Only a girl's love
How could he resist her?
And yet as the time moved on with that dogged obstinacy which it
assumes for us while we would rather have it pause awhile, something
of the old moodiness seemed to take possession of him. The long walks
and rides grew longer, and often he would not return until late in the
night, and then weary and listless. At such times it was Lenore who
made excuses for him, if by chance the countess uttered a word of
comment or complaint.
"Why should he not do as he likes?" she said, with a smile. "It is I
who am the slave, not he."
But alone in her chamber, where already the signs of the approaching
wedding were showing themselves in the shape of new dresses and wedding
_trousseau_, the anguish of unrequited love overmastered her. Pacing
to and fro, with clasped hands and pale face, she would utter the old
moan, the old prayer, which the gods have heard since the world was
young:
"Give me his love--give me his love! Take all else but let his heart
turn to me, and to me only!"
If Stella could have known it, she was justly avenged already. Not even
the anguish she had endured surpassed that of the proud beauty who had
helped to rob her, and who had given her own heart to the man who had
none to give her in return.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
"It certainly must have been made a hundred years after the rest of
the world," said Mr. Etheridge. "Where on earth did you hear of it,
Jasper?"
They were standing, the painter, Jasper, and Stella, on the little
stretch of beach that fronted the tiny village of Carlyon, with its
cluster of rough-stone cottages and weather-beaten church, the whole
nestling under the shadow of the Cornish cliffs that kept the east
winds at bay and offered a stern face to the wild seas which so often
roared and raged at its base.
Jasper smiled.
"I can't exactly say, sir," he answered. "I met with it by chance, and
it seemed to me just the place for our young invalid. You like it,
Stella, I hope?" and he turned to Stella with a softened smile.
Stella was leaning on the old man's arm, looking out to sea, with a
far-away expression in her dark eyes.
"Yes," she said, quietly; "I like it."
"Stella likes any place that is far from the madding crowd," remarked
Mr. Etheridge, gazing at her affectionately. "You don't appear to have
got back your roses yet, my child, however."
"I am quite well," she said, not so wearily as indifferently. "I am
always well. It is Frank who is ill, you know, uncle."
"Ay, ay," he said, with the expression of gravity which always came
upon him when the boy was mentioned. "He looks very pale and thin, poor
boy."
Stella sighed, but Jasper broke in cheerfully--
"Better than when he first came," he said. "I noticed the difference
directly I saw him. He will pick up his strength famously, you will
see."
Stella sighed again.
"You must make sketches of this coast," said Jasper, as if anxious to
get away from the subject. "It is particularly picturesque, especially
about the cliffs. There is one view in particular which you should not
fail to take; you get it from the top of the cliff there."
"Rather a dangerous perch," said Mr. Etheridge, shading his eyes and
looking up.
"Yes, it is," assented Jasper. "I have been trying to impress the fact
upon Stella. It is her favorite haunt, she tells me, and I am always in
fear and trembling when I see her mounting up to it."
The old man smiled.
"You will soon have the right to protect her," he said, glancing at the
church. "Have you made all the arrangements?"
Jasper's face flushed as he answered, but Stella's remained pale and
set.
"Yes, everything is ready. The clergyman is a charming old gentleman,
and the church is a picture inside. I tell Stella that one could not
have chosen a more picturesque spot."
And he glanced toward her with the watchful smile.
Stella turned her face away.
"It is very pretty," she said, simply. "Shall we go in now? Frank will
be expecting us."
"You must know," said Jasper, "that we are leading the most rustic of
lives--dinner in the middle of the day, tea at five o'clock."
"I see," said Mr. Etheridge. "Quite a foretaste of Arcadia! But, after
all," he added, perhaps remembering the long journey which he had been
compelled to take, and which he disliked, "I can't see why you should
not have been married at Wyndward."
Jasper smiled.
"And risk the chance of Lord Leycester turning up at the last moment
and making a scene," he might have answered, if he had replied
candidly; but instead, he said, lightly:
"Oh, that would have been too commonplace for such a romantic man as
your humble servant, sir."
Mr. Etheridge eyed him in his usual grave, abstracted way.
"You are the last person I should have accused of a love of the
romantic," he said.
"Then there was Frank," added Jasper, in a lower voice, but not too
low to reach Stella, for whom the addition was intended; "he wanted a
change, and he would not have come without Stella."
They entered the cottage, in the tiny sitting-room of which Mrs.
Penfold had already set the tea.
Frank was lying on a sofa whose metallic hardness had been mitigated by
cushions and pillows; and certainly if he was pulling up his strength,
as Jasper asserted, it was at a very slow rate.
He looked thinner than ever, and there was a dark ring under his eyes
which made the hectic flush still more beautiful by contrast than when
we saw him last. He greeted their entrance with a smile at Stella, and
a cold evasive glance at Jasper. She went and smoothed the pillow at
his head; but, as if ashamed that the other should see his weakness, he
rose and walked to the door.
The old man eyed him sadly, but smiled with affected cheerfulness.
"Well, Frank, how do you feel to-night? You must be well to the front
to-morrow, you know, or you will not be the best man!"
Frank looked up with a sudden flush, then set down without a word.
