CHAPTER IV
Dinner over, Francis Eversleigh retired to his room, again excusinghimself on the plea of headache, adding in a very uncertain voice thathe would no doubt be better in the morning; but he looked harassed,worn, and ill. His wife concealed her consternation at his state as wellas she could, and mentally tried to assign some cause for it; onreflection she thought that his reference at table to Harry Bennet,whose affairs, now much involved, she knew to be in the hands of thefirm, probably suggested the correct explanation. Anxious to minister toher husband, and to find out if possible what distressed him so sorely,she wished to be alone with him, and she urged the others to go out fora stroll by the river.
As the young people, nothing loth, went out, the two brothers exchangeda few words, Gilbert asking Ernest if he knew of anything in the officethat had upset their father.
"I saw him in the forenoon," he remarked, "and he was looking as well ascould be then. I hope he's not going to have an illness."
"I know of nothing particularly worrying in the office," returnedErnest. "How should there be? I fancy it is just as he says--he's got abad headache, perhaps from the heat. I don't fancy that there isanything else the matter with him. He'll be all right to-morrow, you'llsee."
Now, when Gilbert was at Surbiton, there was an unwritten law that whenthey took their walks abroad he should pair off with Kitty, and Ernestwith Helen. This arrangement was so well understood that Ernest neverthought of even grumbling at it. So Gilbert and Kitty led the way to theterrace or esplanade on that side of the Thames, where they found asequestered seat. And there they were left by the other two, who walkedon towards the waterworks.
It was a delightful summer evening. The air was soft, balmy, sweet; alight breeze whispered delicate suggestions, and wooed to pleasantthoughts and tender fancies; a crescent moon, shining low over the treeson to the water, brought to the scene that touch of sentiment which isthe very breath of poetry and romance. It was a night for lovers! Love,passion, sighs, smiles, fond hopes, fervent vows, eloquent prayers, thegentle rain of happy tears--all were in the enchanted atmosphere of theplace that night.
It was one of those magical nights on which the heart is likely to beeasily and perhaps profoundly stirred, and Gilbert Eversleigh, with thewoman he loved by his side, was in a frame of mind to respond only tooquickly to its influence. He longed to speak to Kitty, to tell her thathe loved her, to ask her to unite her life with his, to press her dearhand, to taste the sweetness of her lips; but he forced himself tosilence, though the restraint he imposed on his desire for utterancemade it but gain the greater strength.
It may be that Kitty suspected she was on the edge of a crisis, for shetoo was quiet, and for the first time in her life somehow felt shy withGilbert. Of course she did not require any one to tell her that he lovedher, and more than once she had asked herself if she loved him, and shehad answered "Yes." Thus, though words of love had never passed betweenthem, she was none the less conscious of the existence of their love.And this made life joy, even if there was at the back of her mind atremulous maidenly sensitiveness which made her half afraid of herhappiness. An instinct of reserve now warned her to say or do nothingwhich could be taken by Gilbert as an opening.
Therefore a sort of constraint fell upon them, but still there was asweetness about it; for was there not a nearness and an intimacy in thedreamy brooding silence, the outward sign of this constraint, which wasonly possible between true lovers?
And thus they sat for some minutes, apart and yet together.
It was Kitty herself who spoke first. Her thought of Gilbert associateditself with that other subject about which she was also so glad--thecoming of her father, and it was of him she spoke.
"Do you remember my father, Gilbert?" she asked.
"Perfectly," replied Gilbert. "I had just come back from school for thelast time, and--he was very kind to me. Of course, I remember him quitewell. And--and--it was then that he brought you to our house."
"That was seven years ago," said Kitty. "Seven years! I haven't seen himfor all these years. I wonder if he is much changed? He will see a greatchange in me. I was only a girl, a little girl, then, and now I am awoman."
As she uttered the last words she glanced a little apprehensively at hercompanion, for she felt she had perhaps given him an opportunity. Shesaw his face was clouded; his eyes were fixed on a point in thedistance, and he did not speak.
"Your father's return," at length said he, with a sigh, "will make adifference, I fear."
"In what way?" inquired Kitty, not at once following hard on the trackof what was passing in his mind.
"He will take you from us," said Gilbert; and then he added,inconsequently and involuntarily, "I wonder if he will like me?"
And the girl now understood.
"Like you! Of course he will," she exclaimed, in a tone which made himproud and happy.
There was an emphasis in her voice which seemed to assert that it wouldbe impossible for her father to criticise him--at all events adversely.
"It would mean so much to me," he exclaimed, turning towards her.
Kitty stole a glance at him, and she observed that his face was nolonger clouded, but bore a grave, questioning expression like that of aman in doubt with regard to some deeply serious matter.
"It would mean all the world to me," he said, meeting her glance.
"Why?" rose to Kitty's lips, but the words went no further. For asGilbert kept his gaze fastened upon her, a subtle change was worked inhis eyes; they were no longer shaded with doubt or anxious inquiry; theysearched and challenged her with passionate appeal; they unmistakablyasked the question of questions man can put to woman.
And though no sound passed Kitty Thornton's lips, she made no pretenceof misunderstanding him. All the woman in her instantaneously rose up inquick response. All the love in her heart suddenly surged up in a greatwave of feeling which flooded her eyes, now deep pools of light, with anunmistakable answer to the unmistakable question in his, thus bent uponher. Yet she trembled slightly, for she felt herself in the grasp ofsomething new and strange and delightful, but just a little terrible andalarming.
And when Gilbert Eversleigh saw what he saw in Kitty's eyes,self-control became impossible, and he could restrain himself no longer.
