CHAPTER XI.
BEFORE THE STORM.
Before the storm breaks there sometimes falls upon the earth abrief time when the sun shines in splendour from a clear sky, theair is balmy and delightsome, the birds sing in the coppice, andthe innocent lambs leap in the meadows. Then, suddenly, dark cloudsgather from the north; the wind blows cold; in a minute the sky isblack; the lightnings flash, the thunders roll, the wind roars, thehail beats down and strips the orchard of its promise, and silencesthe birds cowering in the branches, and drives the trembling sheepto take shelter in the hedges. This was to be my case. You shallunderstand how for a single day--it was no more--I was the happiestgirl in all the world.
I may now without any shame confess that I have always loved Robinfrom my earliest childhood. That was no great wonder seeing whatmanner of boy he was, and how he was always kind and thoughtfulfor me. We were at first only brother and sister together, whichis natural and reasonable when children grow up together; nor canI tell when or how we ceased to be brother and sister, save thatit may have been when Robin kissed me so tenderly at parting, andtold me that he should always love me. I do not think that brothersdo generally protest love and promise continual affection. Barnabycertainly never declared his love for me, nor did he ever promise tolove me all his life. Perhaps, had he remained longer, he might havebecome as tender as he was good-hearted; but I think that tendernesstowards a sister is not in the nature of a boy. I loved Robin, andI loved Humphrey, both as if they were brothers; but one of themceased to be my brother, while the other, in consequence, remainedmy brother always.
A girl may be ignorant of the world as I was, and of lovers andtheir ways as I was, and yet she cannot grow from a child to a womanwithout knowing that when a young man, who hath promised to love heralways, speaks of her in every letter, he means more than commonbrotherly love. Nor can any woman be indifferent to a man who thusregards her; nor can she think upon love without the desire of beingherself loved. Truly, I had always before my eyes the spectacle ofthat holy love which consecrates every part of life. I mean, in thecase of my mother, whose waking and sleeping thoughts were all forher husband, who worked continually and cheerfully with her handsthat he might be enabled to study without other work, and gave upher whole life, without grudging--even reckoning it her happinessand her privilege--in order to provide food and shelter for him.It was enough reward for her that he should sometimes lay his handlovingly upon her head, or turn his eyes with affection to meet hers.
It was in the night of June 12, as I lay in bed, not yet asleep,though it was already past nine o'clock, that I heard the tramplingof hoofs crossing the stream and passing our cottage. Had I knownwho were riding those horses there would have been but little sleepfor me that night. But I knew not, and did not suspect, and so,supposing that it was only one of the farmers belated, I closed myeyes, and presently slept until the morning.
About five o clock, or a little before that time, I awoke, the sunhaving already arisen, and being now well up above the hills. Itherefore arose softly, leaving my mother asleep still, and, havingdressed quickly, and prayed a little, I crept down the stairs.In the house there was such a stillness that I could even hearthe regular breathing of my father as he slept upon his palletamong his books; it was chill and damp (as is the custom in theearly morning) in the room where he lived and worked. Yet, when Ithrew open door and shutter and looked outside, the air was fullof warmth and refreshment; as for the birds, they had long sinceleft their nests, and now were busy looking for their breakfast;the larks were singing overhead, and the bees already humming anddroning. Who would lie abed when he could get up and enjoy thebeauty of the morning? When I had breathed a while, with pleasureand satisfaction, the soft air, which was laden with the scent offlowers and of hay, I went indoors again and swept and dusted theroom. Then I opened the cupboard, and considered the provision forbreakfast. For my father there would be a slice of cold bacon with agood crust of home-made bread (better bread or sweeter was nowhereto be had) and a cup of cider, warming to the spirits and good, forone who is no longer young, against any rawness of the morning air.For my mother and myself there would be, as soon as our neighbours'cows were milked, a cup of warm milk and bread soaked in it. 'Tis abreakfast good for a grown person as well as for a child, and itcosts us nothing but the trouble of going to take it.
