Complete Works of Bram Stoker

by Bram Stoker

  Presently, as a last resource, he asked her if she would not walk on the river bank and watch the sunset Betty at once acquiesced and ran off to get. her hat and wraps. She came back with two hats and two wraps, Priscilla’s and her own, and insisted, then and there, that her aunt should share the pleasure. Rafe, secretly chafing but all the while amused, could of course only acquiesce, and the three took a series of prim promenades along the river bank under the trees. Betty so manoeuvred that her aunt was always in the middle; if in the course of turning to retrace their steps this arrangement became upset, she with some deft movement restored it again.

  Rafe did not enjoy that walk. Things somehow seemed to be running the wrong way. Had he been older! — Si la jeunesse savait! The burden of the old saw is ever the same, and its application is eternal!

  When they came back to the house Betty was as sweet as usual, with the exception that she would not allow Rafe an instant’s opportunity of love-making or even of being alone with her. When he asked her to sing something for him she sat down to her harp and sang in a manner of enchanting archness a little song which whilst it provoked her lover made him more in love than ever. As she bent over to the harp in one of the most graceful attitudes that woman can assume, and swept the strings till they trilled in sympathy with her arch merriment, she looked towards Rafe bewitchingly, but in such wise that she seemed to look through and beyond him — a fact which, through all his love, inflamed that jealousy which is possible to all men.

  “What will you sing?” Rafe had asked.

  “‘ Love at play’!” she answered, and straightway began —

  “He is not dead — nor sleeping!

  The playful Boy pretends to die —

  See! see! he peeps with laughing eye, He tests the lover’s truth with weeping.

  “Love is naught but lying.

  Its wiles are jests to earnest carried, When Cupid smiles on lovers married, The thought that troubles least is dying.

  “Lovers be happy toying!

  Still be children whilst ye may!

  Ye will be grave in coming day.

  Youth, not age, is the season of enjoying.”

  When the song was done Betty rose quickly and sat down primly close beside her aunt; she was silently demure during the whole time that Rafe remained. Seeing that he could get no further with his suit, Rafe, concealing his chagrin as well as he could, took an early leave.

  When Betty was alone with her aunt the latter took her to task gravely.

  “Betty dear, don’t you think you were a little hard on that young gentleman?”

  Betty opened her eyes wide in seeming surprise as she answered artlessly —

  “Hard, aunt! how do you mean?”

  “How do I mean, my dear? Eyes don’t grow as old as mine without being able to understand what they do see. That young gentleman is just breaking his heart for you.” “For me, aunt?” This was spoken with an exquisite softness.

  “Yes, my child. Can’t you see — or won’t you see — that he is head over ears in love with you?”

  “Oh no, aunt; that cannot be.”

  “Can’t be! What do you mean, child?” Betty answered, with a strange mixture of shyness and drollery: “He never told me so.”

  “Upon my word, young lady, you are too bad! You are — you are — just like other girls!”

  “And besides, aunt, I am not sure of the worthiness!”

  “Indeed, my dear, I am sure he is worthy. True, he is poor; but, my dear, you are rich enough to please yourself; and, my dearest Betty” — this was said very gravely — ”do not trifle with the best part of a man, the sincerity of his heart. A good man, dear, is a very great and noble thing, and worth a woman’s love.”

  “But indeed, aunt, I did not mean that he was unworthy. Oh no! oh no! oh no!” and the deep, dark blue eyes filled with tears.

  “Who, then?”

  “It is I who am not worthy!” and she threw herself into the arms opened to receive her.

  Aunt Priscilla understood all, and comforted her.

  The very next day Master Rafe called again. This time he was not nervous, for he had made up his mind that though he would wait for a suitable opportunity he would seize the very. first which might come. He found Betty in the drawing-room alone, and she received him very sweetly, so sweetly that he felt that he was at one with her, and then and there blurted out what he fondly thought was his secret.