"I shall be very well to-morrow," he said. "There is nothing the matter
with me."
Jasper, as usual, cut in with some remark to change the subject, and,
as usual, did all the talking; Stella sat silent, her eyes fixed on the
distant sun sinking slowly to rest. The word "to-morrow" rang in her
ears; this was the last day she could call her own; to-morrow, and all
after to-morrows would be Jasper's. All the past, full of its sweet
hopes and its passionate love, had gone by and vanished, and to-morrow
she would stand at the altar as Jasper Adelstone's bride. It seemed
so great a mockery as to be unreal, and at times she found herself
regarding herself as another person, in whom she took the merest
interest as a spectator.
It could not be that she, whom Leycester Wyndward had loved, should be
going to marry Jasper Adelstone! Then she would look at the boy, so
thin, and wan, and fading, and love would give her strength to carry
out her sacrifice.
To-night he was very dear to her, and she sat holding his hand under
the table; the thin, frail hand that closed with a spasmodic gesture of
aversion when Jasper's smirkish voice broke in on the conversation. It
was wonderful how the boy hated him.
Presently she whispered--"You must go and lie down again, Frank."
"No, not here," he said. "Let me go outside."
And she drew his hand through her arm and went out with him.
Jasper looked after them with a smile.
"Quite touching to see Frank's devotion to Stella," he said.
The old man nodded.
"Poor boy!" he said--"poor boy!"
Jasper cleared his throat.
"I think he had better come with us on our wedding trip," he said. "It
will give Stella pleasure, I know, and be a comfort to Frank."
The old man nodded.
"You are very kind and considerate," he said.
"Not at all," responded Jasper. "I would do anything to insure Stella's
happiness. By-the-way, speaking of arrangements, I have executed a
little deed of settlement----"
"Was that necessary?" asked Mr. Etheridge. "She comes to you penniless."
"I am not a rich man," said Jasper, meekly, "but I have secured a
sufficient sum upon her to render her independent."
The old man nodded, gratefully.
"You have behaved admirably," he said; "I have no doubt Stella will be
happy. You will bear with her, I hope, Jasper, and not forget that she
is but a girl--but a girl."
Jasper inclined his head for a moment in silence. Bear! Little did the
old man know how much he, Jasper, had to bear.
They sat talking for some little time, Jasper listening, as he talked,
to the two voices outside--the clear, low, musical tones of Stella, the
thin weak voice of the boy. Presently the voices ceased, and after a
time he went out. Frank was sitting in the sunset light, his head on
his hands.
"Where is Stella?" asked Jasper, almost sharply.
Frank looked up at him.
"She has escaped," he said, sardonically.
Jasper started.
"What do you mean?"
"She has gone on the cliffs for a stroll," said Frank, with a little
smile at the alarm he had created and intended to create.
Jasper turned upon him with a suppressed snarl. He was battling with
suppressed excitement to-night.
"What do you mean by escaped?" he demanded.
The hollow sunken eyes glared up at him.
"What did you think I meant?" he retorted. "You need not be frightened,
she will come back," and he laughed bitterly.
Jasper glanced at him again, and after a moment of hesitation turned
and went into the house.
Meanwhile Stella was climbing the steep ascent to the bit of table-land
on the cliff. She felt suffocated and overwhelmed. "To-morrow!
to-morrow!" seemed to ring in her ears. Was there no escape? As she
looked down at the waves rolling in beneath her, and beating their
crested heads against the rocks, she almost felt as if she could drop
down to them and so find escape and rest. So strong was the feeling,
the temptation, that she shrank back against the cliff, and sank down
on dry and chalky turf, trembling and confused. Suddenly, as she thus
sat, she heard a man's step coming up the cliff, and thinking it was
Jasper, rose and pushed the hair from her face with an effort at
self-command.
But it was not Jasper, it was a straighter, more stalwart figure, and
in a moment, as he stood to look at the sea, she knew him. It was
Leycester, and with a low, inarticulate cry, she shrank back against
the cliff and watched him. He stood for a while motionless, leaning
on his stick, his back turned from her, then he took up a pebble and
dropped it down into the depths beneath, sighed, and to her intense
relief, went down again.
But though he had not spoken, the sight of him, his dearly-loved
presence so near her, shook her to her center. White and breathless
she leaned against the hard rock, her eyes strained to catch the last
glimpse of him; then she sank on to the ground and hiding her face in
her hands burst into tears.
They were the first tears that she had shed since that awful day, and
every drop seemed of molten fire that scorched her heart as it flowed
from it.
If ever she had persuaded herself that the time might come when she
would cease to love him, she knew, now that she had seen him again,
that she could not so hope again. Never while life was left to her
should she cease to love him. And to-morrow, to-morrow.
"Oh, my love, my love!" she murmured, stretching out her hands as she
had done that night in the garden, "come back to me! I cannot let you
go! I cannot do it! I cannot!"
Nerved by the intensity of her grief she sprang to her feet, and
swiftly descended the cliff. Near the bottom there were two paths,
one leading to the village, the other to the open country beyond.
Instinctively she took the one leading to the village, and so missed
Leycester, for he had gone down the other.