CHAPTER X
They were standing on the narrow strip of sward between the wood andthe stream, which the gun accident had for ever made memorable tothem. The stile rose between them, but seeing that his hands rested onhers, and his eyes dwelt unrebuked on her conscious face, the barrierwas but as the equator, which divides but does not separate; thesacrifice to propriety was less than it seemed. Spring had come with arush, the hedges were everywhere bursting into leaf. In the ThirtyAcres which climbed the hill above them, the thrushes were singingtheir May-day song, and beside them the brook rippled and sparkled inthe sunshine. All Nature rejoiced, and the pulse of youth leapt to theuniversal rhythm. The maiden's eyes repeated what the man's lipsuttered, and for the time to love and to be loved was all in all.
"To think," he murmured, "that if I had not been so awkward we shouldnot have known one another!" And, silly man, he thought this theheight of wisdom.
"And the snowdrops!" She, alas, was on the same plane of sapience."But when--when did you first, Clem?"
"From the first moment we met! From the very first, Jos!"
"When I saw you standing here? And looking----"
"Oh, from long before that!" he declared. And his eyes challengeddenial. "From the hour when I saw you at the Race Ball in the AssemblyRoom--ages, ages ago!"
She savored the thought and found it delicious, and she longed to hearit repeated. "But you did not know me then. How could you--love me?"
"How could I not? How could I see you and not love you?" he babbled."How was it possible I should not? Were we not made for one another?You don't doubt that? And you," jealously, "when, sweet, did youfirst--think of me?"
Alas, she could only go back to the moment when she had trippedheart-whole round the corner of the wood, and seen him standing,solitary, wrapped in thought, a romantic figure. But though, to hershame, she could only go back to that, it thrilled her, it made herimmensely happy, to think that he had loved her first, that his hearthad gone out to her before she knew him, that he had chosen her evenbefore he had spoken to her. Ay, chosen her, little regarded as shewas, and shabby, and insignificant amid the gay throng of theballroom! She had been Cinderella then, but she had found her glassslipper now--and her Fairy Prince. And so on, and so on, with sweetand foolish repetitions.
For this was the latest of a dozen meetings, and Love had long agochallenged Love. Many an afternoon had Clement waited under the wood,and with wonder and reverence seen the maid come tripping along thegreen towards him. Many a time had he thought a seven-mile ride asmall price to pay for the chance, the mere chance, of a meeting, forthe distant glimpse of a bonnet, even for the privilege of touchingthe pebble set for a token on the stile. So that it is to be fearedthat, if market days had found him more often at his desk, there hadbeen other days, golden days and not a few, when the bank had not heldhim, when he had stolen away to play truant in this enchanted country.But then, how great had been the temptation, how compelling the lure,how fair the maid!
No, he had not played quite fairly with his father. But the thought ofthat weighed lightly on him. For this that had come to him, this lovethat glorified all things, even as Spring the face of Nature, thatfilled his mind with a thousand images, each more enchanting than thelast, and inspired his imagination with a magic not its own,--thisvisited a man but once; whereas he would have long years in which hemight redeem the time, long years in which he might warm his father'sheart by an attendance at the desk that should shame Rodd himself! Ay,and he would! He would! Even the sacrifice of his own tastes, his ownwishes seemed in his present mood a small surrender, and one he owedand fain would pay.
For he was in love with goodness, he longed to put himself right withall. He longed to do his duty to all, he who walked with a firmerstep, who trod the soil with a conquering foot, who found new beautiesin star and flower, he, so happy, so proud, so blessed!
But this being his mood, there was a burden which weighed on him, andweighing on him more heavily every day, and that was the part which hewas playing towards the Squire. It had long galled him, when absentfrom her; of late it had begun to mar his delight in her presence. Therole of secret lover had charmed for a time--what more shy, moreelusive, more retiring than young love? And what more secret? Fainwould it shun all eyes. But he had now reached a farther stage, andbeing honest, and almost quixotic by nature, he could not without painfall day by day below the ideals which his fancy set up. To-day he hadcome to meet Josina with a fixed resolve, and a mind wound to thepitch of action; and presently into the fair pool of her content--yetquaking as he did so lest he should seem to hint a fault--he cast thestone.
"And now, Jos," he said, his eyes looking bravely into hers, "I mustsee your father."
"My father!" Fear sprang into her eyes. She stiffened.
"Yes, dear," he repeated. "I must see your father--and speak to him.There is no other course possible."