  “Oh, Betty, I love you with all my heart! Won’t you take me? I shall be a true and loving husband to my life’s end!” Betty sat silent for a moment, for it was too sweet a pleasure to shorten, and so he went on: “I have been so miserable, Betty, since last night that I have never slept. I came here yesterday to propose to you, but somehow I never got a chance. Tell me, Betty — tell me, dear, that you love me, or I shall be miserable all my life.”

  Betty raised her earnest eyes, and looked him full in the face, as she put her two hands in his, and said, with a shy sweetness that made his heart thrill —

  “Do not be miserable, Rafe, ever any more!” He caught her in his arms, and their lips met in their first kiss. The first kiss is a holy thing. It should be the symbol of spiritual marriage — of the union of two souls; the youth and maiden who feel this can never really love, at least the same way, again.

  Priscilla waited as long as she thought proper, and then, with a little flutter in her heart, opened the door and walked in with the commencement of an apology on her lips. That apology, however, was never completed, for the lovers, who had been holding each other’s hands, drew apart instinctively, and Betty, blushing rosy red, jumped up and ran over to her aunt and kissed her, and then laid her head on her bosom. Rafe rose up and took one of her hands, and with an old-fashioned gallantry stooped and kissed it, and Priscilla, too, blushed. Blushing on such occasions is the first preliminary to feeling at ease, so presently all three sat on the sofa, Rafe leaning back very happy and with an all-conquering air about him which both women secretly admired. Priscilla held one of Betty’s hands in hers, and stroked and smoothed it lovingly, whilst the other lay emptily in her lap, Rafe being too new a lover to dare to take it in his — openly.

  Supper that night was a glorious meal. They were all merry and light-hearted, and Abigail herself waited on them, to the chagrin of the maids who wanted to see for themselves how things went whilst the news was very new indeed.

  Betty had rushed upstairs for a moment to tell Abigail, but had had no need to speak; the news was written plain in the radiance of her face, and the old woman threw her arms around her and sat down and took her on her knees as she used to do when she was a child. Indeed, that evening Abigail seemed to have gained a new importance. She behaved exactly as usual, but in a more genial way; she excused everything that went wrong, unless it bore on the proper entertainment of the guest. When parting time came Aunt Priscilla had a message to give to Abigail who was waiting to receive orders, and as this took some time to get through and required much talking in a loud tone, so that the impossibility of immediate disturbance was made manifest, the young people had a full and satisfactory opportunity of parting — as newly plighted lovers should have. It is but just to say that they availed themselves of it.

  When he came next day — and his visit was much earlier than ever before — Rafe had presents for all the women. To Aunt Priscilla he ventured to give a souvenir of his deep appreciation of her many virtues, in the shape of an exquisite little gold patch-box shaped like two hands clasping, which, when open, showed each hand complete in itself. To Abigail he gave a large silver money-box, shaped like a German peasant’s hat, for he said that it was her original loss in the shape of her hat which was the occasion of his great gain, and he had ventured to put within a something wherewith to purchase another hat. Abigail, having admired its external appearance, and having put off looking within as long as seemliness required, opened it and found within ten bright guineas, and went off at once to fill the maids with wonder and envy at the bea
uty and worth of her gift. Strangely enough, Aunt Priscilla had on his coming perforce to withdraw herself on household duties, which she did with a needless elaboration of apologies. Then, when he and Betty were alone, and when they had taken by a common instinct their old seats on the sofa, he gave Betty her present. It was an Indian ruby set in brilliants — evidently an heirloom — and when he had put it on the third finger of her left hand, he kissed the finger, and said that it was now his and that he was the very happiest person on all the earth. This assertion Betty, as she nestled close to him, doubted; but she did not then proclaim herself, for the love of her heart was as yet like the green corn when it timidly puts its head above the earth — not like the same in the autumn, when its ripening time has come, and it rustles as it waves its head openly in the sunshine that it loves.

