" How attractive it must be. You love it, do you not?"
" It has a fascination for all who see it. Don't all things as old as that? Imagine, although the house is a mere three hundred years old, the stones of which it is built date back to the twelfth century.
Naturally everyone's impressed. You will be when . "
He stopped and I saw the slow smile curve his delicate lips.
I am forthright and had never been able to hedge, so I said: " Are you suggesting that I shall see it?"
The smile about his lips expanded. " I have been a guest in your home.
I should like you to be one in mine. "
Then it came bursting out: " Miss Corder, I shall nave to go home soon."
" You don't want to, do you, Mr. Rockwell?"
"We are great friends, I believe." he said.
"At least I feel we are."
" We have known each other but three weeks," I reminded him.
" But the circumstances were exceptional. Please call me Gabriel."
I hesitated, then I laughed.
"What's in a name?" I asked. " Our friendship cannot be greater or less, whether I call you by your Christian or surname. What were you going to say to me, Gabriel?"
" Catherine!" he almost whispered my name as he turned on his side and leaned on his elbow to look at me. " You are right, I don't want to go back."
I did not look at him because I feared my next question was impertinent, but I could not prevent myself from asking it. " Why are you afraid to go back?"
He had turned away. " Afraid?" His voice sounded high pitched. " Who said I was afraid?"
" Then I imagined it."
Silence fell between us for a few seconds, then he said:
"I wish I could make you see the Revels ... the Abbey. I wish ..."
" Tell me about it," I said and added: " If you want to ... but only if you want to."
" It's about myself I want to tell you, Catherine."
" Then please do."
" These have been the most interesting and happiest weeks of my life, and it is because of you. The reason I do not want to go back to the Revels is because it would mean saying good-bye to you."
" Perhaps we should meet again."
He turned to me. " When?" he asked almost angrily.
" Some time perhaps."
"Some time! How do we know what time is left to us?"
" How strangely you talk ... as though you thought that one ... or both of us ... might die tomorrow."
There was a faint flush in his cheeks which seemed to make his eyes burn brightly.
"Who can say when death shall come?"
" How morbid you have grown. I am nineteen. You have told me that you are twenty-three. People of our ages do not talk of dying."
" One evidently does. Catherine, will you marry me?"
I must have looked shocked by this unexpected outburst because he laughed and said: "You are looking at me as 28 though I am crazy. Is it so strange that someone should want to marry you."
" But I cannot take this seriously."
" You must, Catherine. I ask with the utmost seriousness."
" But how can you speak of marriage after such a short acquaintance?"
" It does not seem short. We have met every day. I know that you are all I want, and that is enough for me."
I was silent. In spite of Fanny's attitude I had not considered marriage with Gabriel. We were the best of friends and I should be desolate if he went away ; but when I thought of marriage he seemed almost like a stranger. He aroused my curiosity and interest; he was unlike anyone I had ever known and, because of that certain mystery which shrouded his personality, he attracted me very much; but until this moment I had thought of him mainly as a person whom good fortune had sent my way at an important moment. There was so little I knew about him; I had never met any of his people. Indeed when they, or his home, briefly intruded into our conversation I was immediately conscious of Gabriel's withdrawing from me, as though there were secrets in his life which he was not prepared to share with me. In view of all this I thought it very strange that he should suddenly suggest marriage.
He went on: " Catherine, what is your answer?"
" It is No, Gabriel. There is so much we do not know about each other."
" You mean there is so much you do not know about me."
" Perhaps that is what I mean."
"But what do you want to know? We love horses; we love dogs; we find pleasure in each other's company; I can laugh and be happy with you.
What more could I ask than to laugh and be happy for the rest of my life? "
" And with others ... in your home ... you cannot laugh and be happy?"
" I could never be completely happy with anyone else but you; I could never laugh so freely."
" It seems a flimsy structure on which to base a marriage."
"You are being cautious, Catherine. You feel I have spoken too soon."
I knew then how desolate I should be if he went away, and I said quickly: " Yes, that is it. This is too soon...."
" At least," he said, " I do not have to fear a rival. Do not 29 say No, Catherine. Think of how much I want this to be ... and try to want it a little yourself."
I stood up. I was no longer in the mood to stay on the moors. He made no protest and we rode to the village, where he said good-bye to me.
When I reached the stables Friday was waiting there for me, He always knew when I had gone out riding and never failed to be in the stableyard watching for my return.
