CHAPTER XVI.
THE MEETING OF THE LOVERS IN THE GARDEN.--AN AFFECTING SCENE.--THESUDDEN APPEARANCE OF SIR FRANCIS VARNEY.
Our readers will recollect that Flora Bannerworth had made anappointment with Charles Holland in the garden of the hall. This meetingwas looked forward to by the young man with a variety of conflictingfeelings, and he passed the intermediate time in a most painful state ofdoubt as to what would be its result.
The thought that he should be much urged by Flora to give up allthoughts of making her his, was a most bitter one to him, who loved herwith so much truth and constancy, and that she would say all she couldto induce such a resolution in his mind he felt certain. But to him theidea of now abandoning her presented itself in the worst of aspects.
"Shall I," he said, "sink so low in my own estimation, as well as inhers, and in that of all honourable-minded persons, as to desert her nowin the hour of affliction? Dare I be so base as actually or virtually tosay to her, 'Flora, when your beauty was undimmed by sorrow--when allaround you seemed life and joy, I loved you selfishly for the increasedhappiness which you might bestow upon me; but now the hand of misfortunepresses heavily upon you--you are not what you were, and I desert you?Never--never--never!"
Charles Holland, it will be seen by some of our more philosophicneighbours, felt more acutely than he reasoned; but let his errors ofargumentation be what they may, can we do other than admire the nobilityof soul which dictated such a self denying generous course as that hewas pursuing?
As for Flora, Heaven only knows if at that precise time her intellecthad completely stood the test of the trying events which had nearlyoverwhelmed it.
The two grand feelings that seemed to possess her mind were fear of therenewed visit of the vampyre, and an earnest desire to release CharlesHolland from his repeated vows of constancy towards her.
Feeling, generosity, and judgment, all revolted holding a young man tosuch a destiny as hers. To link him to her fate, would be to make him toa real extent a sharer in it, and the more she heard fall from his lipsin the way of generous feelings of continued attachment to her, the moreseverely did she feel that he would suffer most acutely if united toher.
And she was right. The very generosity of feeling which would have nowprompted Charles Holland to lead Flora Bannerworth to the altar, evenwith the marks of the vampyre's teeth upon her throat, gave an assuranceof a depth of feeling which would have made him an ample haven in allher miseries, in all her distresses and afflictions.
What was familiarly in the family at the Hall called the garden, was asemicircular piece of ground shaded in several directions by trees, andwhich was exclusively devoted to the growth of flowers. The piece ofground was nearly hidden from the view of the house, and in its centrewas a summer-house, which at the usual season of the year was coveredwith all kinds of creeping plants of exquisite perfumes, and rarebeauty. All around, too, bloomed the fairest and sweetest of flowers,which a rich soil and a sheltered situation could produce.
Alas! though, of late many weeds had straggled up among their moreestimable floral culture, for the decayed fortunes of the family hadprevented them from keeping the necessary servants, to place the Halland its grounds in a state of neatness, such as it had once been thepride of the inhabitants of the place to see them. It was then in thisflower-garden that Charles and Flora used to meet.
As may be supposed, he was on the spot before the appointed hour,anxiously expecting the appearance of her who was so really and trulydear to him. What to him were the sweet flowers that there grew in suchhappy luxuriance and heedless beauty? Alas, the flower that to his mindwas fairer than them all, was blighted, and in the wan cheek of her whomhe loved, he sighed to see the lily usurping the place of the radiantrose.
"Dear, dear Flora," he ejaculated, "you must indeed be taken from thisplace, which is so full of the most painful remembrance; now, I cannotthink that Mr. Marchdale somehow is a friend to me, but that conviction,or rather impression, does not paralyze my judgment sufficiently toinduce me not to acknowledge that his advice is good. He might havecouched it in pleasanter words--words that would not, like daggers, eachhave brought a deadly pang home to my heart, but still I do think thatin his conclusion he was right."
A light sound, as of some fairy footstep among the flowers, came uponhis ears, and turning instantly to the direction from whence the soundproceeded, he saw what his heart had previously assured him of, namely,that it was his Flora who was coming.
