She took one of his hands and held it in both of hers; and it was as if some stream of comfort flowed to him through their soft warm touch and enabled him to begin his ugly task.
He told her the whole thing from the beginning. Of his ambitions, and how they held chief place in his life, and how he had meant to marry Cecilia Cricklander as an aid to their advancement. He glossed over nothing of his own baseness, but went on to show how, from the moment he had seen her upon that Good Friday at the orchard house, his determination about Cecilia Cricklander had begun to waver, until the night under the tree when pa.s.sion overcame every barrier and he knew he must possess her--Halcyone--for his wife.
He made no excuse for himself; he continued the plain tale of how, his ambitions still holding him, he had selfishly tried to keep both joy and them, by asking her--she who was so infinitely above him--to descend to the invidious position of a secret wife.
She knew the rest until it came to the cause of his accident, and, when she heard it occurred because of his haste to get to her before she should reach the house, she gave a little moan of anguish and leaned her head against his breast.
So the story went on--of his agonized thoughts and fever and fears--of his comprehension that she had been taken from him, and of the utter hopelessness of his financial position, and the whole outlook, until he came to the night of his engagement; and here he paused.
"Do not try to tell me any of this part, John, my dear lover," she said.
"I know the standard of honor in a man is that he must never give away the absent woman, and I understand--you need not put anything into words. I knew you were unhappy and coerced. I never for a moment have doubted your love. You were surrounded with strong and cruel forces, and all my tenderness could not reach you quite, to protect you as it should have done, because I was so full of foolish anguish myself. Dearest, now only tell me the end and the facts that I must know."
He held her close to him in thankfulness, and then went on to speak of the shame and degradation he had suffered for his weakness; the drawn-out days of aching wonder at her silence, and finally the news of his Uncle Joseph Scroope"s death and the fortune that would come to him, and how this fact had tied and bound his hands.
"But it has grown to such a pa.s.s," he said, "that I had come to breaking-point, and now I can never go back to her again. I have found you, my one dear love, and I will never leave you more."
Halcyone shook her head sadly, and asked him to listen to her side. And when he knew that her leaving La Sarthe Chase had been brought about because of his letter to Cheiron having been posted from London, so that she hoped to find him there, it added to his pain to feel that, even in this small turn of events, his action had been the motive force.
But, as she went on, her pure and exquisite love and perfect faith shining through it all seemed to draw his soul out of the mire in which it had lain. And at last they knew each other"s stories and were face to face with the fateful moment of to-day, and he exclaimed gladly:
"My darling, now nothing else matters--we will never, never part again."
Then, as he looked into her eyes, he saw that not gladness but a solemn depth of shadow grew there, and he clasped both her hands. A cold agony chilled his whole being. What, O G.o.d, was she going to say?
"John," she whispered, all the tenderness of the angels in her gentle voice as she leaned and kissed the silver threads in his dark hair.
"John, do you remember, long ago when we spoke of Jason and Medea, and you asked me the question then, Must he keep his word to her even if she were a witch?--and I told you that was not the point at all: it was not because she was or was not a witch, but because it was _his word?_"--Here her voice broke, and he could hear the tears in it, and he wildly kissed her hands. Then she went on:
"Oh, my dear lover, it is the same question now. _You cannot break your word._ Nothing but misfortune could follow. It is a hard law, but I know it is true, and it is fate. We put in action the force which brings all that we receive, and we who have courage pay the price without flinching, and, above and beyond all momentary pleasure or pain, we must be true to ourselves."
"I cannot, I cannot!" he groaned in agony. "How can you condemn me to such a fate?--tied to this woman whose every influence is degrading to me; parted from you whom I adore--I would rather be dead. It is not fair--not just, if you only knew!"
Then he continued wildly. "Ah, G.o.d--and it is all because I forgot the meaning of your dear and sacred, pledge with me that I must always be good and true! If I could suffer alone--my darling, my soul!--then I would go without a word back to h.e.l.l, if you sent me. But you, too--think, Halcyone! Can you bear your life? You who are so young, separated for evermore from love and me. Oh! my own, my own--"
Here he stopped his mad rush of words--her face was so white and grave--and he let her draw herself from him, and put her hands upon his shoulders, while her eyes, with tender stars of purity melting in their depths, gazed into his.
