck too roughly. She looked so terribly beautiful, and there was such a suggestive power in that extended bare white arm of hers, that the minister, though quaking from head to heel with disappointment and resentment, judged it prudent to leave her.
Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Eight Book 22) Page 89