He waited patiently until I had given Wanda to one of the lads, then he flung himself at me, making sure that I was fully aware of his pleasure in my return. Many dogs have that lovable quality, but in Friday it was stronger than usual because it was touched by an extreme humility.
He stood aside while my attention was given to others, waiting patiently until it was his turn. I believed that the memory of early wretchedness always remained with Friday, and that was why in all his exuberant affection there was that touch of deep humility and gratitude.
I lifted him in my arms and he sniffed my jacket with ecstacy.
I hugged him. I was growing more and more fond of him with every day, and my affection for him enhanced my feelings for Gabriel.
Even as I turned into the house I was wondering what marriage with Gabriel would be like. I was already beginning to believe that it was a state which I could contemplate without abhorrence.
What would my life in Glen House be like when Gabriel went away? I should ride Wanda, walk with Friday, but one could not be out of doors for ever. The winter would come. Winters were harsh in the moorland country ; there were days at a stretch when it was impossible to venture out unless one wanted to risk death in the blizzards. I thought of long dark days in the house--the weary monotonous round. It was true that Uncle Dick might come home ; but his visits could not be of very long duration and I could remember from the past how life seemed doubly dull after he had left.
It occurred to me then that I needed to escape from Glen House. A way was being offered to me. If I refused to take it, might I not be regretful for the rest of my life?
Gabriel came to dine with us occasionally. My father always roused himself on such occasions and was a tolerable host. I could see that he did not dislike Gabriel. Fanny's 30 lips would curl in a sardonic smile when Gabriel was in the house. I knew that she was thinking that he was making use of our hospitality while he was in the neighbourhood, and that when the time came for him to leave he would do so and promptly forget us. Fanny, who was determined to give nothing, was always afraid that people were going to take something away from her.
There were sly references to my " hopes" regarding Gabriel. She had never married and believed that it was the woman who desired that state in cold blood because it meant that she must be fed and clothed for the rest of her life. As for the man who had to provide the food-and clothing, he would naturally seek to "get what he wanted " Fanny's expres
sion without giving more than he could help. Fanny's values were material. I longed to escape from them, and I knew 'that with each day I was withdrawing myself farther and farther from Glen House and feeling closer and closer to Gabriel.
May was with us and the days were warm and sunny; it was a joy to escape to the moors. Now we talked of ourselves and there was a certain feverishness about Gabriel. He always seemed to me like a man who was looking over his shoulder at some pursuer, while he was desperately conscious of passing time.
I made him tell me about his home, and he was willing enough to do so now. I felt this to be because he had already convinced himself that I would marry him and that it would not be only his home but mine.
In my imagination it was a hazy, grey edifice comprised of ancient stones. I knew there was a balcony because Gabriel talked of it often ; I pictured the scene from that balcony, for Gabriel had described it to me many times. The balcony was evidently a favourite spot of his.
I knew that from it it was possible to see the river winding its way through the meadows ; the woods, which in some places went down to the river's edge, and a quarter of a mile from the house those ancient piles of stone, those magnificent arches which the years had not been able to destroy; and across the wooden bridge, away beyond the river, the wild moorland country.
But what were houses compared with the people who lived in them? I learned by degrees that Gabriel, like myself, had no mother, she had been advanced in years when he was conceived, and when he came into the world she went out of it. Our motherless ness was a further bond between us.
He had a sister, fifteen years older than himself a widow 31 with a seventeen-year-old son; he also had a father who was very old.
" He was nearly sixty when I was born," Gabriel told me. " My mother was forty. Some of the servants used to say I was the afterthought'; others used to say I killed my mother. "
I was immediately angry because I knew how such careless comments could hurt a sensitive child. " How ridiculous!" I cried, my eyes flashing with anger as they always did over what I considered injustice.
Gabriel laughed, took my hand and held it very tightly.
Then he said seriously: " You see I cannot do without you. I need you to protect me against the cruel things that are said of me."
" You are no longer a child," I replied somewhat impatiently ; and when I analysed my impatience I found it grew out of my desire to protect him. I wanted to make him strong enough not to be afraid.
" Some of us remain children until we die."
" Death 1" I cried. "Why do you harp continually on death?"
" It's true that I do," he said. " It's because I am so anxious to live every minute of my life to the full."
I did not understand what he meant then; and I asked to hear more of the family.
" Ruth, my sister, rules the household and will do so until I marry.
Then of course my wife will do that, because I am the only son and the Revels will one day be mine. "
" When you speak of the Revels you do so in a tone of reverence."