"John," she said, "do not try to weaken me. All Nature, who is my friend, and the night-winds and their voices, and that dear G.o.d Who never deserts me, tell me that for no present good must we lower ourselves now. Nothing can ever hurt me. Go back and do that which being a gentleman entails upon you to do--and leave the rest to G.o.d. This is the winter of our souls, but it will not last forever. The spring is at hand, if you will only trust, and believe with me that first we on our side must be ready to pay the price."
Then she bent forward and kissed him as an angel might have done, and, without speaking more, rose and prepared to walk towards the stairway which descended to the lower court.
He followed her, and she turned before she began to descend the steps, while she pointed to the beautiful country.
"Look at the vines, all heavy with grapes," she said, "and the fields shorn of their corn, and the olives shimmering in the sunset; and then, dear lover, you will know that all things have their sequence, and our time of joy will come. Ah! sweetheart, it is not farewell for ever; it is only that we must wait for our spring."
"Halcyone," he said, while his proud eyes again filled with tears, "you have the absolute worship of my being. You have taught me, as ever, the truth. Go, my darling, and I will do as you wish, and will try to make myself more worthy of your n.o.ble soul. G.o.d keep you until we meet again."
She did not speak; she only looked at him with a divine look of love and faith, and he watched her as she went down, it seemed, out of the very heart of the setting sun and into the shadows beneath, and so disappeared from his adoring eyes in a peaceful purple twilight.
Then he returned to the old stone seat and leaning forward gazed out over the exquisite scene.
A great hush had fallen upon his torn heart. And thus he stayed motionless until the night fell.
CHAPTER x.x.xII
Mrs. Cricklander awaited Mr. Hanbury-Green"s coming quite impatiently.
She felt she wanted a little warmth and humanity after the chilling week she had pa.s.sed with her betrothed. What she meant to do with this latter she had not yet made up her mind--the justice of an affair never bothered her, and her complete unconsciousness of having committed any wrong often averted her action"s immediate consequence. That Mr.
Hanbury-Green should suffer, or that John Derringham should suffer, mattered to her not one jot. She was really and truly under the impression that only her personal comfort, pleasure and feelings were of any importance in the world. Her brain always guarded these things, and, when they were not in any jeopardy or fear of being inconvenienced, then she was capable of numbers of kind and generous actions. And, if she had ever been reproached about her colossal selfishness, she would have looked up astonished, and replied:
"Well, who is nearer to oneself than oneself?"
Common sense like this is not to be controverted.
It would only be when she was growing old that she would feel the loneliness of knowing that, apart from the pa.s.sion which she had inspired because of her s.e.x and her beauty, not a single human being had ever loved her. For the present she was Venus Victrix, a glorious creature, the desired of men--and that was enough.
Mr. Hanbury-Green was a forceful person, unhampered by any of the instincts of a gentleman, and therefore armed with a number of weapons for winning his battles. He had determined to rise to the top upon the wave of cla.s.s hatred which he had been clever enough to create, and he neither knew nor cared to what state of devastation he might bring the country. He was a fitting mate in every way for Cecilia Cricklander, and completely equipped to play with her at her own game.
So, when they met in her sitting-room in the Florentine hotel, each experienced a pleasurable emotion.
His was tempered--or augmented--by a blunt and sufficiently brutal pa.s.sion, which only the ideal of circ.u.mspect outward conduct which dominates the non-conformist lower middle cla.s.ses, from which he had sprung, kept him from demonstrating, by seizing his desired prize in his arms.
He was frankly in love, and meant to leave no stone unturned to oust John Derringham from his position as _fiance_ of the lady--John Derringham, whom he hated from the innermost core of his heart!