Color, love, joy, all fled from her face. She shivered. "My father!"she stammered, pale to the lips. "Oh, it is impossible! It isimpossible! You would not do it!" She would have withdrawn her handsif he had not held them. "You cannot, cannot mean it! Have you thoughtwhat you are saying?"
"I have, indeed," he said, sobered by her fear, and full of pity forher. "I lay awake for hours last night thinking of it. But there is noother course, Jos, no other course--if we would be happy."
"But, oh, you don't know him!" she cried, panic-stricken. And herterror wrung his heart. "You don't know him! Or what he will think ofme!"
"Nothing very bad," he rejoined. But more than ever, more than before,his conscience accused him. He felt that the shame which burned herface and in a moment gave way to the pallor of fear was the measure ofhis guilt; and in proportion as he winced under that knowledge, andunder the knowledge that it was she who must pay the heavier penalty,he took blame to himself and was strengthened in his resolve. "Listen,Jos," he said bravely. "Listen! And let me tell you what I mean. And,dearest, do not tremble as you are trembling. I am not going to tellhim to-day. But tell him I must some day--and soon, if we do not wishhim to learn it from others."
She shuddered. All had been so bright, so new, so joyous; and now shewas to pay the price. And the price had a very terrible aspect forher. Fate, a cruel, pitiless fate, was closing upon her. She could notspeak, but her eyes, her quivering lips, pleaded with him for mercy.
He had expected that, and he steeled himself, showing thereby the goodmetal that was in him. "Yes," he said firmly, "we must, Jos. And for abetter reason than that. Because if we do not, if we continue todeceive your father, he will not only have reason to be angry withyou, but to despise me; to look upon me as a poor unmanly thing, Jos,a coward who dared not face him, a craven who dared not ask him forwhat he valued above all the world! Who stole it from him in the darkand behind his back! As it is he will be angry enough. He will lookdown upon me, and with justice. And at first he will say 'No,' and Ifear he will separate us, and there will be no more meetings, and wemay have to wait. But if we are brave, if we trust one another and aretrue to one another--and, alas, you will have to bear the worst--if wecan bear and be strong, in the end, believe me, Jos, it will comeright."
"Never," she cried, despairing, "never! He will never allow it!"
"Then----"
"Oh," she prayed, "can we not go on as we are?"
"No, we cannot." He was firm. "We cannot. By and by you would discoverthat for yourself, and you, as well as he, would have cause to despiseme. For consider, Jos, think, dear. If I do not seek you for my wife,what is before us? To what can we look forward? To what future? Whatend? Only to perpetual alarms, and some day, when we least expect it,to discovery--to discovery that will cover me with disgrace."
She did not answer. She had taken her hands from him, she had takenherself from him. She leant on the stile, her face hidden. But hedared not give way, nor would he let himself be repulsed; and verytenderly he laid his hand on her shoulder. "It is natural that youshould be frightened,"
he said. "But if I, too, am frightened; if,seeing the proper course, I do not take it, how can you ever trust meor depend on me? What am I then but a coward? What is the worth of mylove, Jos, if I have not the courage to ask for you?"
"But he will want to know----" her shoulders heaved in her agitation,"he will want to know----"
"How we met? I know. And how we loved? Yes, I am afraid so. And hewill be angry with you, and you will suffer, and I shall be God knowshow wretched! But if I do not go to him, how much more angry will hebe! And how much more ground for anger will he have! If we continue tomeet it cannot be long kept from him, and then how much worse will itbe! And I, with not a word to say for myself, with no defence, noplea! I, who shall not then seem to him to be even a man."
"But he is so--so hard!" she whispered, her face still hidden.
"I know, dear. And so firmly set in his prejudice and his pride. Iknow. He will think me so far below you; he hates the bank and allconnected with it. He holds me a mere clerk, not one of his class, andlow, dear, I know it. But"--his voice rose a tone--"I am not low, Jos,and you have discovered it. And now I must prove it to him. I mustprove it. And to make a beginning, I must be no coward. I must not beafraid of him. For you, the times are past when he could ill-treatyou. And he loves you."
"He is very hard," she murmured. It was his punishment throughout,that though his heart was wrung for her he could not bear her share ofthe suffering. But he dared not and he would not give way. "He willmake me give you up."
He had thought of that and was ready for it. "That must depend uponyou," he said very soberly. "For my part, dear--but my part is easy--Ishall never give you up. Never! But if the trial be too sore for youwho must bear the heavier burden, if you feel that our love is notworth the price you must pay, then I will never reproach you, Jos,never. If you decide on that I will not say one word against it; no,nor think one harsh thought of you. And then we need not tell him. Butwe must not meet again."