" It is my home."
" And yet ..." I was going to say, I believe you are glad to have escaped from it. " You are not eager to return."
He did not notice my interruption. He murmured as though to himself: "
It ought to have been Simon ..."
" Who is Simon?"
" Simon Redvers. A sort of cousin. A Rockwell through his grandmother, who is my father's sister. You won't like him very much.
But then you'll rarely meet. There isn't much communication between Kelly Grange and the Revels."
He was talking as though there was no doubt that I would marry him and that one day his house would be my home.
Sometimes I wondered whether there was not some subtlety in Gabriel.
He gradually built up pictures in my mind, so that his home and family somehow came alive for me, and as 32 the picture grew clearer in my mind it brought with it a fascination which was not altogether pleasant and yet no less impelling because of that--but rather more so.
I wanted to see that pile of grey stones which had been made into a house three hundred years ago; I wanted to see those ruins which from a balcony of the house would have the appearance, not of a ruin but an ancient abbey because so much of the outer structure remained.
I was caught up in Gabriel's life. I knew that if he went away I should be desperately lonely and dissatisfied with my life. I should be continually regretful.
And one sunny day, when I had walked out of the house with Friday at my heels, I met Gabriel on the moor; and we sat with our backs against a boulder while Friday crouched before us on the grass, his eyes going from one to the other, his head slightly cocked as though he listened to our conversation. This was complete happiness for him and we knew it was because we were together.
" There's something I haven't told you, Catherine," said Gabriel.
I felt relieved, because I knew that he was going to tell me something now which he had been trying to for a long time.
" I want you to say you'll marry me," he went on, " but so far you haven't said that. You don't dislike me ; you're happy in my company.
That's true, Catherine? "
I looked at him and saw again those lines between his brows ; I saw the puzzled frustration there and I remembered those occasions when he had seemed to forget what it was that made him so melancholy, when he threw off his moodiness and became gay. I felt a great desire then to chase the gloom out of his life, to make him happy as I had made Friday healthy.
" Of course I don't dislike you," I said, " and we're happy together.
If you go away . "
" You'd miss me, Catherine, but not as much as I should miss you. I want you to come back with me. I don't want to go without you."
" Why are you so eager for me to go back with you?"
" Why? Surely you know. It's because I love you--because I never want to leave you again."
" Yes, but ... is there another reason?"
"What other reason should there be?" he asked; but he did not meet my eyes as he said that, and I knew that there was a great deal about him and his home that I had to learn.
" You should tell me everything, Gabriel," I said on impulse. k. r. 33 B He mewed closer to me and put his arm about me. " You are right, Catherine. There are things you should know. I cannot be happy without you and ... there cannot be long left to me."
I drew away from him. " What do you mean?" I demanded sharply.
He sat up and looking straight ahead said: " I cannot live more than a few years. I have received my sentence of death."
I was angry with him because I could not bear to hear his talk of dying. " Stop being dramatic," I commanded, " and tell me exactly what all this means."
" It's perfectly simple. I have a weak heart--a family complaint. I had an elder brother who died young. My mother died at my birth, but it was due to the same heart condition, aggravated by the strain of bringing me into the world. I could die to-morrow ... next year ... or in five years' time. It would apparently be extraordinary if I lived longer than that."
I yearned to comfort him and he knew how his words had affected me for he went on wistfully: " It would not be a great many years, Catherine."
" Don't talk like that," I said harshly; and I stood up, so overcome by my emotions that I could say no more. I started to walk quickly and Gabriel fell into step beside me. We were both silent, and Friday kept running ahead of us to look back at us anxiously, head on one side, while his eyes implored us to be gay.
That night I scarcely slept at all. I could think of nothing but Gabriel and his need for me. This was what had made him seem so different from any other person I had ever known, for I had never before known a person who was under a sentence of death. I kept hearing his voice saying: " I could die to-morrow ... next year ... or in five years' time. It would be extraordinary if I lived longer than that." I kept seeing those melancholy eyes and remembering
how at times he could be happy. And I could make him happy for what was left to him--I alone. How could I forget that? How could I turn away from someone who needed me so much?
At this time I was so inexperienced that I did not know how to analyse my emotions. But I was sure that if Gabriel went away I should miss him. He had brought a new interest into my life, making me forget the gloominess of my home; it was so pleasant to be with someone who was really interested in me after my father's indifference, someone who admired me, after Fanny's criticism.