"Kitty, Kitty," he said, in a deep earnest voice which thrilled the girlas she listened--"Kitty, my darling, I love you, I love you!"
Kitty trembled still more, and lowered her eyes shyly--perhaps to hidethe light that glowed in them.
"Kitty," he said, his voice somewhat uncertain for an instant as helooked at her downcast face--"Kitty, my dear, you must know that I loveyou. Now that I have said it, I should like to go on for ever saying 'Ilove you, I love you!' You are everything to me--everything to me," herepeated, with a lover's fond iteration. "Oh, my dear, tell me that youlove me!"
Kitty raised her eyes.
"Listen to me a moment, Kitty," said Gilbert, who had seen the messageshe flashed to him, and was greatly encouraged thereby. "Let me tell youall that is in my heart."
The girl now looked at him, some wonder in her glance, as she askedherself if he had not said already all that was in his heart, but as hewent on she saw what he meant.
"I love you better than life," he began, "but I am not sure that I havedone right in saying to you what I have said. I had not intended----Iwas carried away ..." And he paused.
"What is it?" asked Kitty, and there was such childlike trust andinnocence in the way she made this inquiry that he had to put strongcompulsion on himself to keep from placing his arm round her waist anddrawing her toward him.
"You have spoken two or three times to-day about your father," repliedGilbert, "and each time you gave me, without knowing it, a pang,because, Kitty dear, I am afraid that he may not think me good enoughfor you, not rich enough, not placed high enough, for you. I hadintended to wait until he came before speaking to you--I suppose I oughtto have asked his permission to address you first. Do you see, Kitty
?But to-night--well, I found I could wait no longer, and so must tell youall that was in my heart. Your father may blame me, Kitty. He might saythat you should see far more of life than you have before even thinkingof marriage. Yet, Kitty, after all it rests with you. Kitty, Kitty, whatdo you say, my darling? I cannot help loving you--I can never cease tolove you. Tell me, do you love me? Say you love me!"
And he put forth his hand with a gesture of entreaty.
Long before this Kitty's shyness had fallen from her, her maidenlyhesitation had disappeared. She had a feeling that Gilbert Eversleighhad been fore-ordained her lover before the foundations of the earthwere laid--so vast was the certainty that filled her mind. The verystatement of the difficulty in which he found himself with regard to herfather helped her inevitably to this conclusion. It was noble of him,she thought, to take this attitude, and if he had not been able to stickto it, was she the one to condemn him for it? No, indeed.
"You are more to me, Gilbert," she said, quietly but firmly, "than myfather--than all the fathers in the world. You are everything to me,just as I am everything to you."
As she spoke, she inclined towards him with a beautiful movement ofsurrender and invitation.
He caught her in his arms and strained her yielding form in his embrace;their lips met and met again; a sweet agitation which grew into anecstasy possessed them both; they seemed to reach and stand on apinnacle of brightness and delight far removed from the grey levels onwhich moved ordinary men and women through the shadows of life; theymurmured to each other the sweet foolish things that lovers alwaysmurmur, and in their ears never was diviner music.
And as for Morris Thornton--why, Kitty said that he would be proud ofGilbert, and the very first thing she would do on his arrival would beto tell him that she was engaged.
"Of course," added Kitty, "he will be pleased, because I am pleased."
"Are you still here?" asked Ernest Eversleigh, who with his sister nowwalked up to the bench where the lovers were sitting. "We thought youwere coming on after us, and we waited for you for some time, but as youdid not turn up we came back again."
And thus were the lovers brought down to the everyday world.
"Is it time to go in?" asked Gilbert, who was unamiably wishing hisbrother at Jericho.
"I should think it is--particularly if you intend to catch a train totown to-night," replied Ernest.
"Let us go in," said Kitty, rising from the seat and linking her armwith that of Helen, somewhat to Gilbert's astonishment, until itoccurred to him that she might wish to tell the other girl what hadhappened.
The party--the girls first, the brothers in the rear--now returned toIvydene, where on their entrance into the house they encountered FrancisEversleigh, looking haggard and ghastly; he had felt too unutterablywretched to stay in his room where his wife in vain sought to tend andsoothe him, and had come downstairs to see if he could not find somedistraction.
Gilbert moved up to Kitty's side, and, as the two stood together, theirfaces were tell-tale.
"Father," said Gilbert, blushing furiously, "Kitty has promised to be mywife."
Helen Eversleigh rushed forward and threw her arms round Kitty's neck,exclaiming, "Oh, you dear!" while Ernest warmly shook his brother'shand, but their father stood stock-still. He tried to speak, but thewords were choked in his throat. Again he essayed to say something, butcould not. With a groan he suddenly turned from them and fled upstairs.
"Father!" exclaimed Gilbert, calling after him. "What can be the matterwith him, I wonder?" he said to Ernest, who merely answered that hecould not tell.
And then the two lovers looked at each other. They both felt thatFrancis Eversleigh had behaved very strangely.
"I'm afraid Mr. Eversleigh is not at all well," said Kitty. "I am sosorry."
"Yes, father must be ill," agreed Gilbert; "still, I think it can't beanything very serious. And now, I suppose I must go," he added with asigh.
The lovers bade each other good-bye in the porch. Absorbed in theirhappiness, they thought no more of Francis Eversleigh.
And when Gilbert spent the following day, which was a Sunday, atSurbiton, it was only to be expected that the lovers, after theimmemorial manner of lovers, should concern themselves with themselvesand their own affairs.
Francis Eversleigh remained in his room the whole day; he could not bearto see any one.