When I had swept the room and laid everything in its place I wentinto the garden, hoe in hand, to weed the beds and trim the borders.The garden was not very big, it is true, but it produced many thingsuseful for us; notably onions and sallet, besides many herbs goodfor the house, for it was a fertile strip of ground and planted inevery part of it. Now, such was the beauty of the morning and thesoftness of the air that I presently forgot the work about which Ihad come into the garden, and sat down in the shade upon a bench,suffering my thoughts to wander hither and thither. Much have Ialways pitied those poor folk in towns who can never escape from thenoise and clatter of tongues and sit somewhere in the sunshine orthe shade, while the cattle low in the meadows and the summer airmakes the leaves to rustle, and thus alone suffer their thoughts towander here and there. Every morning when I arose was this spectacleof Nature's gladness presented to my eyes, but not every morningcould my spirit (which sometimes crawls, as if fearing the lightof day and the face of the sun) rise to meet and greet it, and tofeel it calling aloud for a hymn of praise and thanksgiving. For,indeed, this is a beautiful world, if we could always (which wecannot for the earthliness of our natures) suffer its loveliness tosink into our hearts. I know not what I thought this morning; but Iremember, while I considered the birds, which neither reap nor sow,nor take any thought of to-morrow, yet are daily fed by Heaven, thatthe words were whispered in mine ear: 'Are ye not much better thanthey?' And this, without doubt, prepared my heart for what shouldfollow.
While I sat thinking of I know not what, there came footsteps--quickfootsteps--along the road; and I knew those footsteps, and sprang tomy feet, and ran to the garden-gate, crying, 'Robin!--it is Robin!'
Yes; it was Robin.
He seized me by both hands, looking in my face curiously and eagerly.
'Alice!' he said, drawing a deep breath, 'Oh! but what hath happenedto thee?'
'What should happen, Robin?'
'Oh! Thou art changed, Alice! I left thee almost a child, andnow--now--I thought to catch thee in my arms--a sweet rusticnymph--and now--fain must I go upon my knees to a goddess.'
'Robin!' Who, indeed, would have expected such language from Robin!
'_And Robin was come home again, and I was lying inhis arms, and he was kissing me._']
'Alice,' he said, still gazing upon me with a kind of wonder whichmade me blush, 'do you remember when we parted four years ago--thewords we said? As for me, I have never forgotten them. I was tothink of thee always; I was to love thee always. Truly I may saythat there is never a day but thou hast been in my mind. But notlike this'----He continued to look upon me as upon some strangecreature, so that I began to be frightened and turned away.
'Nay, Alice, forgive me. I am one who is dazzled by the splendour ofthe sun. Forgive me; I cannot speak. I thought of a village beauty,rosy-cheeked, sweet and wholesome as an August quarander, and Ifind'----
'Robin--not a goddess.'
'Well, then, a woman tall and stately, and more beautiful than wordscan say.'
'Nay, Robin, you do but flatter. That is not like the old Robin Iremember and'----I should have added 'loved,' but the word stuck.
'I swear, sweet saint--if I may swear--nay, then I do affirm, thatI do not flatter. Hear me tell a plain tale. I have travelled farsince last I saw thee; I have seen the great ladies of the Courtboth of St. James's and of the Louvre; I have seen the famousbeauties of Provence, and the black-eyed witches of Italy; butnowhere have I seen a woman half so fair.'
'Robin--you must not! Nay, Robin--you shame me!'
Then he knelt at my feet and seized my hand and kissed it. Oh, thefoolishness of a man in love! And yet it
pleases us. No woman isworth it. No woman can understand it; nor can she comprehend thepower and might of man's love, nor why he singles out her alone fromall the rest and fills his heart wholly with her, so that all otherwomen are henceforward as his sisters. It is wonderful; it is mostwonderful. Yet it pleases us. Nay, we cannot choose but thank Godfor it with all our heart and with all our soul.
I would not, if I could, set down all the things which Robin said.First, because the words of love are sacred; next, because I wouldnot that other women should know the extravagance of his praise. Itwas in broken words, because love can never be eloquent.
As for me, what could I do, what could I say? For I had loved himfrom my very childhood, and now all my heart went out from me andbecame his. I was all his. I was his slave to command. That is thequality of earthly love by which it most closely resembles theheavenly love, so that just as the godly man is wholly devoted tothe will of the Lord in all things great and small, resigned to Hischastisements, and always anxious to live and die in His service, soin earthly love one must be wholly devoted to the person whom oneloves.
And Robin was come home again, and I was lying in his arms, and hewas kissing me and calling me all the sweet and tender things thathe could invent, and laughing and sighing together as if too happyto be quiet. Oh! sweetest moments of my life! Why did they pass soquickly? Oh! sacrament of love, which can be taken only once, andyet changes the whole of life and fills it with memory which iswholly sweet! In all other earthly things there is something ofbitterness. In this holy joy of pure and sacred love there is nobitterness--no; not any. It leaves behind nothing of reproach or ofrepentance, of shame or of sorrow. It is altogether holy.