Mrs. Cricklander fenced with him admirably. She did not need Arabella"s coachings in her dealings with him; he was quite uncultured, and infinitely more appreciated what her old father had been used to call her "horse sense" than he would have done her finest rhapsody upon Nietzsche. Mrs. Cricklander had indeed with him that delightful sense of rest and ceasing from toil that being herself gave. She felt she could launch forth into as free a naturalness as if she had been selling little pigs" feet in her grandfather"s original shop. And all to a man who was rising--rising in that great country of England, where some day he might play a _role_ no less than Tallien"s, and she could be "Notre dame de Thermidor."
Arabella had once told her of this lady"s story, and she felt that the time in Bordeaux when the beautiful Therese wore the red cap of Liberty and hung upon the arm of one who had swum in the blood of the aristocrats, must have been an experience worth having in life. Her study of Madame Tallien went no further; it was the lurid revolutionary part in her career that she liked.
Mr. Hanbury-Green was very careful at first. He was quite aware that he was only received with _empress.e.m.e.nt_ because he was successful; he knew and appreciated the fact that Cecilia Cricklander only cared for members of a winning side. He felt like that about people himself, and he respected her for the way she fought to secure a footing among the hated upper cla.s.ses, and then trampled upon their necks. There were no shades of her character which would have disgusted or dismayed him; even the knowledge that her erudition was merely parrot-talk, would only have appealed to his admiration as a further proof of her sagacity.
They went on to Venice the day after he arrived, with Arabella to make a chaperoning third, and for the first two days afterwards Cecilia kept him at arm"s length, but not waiting for his dinner! Some instinct told her that in his home circle he would probably have been accustomed to worthy, punctual women, and, while she enjoyed tantalizing him, she knew that he had a nasty temper and could not be provoked too far. No bonds of honor or chivalry would control his actions as they would those of John Derringham. She was dealing with as lawless a being as herself, and it was very refreshing. Mr. Hanbury-Green knew her one weak point--she was intensely sensitive of the world"s opinion, as are all people who inwardly know they are shams. She would have hated to be the center of a scandal, from the point of view that it would irreparably close doors to her; and her resentment of barriers and barrier-makers was always present.
This he would remember as his strong card--the last to be played.--If she continued being capricious until the moment of her _fiance"s_ expected return, he would use all his cunning--and it was no inconsiderable quant.i.ty--and compromise her irrevocably, and so get her to surrender upon his terms. For he had made up his mind, as he sped to Florence, that Cecilia Cricklander should return to England as his wife.
They had four days of the usual gay parties for every meal--there happened to be a number of people pa.s.sing through and staying at Venice--and the early September weather was glorious and very hot.
Mrs. Cricklander delighted in a gondola. There was something about it which set off her stately beauty, she felt, and she reveled in the admiration she provoked; and so did Mr. Hanbury-Green--he prized that which the crowd applauded. But time was pa.s.sing, and nothing the least definite was settled yet, although he knew he had obtained a certain mastery over her.
On the Friday evening a telegram was received from John Derringham saying he would return on the Sat.u.r.day night, and Mr. Hanbury-Green felt this was the moment to act. He had no intention of having any quarrel with his rival, or of putting himself in the position of being called upon to give an account of himself. The news of his dismissal must be conveyed to John Derringham by the lady as that lady"s free and determined choice.
So Mr. Green was very cautious all the Friday evening, and made himself as irresistible as he could, using all his clever wits to flatter and cajole Cecilia, and leaving not a trifle unconsidered which could interfere with his plans.
They were simple enough.
He claimed to have discovered a quite new and quite charming spot on the Lido, which he was most anxious to take Mrs. Cricklander to see alone--he put a stress upon the word _alone_, and looked into her eyes.
They would go quite early and be back before tea, as John Derringham had timed himself to arrive upon the mainland about seven o"clock, and would be at the Daniellis, where they were all staying, for dinner.
Mrs. Cricklander felt she must have one more delightful afternoon, and, as this excursion might contain a spice of adventure, it thrilled her blood. She had been exquisitely discreet--in public--forcing Arabella always to talk to Mr. Hanbury-Green, and devoting herself to Lady Maulevrier, or any other lady or old gentleman who happened to be present. And then she felt free to spend long hours alone with Mr.