  Betty’s life had been so retired that she had not many friends whom it was necessary to tell of her betrothal, but such as there were had to be duly informed, although it was thought wise to say as little as possible about the engagement, since so long a time must elapse before its fulfilment. All this involved much letter-writing, and kept her very busy; not, however, too busy to have a delightful time with her lover when he came, which was pretty well every day. The guardians were of course informed very soon; and although they grumbled a littlfe, and said that a young lady of Miss Pole’s fortune and prospects might have done much better, when they came to know that their ward really and truly loved, they consented to the engagement. They insisted, however, on the stipulation mentioned in her great-grandfather’s will, that she should not be married till she was of full age. This was two years and three months off, and it seemed to both the young people to be a cruelly long time to have to wait. As, however, they were not forbidden to meet as often as they would, their engagement was a delightful time.

  It was, perhaps, a foolish thing of Rafe not to have gone at once to his kinsman, from whom he expected so much, and have told him. This he often felt; but as at first he had not done so, he dreaded more and more the hard inquiry that would infallibly come: “And pray, sir, why did you not inform me of this at the first? Am I no one that I should be thus ignored?”

  One day he was sent for by his kinsman, now the virtual ruler of England, since he controlled both the Treasury and the Exchequer. When the interview commenced Walpole told him that he would shortly place him in a great position, as the time had come when he, Sir Robert, should consolidate his power by all means possible, and that he wished to have allied to himself a certain great house that might be dangerous in opposition.

  “You,” he said, “are to marry the Lady Mary. It is true that she is no longer young; but you have youth and good looks for both, and I warrant me she will not complain of those qualities in you! You do not seem elated with the opportunity,” for Rafe’s face had fallen and his feeling was only too plain, “but be good enough to remember, young sir, that though you have youth and a fair presence, these comprise all your present possessions. When you go into the market with a full purse you may pick and choose, but when your purse is a slim one — if purse you have at all, or wherewithal to put in one — you must take what you can get. Understand me plainly: I am willing to help my kinsmen, and you amongst the number, but in turn they must help me. If you will not do as I want, then you cannot expect that I will do as you want. When you can come to tell me that you are willing to carry out my project I shall appoint you forthwith to the post I spoke of; but time does not stand still, and lacking you, I must choose some other suitor for my Lady Mary, and his must be the reward I reserved for you.”

  Rafe was ushered from his presence with a very formal and distant bow.

  As we know, Rafe did not lack physical courage; in face of all dangers to life and limb he was a brave man. But his moral courage had not been tested; had it been, he might have spoken out at once to the Minister, and told him of his betrothal to the young heiress. Had he done so he would doubtless have found new favour in the eyes of his kinsman, who had a shrewd head and knew the worth of such an alliance; and his interests in life would have been advanced in some other way. So Rafe went home and fretted and fumed and cursed his luck, for by this time he had nearly come to the end of his resources.

  He had much wished to make Betty a present, but he had hoped that his nomination to a place would have come at once, and that he would then be better able to give something worthy of the acceptance of a young lady who had so much of her own already. Now he found his chance of place gone — for the time at all events — and but a small store of guineas remaining of his inheritance. So it was with a somewhat saddened joy that he took his way to Chelsea that afternoon.

  There was a source of interest in the household which, however, he did not share. Betty’s brother had come up on leave of a few days from his regiment, then quartered at York, and naturally the household was full of his presence. Rafe, who only knew of him as Betty’s half-brother, was not any too delighted, and held himself somewhat stiffly, though for Betty’s sake he tried to be as cordial as he could. Robert Pole, too, seemed to have some slight holding back from his sister’s suitor. He had a vague idea that the latter was in some sense an interloper; and as he had a special design in his own visit, not unconnected with certain debts incurred since the receipt of his commission, and which could only be removed through the agency of a rich sister, he wished, perhaps not unnaturally, to have that sister to himself as much as possible. With every minute he began to jar more and more on Rafe. There was with his sister a sort of taken-for-granted superiority, and an almost rudeness of manner which their having been children together made possible, but which in the jealous eyes of the lover — for such thinks no refinement sufficiently worthy for his beloved — seemed coarse and intolerable. Lovers have many crosses to bear in the time of their probation, and not the least of them are placed on their shoulders by the brothers and sisters of their beloved, whose familiarity seems a trifling with a sacred thing.