Now, when my boy had somewhat recovered from his first rapture, andI had assured him very earnestly that I was not, indeed, an angel,but a most sinful woman, daily offending in my inner thoughts (anassurance which he received, indeed, with an appearance of disbeliefand scorn), I was able to consider his appearance, which was nowvery fine, though always, as I learned when I saw him among othergentlemen, with some soberness, as became one whose upbringinginclined him to plainness of dress as well as of speech and manner.He wore a long wig of brown hair, which might have been his ownbut for its length; his hat was laced and cocked, which gave him agallant and martial appearance; his neckcloth was long and of finelace; beside him in my russet gown I must have looked truly plainand rustic; but Robin was pleased not to think so, and love is agreat magician to cheat the eyes.
He was home again; he told me he should travel no more (yet youshall hear how far he afterwards travelled against his will); hisonly desire now was to stay at home and live as his grandfatherhad lived, in his native village; he had nothing to pray for butthe continuance of my love--of which, indeed, there was no doubtpossible.
It was now close upon six o'clock, and I begged him to go away forthe present, and if my father and Sir Christopher should agree, andif it should seem to his Honour a fit and proper thing that Robinshould marry a girl so penniless as myself, why--then--we might meetagain after breakfast, or after dinner; or, indeed, at any othertime, and so discourse more upon the matter. So he left me, beingvery reluctant to go; and I, forgetting my garden and what I hadcome forth to do, returned to the house.
You must understand that all these things passed in the garden,divided from the lane by a thick hedge, and that passers-by--butthere were none--could not, very well, have seen what was done,though they might have heard what was said. But if my father hadlooked out of his window he could have seen, and if my motherhad come downstairs she also might have seen through the window,or through the open door. This I thought not upon, nor was thereanything to hide--though one would not willingly suffer anyone, evenone's own mother, to see and listen at such a moment. Yet mother hassince told me that she saw Robin on his knees kissing my hands; butshe withdrew, and would not look again.
When I stepped within the door she was at work with her wheel, andlooked up with a smile upon her lips, but tears were lying in hereyes. Had I known what she had seen I should have been ashamed.
'Daughter,' she said softly, 'thy cheek is burning red. Hast thou,perchance, been too long in the sun?'
'No, mother, the sun is not too hot.'
'Daughter,' she went on, still smiling through her tears, 'thineeyes are bright and glowing. Hast thou a touch of fever by illchance?'
'No, mother, I have no fever.'
'Child, thy lips are trembling and thy hands are shaking. My dear,my dear, what is it? Tell thy mother all.'
She held out her arms to me, and I threw myself at her feet, andburied my head in her lap as if I had been again a child.
'Mother! mother!' I cried, 'Robin hath come home again, and he sayshe loves me, and nothing will do but he must marry me.'
'My dear,' she said, kissing and fondling me, 'Robin hath alwaysbeen a good lad, and I doubt not that he hath returned unspottedfrom the world; but, nay, do not let us be too sure. For, first,his Honour must consent, and then Madam; and thy father must beasked--and he would never, for any worldly honour--no, never--sufferthee to marry an ungodly man. As for thy lack of fortune, I knownot if that will not also stand in the way; and as for family, thyfather, though he was born in New England, cometh of a good stock,and I myself am a gentlewoman, and on both sides we bear an ancientcoat-of-arms. And as for thyself, my dear, thou art--I thank Godfor it!--of a sweet temper and an obedient disposition. From theearliest thou hast never given thy mother any uneasiness, and Ithink thy heart hath been mercifully disposed towards goodnessfrom thy childhood upwards. It is a special grace in this our longpoverty and oppression; and it consoles me partly for the loss of myson Barnaby.' Here she was silent for a space, and her eyes filledand brimmed over. 'Daughter,' she said earnestly, 'thou art comelyin the eyes of men; that have I known for long. It is partly forthy sweet looks that Sir Christopher loves thee; Mr. Boscorel playsmusic with thee partly because his eyes love to behold the beautyof woman. Nay, I mean no reproach, because it is the nature of mento love all things beautiful, whether it be the plumage of a birdor the shape of a woman's head. Yes; thou art beautiful, my dear.Beauty passes, but love remains. Thy husband will perchance nevercease to think thee lovely if he still proves daily thy goodness andthe loveliness of thy heart. My dear, thou hast long comforted thymother; now shalt thou go, with the blessing of the Lord, to be thesolace and the joy of thy husband.'