Yes, it was she; but, ah, how pale, how wan--how languid and full of theevidences of much mental suffering was she. Where now was the elasticityof that youthful step? Where now was that lustrous beaming beauty ofmirthfulness, which was wont to dawn in those eyes?
Alas, all was changed. The exquisite beauty of form was there, but thelight of joy which had lent its most transcendent charms to thatheavenly face, was gone. Charles was by her side in a moment. He had herhand clasped in his, while his disengaged one was wound tenderly aroundher taper waist.
"Flora, dear, dear Flora," he said, "you are better. Tell me that youfeel the gentle air revives you?"
She could not speak. Her heart was too full of woe.
"Oh; Flora, my own, my beautiful," he added, in those tones which comeso direct from the heart, and which are so different from any assumptionof tenderness. "Speak to me, dear, dear Flora--speak to me if it be buta word."
"Charles," was all she could say, and then she burst into a flood oftears, and leant so heavily upon his arm, that it was evident but forthat support she must have fallen.
Charles Holland welcomed those, although, they grieved him so much thathe could have accompanied them with his own, but then he knew that shewould be soon now more composed, and that they would relieve the heartwhose sorrows called them into existence.
He forbore to speak to her until he found this sudden gush of feelingwas subsiding into sobs, and then in low, soft accents, he againendeavoured to breathe comfort to her afflicted and terrified spirit.
"My Flora," he said, "remember that there are warm hearts that love you.Remember that neither time nor circumstance can change such endearingaffection as mine. Ah, Flora, what evil is there in the whole world thatlove may not conquer, and in the height of its noble feelings laugh toscorn."
"Oh, hush, hush, Charles, hush."
"Wherefore, Flora, would you still the voice of pure affection? I loveyou surely, as few have ever loved. Ah, why would you forbid me to givesuch utterance as I may to those feelings which fill up my whole heart?"
"No--no--no."
"Flora, Flora, wherefore do you say no?"
"Do not, Charles, now speak to me of affection or love. Do not tell meyou love me now."
"Not tell you I love you! Ah, Flora, if my tongue, with its pooreloquence to give utterance to such a sentiment, were to do its office,each feature of my face would tell the tale. Each action would show toall the world how much I loved you."
"I must not now hear this. Great God of Heaven give me strength to carryout the purpose of my soul."
"What purpose is it, Flora, that you have to pray thus fervently forstrength to execute? Oh, if it savour aught of treason against love'smajesty, forget it. Love is a gift from Heaven. The greatest and themost glorious gift it ever bestowed upon its creatures. Heaven will notaid you in repudiating that which is the one grand redeeming featurethat rescues human nature from a world of reproach."
Flora wrung her hands despairingly as she said,--
"Charles, I know I cannot reason with you. I know I have not power oflanguage, aptitude of illustration, nor depth of thought to hold amental contention with you."
"Flora, for what do I contend?"
"You, you speak of love."
"And I have, ere this, spoken to you of love unchecked."
"Yes, yes. Before this."
"And now, wherefore not now? Do not tell me you are changed."
"I am changed, Charles. Fearfully changed. The curse of God has fallenupon me, I know not why
. I know not that in word or in thought I havedone evil, except perchance unwittingly, and yet--the vampyre."
"Let not that affright you."
"Affright me! It has killed me."
"Nay, Flora,--you think too much of what I still hope to be susceptibleof far more rational explanation."
"By your own words, then, Charles, I must convict you. I cannot, I darenot be yours, while such a dreadful circumstance is hanging over me,Charles; if a more rational explanation than the hideous one which myown fancy gives to the form that visits me can be found, find it, andrescue me from despair and from madness."
They had now reached the summer-house, and as Flora uttered these wordsshe threw herself on to a seat, and covering her beautiful face with herhands, she sobbed convulsively.
"You have spoken," said Charles, dejectedly. "I have heard that whichyou wished to say to me."
"No, no. Not all, Charles."
"I will be patient, then, although what more you may have to add shouldtear my very heart-strings."
"I--I have to add, Charles," she said, in a tremulous voice, "thatjustice, religion, mercy--every human attribute which bears the name ofvirtue, calls loudly upon me no longer to hold you to vows made underdifferent auspices."
"Go on, Flora."
"I then implore you, Charles, finding me what I am, to leave me to thefate which it has pleased Heaven to cast upon me. I do not ask you,Charles, not to love me."