She trembled; and it was natural, it was very natural, that she shouldtremble. It was an age when discipline was strict and even harsh, andshe had been bred up in awe of her father, and in that absolutesubjection to him of which the women about her set the example.Children were then to be seen and not heard. Girls were expected tohave neither wills nor views of their own. And in her case this wasnot all. The Squire was a hard man. He was a man of whom those abouthim stood in awe, and who if he had any of the softer affections hidthem under a mask of unpleasing reserve. Proud as he was of his caste,he kept his daughter short of money and short of clothes. He saw hergo shabby without a qualm, and penniless, and rejoiced that she couldnot get into mischief. If she lost a shilling on an errand or overpaida bill, he stormed and raved at her. Had she run up a debt he wouldhave driven her from the room with oaths. So that if, under the dryhusk, there was any kernel, any softer feeling--either for her or forthe young boy who had died in his first uniform at Alexandria--she hadno clue to the fact, and certainly no suspicion of it.
Nor was even this the whole. One thing was known to Josina which wasnot known to Clement. Garth was entailed upon her. Even the Squirecould not deprive her of the estate, and in the character of his heirshe wore for the old man a preciousness with which affection hadnothing to do. What he might have permitted to his daughter was matterfor grim conjecture. But that he would ever let his heiress, her whosehand was weighted with the rents of Garth, and with the wide lands heloved--that he would ever let her wed at her pleasure or out of herclass--this appeared to Josina of all things the most unlikely.
It was no wonder then that the girl hesitated before she answered, orthat Clement's face grew grave, his heart heavy, as he waited. But hehad that insight into the feelings of others which imagination alonecan give, and while she wavered or seemed to waver, he felt none ofthe resentment which comes of wounded love. Rather he was filled witha great pity for her, a deep tenderness. For it was he who was infault, he told himself. It was he who had made the overtures, he whohad wooed and won her fancy, he who had done this. It was hisselfishness, his thoughtlessness, his imprudence which had broughtthem to this pass, a pass whence they could neither advance withoutsuffering nor draw back with honor. So that if she who must encountera father's anger proved unequal to the test, if the love, which he didnot doubt, was still too weak to face the ordeal, it did not lie withhim to blame her--even on this day when bird and flower and leaf sanglove's paean. No, perish the thought! He would never blame her. Withinfinite tenderness, forgiving her beforehand, he touched her bowedhead.
At that, at that touch, she looked up at last, and with a leap of theheart he read her answer in her eyes. He read there a love and acourage equal to his own; for, after all, she was her father'sdaughter, she too came of an old proud race. "You shall tell him," shesaid, smiling through her tears. "And I will bear what comes of it.But they shall never separate us, Clem, never, never, if you will betrue to me."
"True to you!" he cried, worshipping her, adoring her. "Oh, Jos!"
"And love me a little always?"
"Love you? Oh, my darling!" The words choked him.
"It shall be as you say! It shall be always as you say!" She wasclinging to him now. "I will do as you tell me! I will always--oh, butyou mustn't, you mustn't," between tears and smiles, for his arms wereabout her now, and the poor ineffectual stile had ceased to be even anequator. "But I must tell you. I love you more now, Clement, more,more because I can trust you. You are strong and will do what isright."
"At your cost!" he cried, shaken to the depths--and he thought her themost wonderful, the bravest, the noblest woman in the world. "Ah, Jos,if I could bear it for you!"
"I will bear it," she answered. "And it will not last. And see, I amnot afraid now--or only a little! I shall think of you, and it will benothing."
Oh, but the birds were singing now and the brook was sparkling as itrippled over the shallows towards the deep pool.
Presently, "When will you tell him?" she asked; and she asked it, withscarce a quaver in her voice.
"As soon as I can. The sooner the better. This is Saturday. I will seehim on Monday morning."
"But isn't that--market-day?" faintly. "Can you get away?"
"Does anything matter beside this?" he replied. "The sooner, dear, thetooth is pulled, the better. There is only, one thing I fear."
"I think you fear nothing," she rejoined, gazing at him with admiringeyes. "But what is it?"
"That someone should be before us. That someone should tell him beforeI do. And he should think us what we are not, Jos--cowards."
"I see," she answered thoughtfully. "Yes," with a sigh. "Then, onMonday. I shall sleep the better when it is over, even if I sleep indisgrace."
"I know," he said; and he saw with a pang that her color ebbed. Buther eyes still met his and were brave, and she smiled to reassure him.
"I will not mind what comes," she whispered, "if only we are notparted."
"We shall not be parted for ever," he assured her. "If we are true toone another, not even your father can part us--in the end."