  Betty could not but be conscious of the state of feeling between the two young men, and tried to keep the peace between them. Rafe felt that she was an angel, and loved her more than ever. He loyally strove to further her wishes, and would not see or understand when some specially caustic remark was aimed at him. Now and again he and Betty exchanged glances which showed that they understood each other, and in this silent sympathy he found a great reward for his forbearance. Aunt Priscilla was sublimely unconscious of all that was going on and took an early opportunity to whisper to Betty —

  “How delightful it is that they understand each other so well. They have become great friends already.”

  Once Betty feared there would be a scene.

  Robert, with a brother’s freedom, took Betty’s | hand in his, and noticing the ring, said —

  “Hallo! this is something new. I wonder at your wearing such a beggarly thing among those fine ones.” |

  Betty blushed up to the roots of her hair, for she felt, as did Rafe, that an insult to the latter’s gift was intended, but as she did not wish to foment a quarrel she smiled with what heart she could and kissed the ring, saying —

  “Never mind, brother, let who will have the rest — this is good enough for me!”

  “Indeed but it’s not,” he answered, with a sneer; “I have given a better to an innkeeper’s daughter!”

  Betty’s heart sank within her, but Rafe’s look reassured her. Then, as she had a shrewd idea as to what Master Robert’s visit was really due, she thought of a way — albeit one that seemed a little ungenerous — to make him at least behave with decorum. Master Robert wanted a lesson, and he should have it! So she answered —

  “Oh! Robert, how can you be so extravagant! Surely it is not a necessity of being in the Green Horse that you should be so lavish! I did not know that a cornet’s pay allowed such openhandedness!”

  Robert felt that he had gone too far. He! knew that he had yet to explain the disposal of the fifty guineas sent to him not long before in answer to an urgent
request, and beyond this 1 again that another hundred at the present time would hardly suffice to meet his more present needs. So he determined on a discreet measure of silence, and tried to change entirely the whole current of conversation. After a moment’s thought he jumped up, calling out —

  “Come, Betty! put on your hat, and we’ll all go pay a visit to Don Saltaro and see his museum. I haven’t seen a mummy or a mermaid, or a whale’s tooth since I left for York!”

  Betty was glad of the change, and as she looked pleased, Robert was pleased to be out of the difficulty of his own creation. So in a good humour the three young people adjourned to Don Saltaro’s museum before the afternoon should have become too late for the presence of ladies in the coffee-house. They admired everything, and the Don, who thought much of his aristocratic neighbours, came himself and explained everything to them. With great ceremony he took down from its hook on the wall a splendid old Spanish sword, beautifully hiked and of immense length. This, he told them, had belonged to a captain of the Armada, and was evidently an heirloom.

  “Look!” he said; “see here are the arms, and there a writing on it in the Spanish tongue. Young lady, your eyes are better than mine. Do you please to read it, that these young gallants may learn how the old Spaniard loved!”

  Betty, blushing brightly, took the sword and read the legend on the blade —

  “‘ El Amor del infiel es como la Espada destemplada.’”

  “Can any of you construe it?” asked the Don. “No! Then is it to me, to whom are many tongues. ‘ The Love lacking faith is as a sword untempered.’ What think you of that, young lady?”

  “It is true,” said Betty gravely. “There is a lesson in the sword of that old Spanish gentleman which every man and every woman should take to heart!” The Don cried: “Bravo! Bravo!” and Robert applauded, whilst Rafe looked his acquiescence.