"'Tis well. Go on, Flora."
"Because I should like to think that, although I might never see youmore, you loved me still. But you must think seldom of me, and you mustendeavour to be happy with some other--"
"You cannot, Flora, pursue the picture you yourself would draw. Thesewords come not from your heart."
"Yes--yes--yes."
"Did you ever love me?"
"Charles, Charles, why will you add another pang to those you know mustalready rend my heart?"
"No, Flora, I would tear my own heart from my bosom ere I would add onepang to yours. Well I know that gentle maiden modesty would seal yourlips to the soft confession that you loved me. I could not hope the joyof hearing you utter these words. The tender devoted lover is content tosee the truthful passion in the speaking eyes of beauty. Content is heto translate it from a thousand acts, which, to eyes that look not soacutely as a lover's, bear no signification; but when you tell me toseek happiness with another, well may the anxious question burst from mythrobbing heart of, 'Did you ever love me, Flora?'"
Her senses hung entranced upon his words. Oh, what a witchery is in thetongue of love. Some even of the former colour of her cheek returned asforgetting all for the moment but that she was listening to the voice ofhim, the thoughts of whom had made up the day dream of her happiness,she gazed upon his face.
His voice ceased. To her it seemed as if some music had suddenly leftoff in its most exquisite passage. She clung to his arm--she lookedimploringly up to him. Her head sunk upon his breast as she cried,
"Charles, Charles, I did love you. I do love you now."
"Then let sorrow and misfortune shake their grisly locks in vain," hecried. "Heart to heart--hand to hand with me, defy them."
He lifted up his arms towards Heaven as he spoke, and at the moment camesuch a rattling peal of thunder, that the very earth seemed to shakeupon its axis.
A half scream of terror burst from the lips of Flora, as she cried,--
"What was that?"
"Only thunder," said Charles, calmly.
"'Twas an awful sound."
"A natural one."
"But at such a moment, when you were defying Fate to injure us. Oh!Charles, is it ominous?"
"Flora, can you really give way to such idle fancies?"
"The sun is obscured."
"Ay, but it will shine all the brighter for its temporary eclipse. Thethunder-storm will clear the air of many noxious vapours; the forkedlightning has its uses as well as its powers of mischief. Hark! thereagain!"
Another peal, of almost equal intensity to the other, shook thefirmament. Flora trembled.
"Charles," she said, "this is the voice of Heaven. We must part--we mustpart for ever. I cannot be yours."
"Flora, this is madness. Think again, dear Flora. Misfortunes for a timewill hover over the best and most fortunate of us; but, like the cloudsthat now obscure the sweet sunshine, will pass away, and leave no tracebehind them. The sunshine of joy will shine on you again."
There was a small break in the clouds, like a window looking intoHeaven. From it streamed one beam of sunlight, so bright, so dazzling,and so beautiful, that it was a sight of wonder to look upon. It fellupon the face of Flora; it warmed her cheek; it lent lustre to her palelips and tearful eyes; it illumined that little summer-house as if ithad been the shrine of some saint.
"Behold!" cried Charles, "where is your omen now?"
"God of Heaven!'" cried Flora; and she stretched out her arms.
"The clouds that hover over your spirit now," said Charles, "shall passaway. Accept this beam of sunlight as a promise from God."
"I will--I will. It is going."
"It has done its office."
The clouds closed over the small orifice, and all was gloom again asbefore.
"Flora," said Charles, "you will not ask me now to leave you?"
She allowed him to clasp her to his heart. It was beating for her, andfor her only.
"You will let me, Flora, love you still?"
Her voice, as she answered him, was like the murmur of some distantmelody the ears can scarcely translate to the heart.
"Charles we will live, love, and die together."
And now there was a wrapt stillness in that summer-house for manyminutes--a trance of joy. They did not speak, but now and then she wouldlook into his face with an old familiar smile, and the joy of his heartwas near to bursting in tears from his eyes.
A shriek burst from Flora's lips--a shriek so wild and shrill that itawakened echoes far and near. Charles staggered back a step, as if shot,and then in such agonised accents as he was long indeed in banishing theremembrance of, she cried,--
"The vampyre! the vampyre!"