"What is the matter?"
At this moment Waters appeared at the door with a letter in his hand.
Brand instantly rose, went forward to him and took the letter, and retired into an adjoining room. Without looking, he know from whom it had come.
His hand was shaking as he opened the envelope; but the words that met his eyes were calm.
"My dear friend,--Your letter has given me joy and pain. Joy that you still adhere to your n.o.ble resolve; that you have found gladness in your life; that you will work on to the end, whatever the fruit of the work may be. But this other thought of yours--that only distresses me; it clouds the future with uncertainty and doubt, where there should only be clear faith. My dear friend, I must ask you to put away that thought.
Let the _feu sacre_ of the regenerator, the liberator, have full possession of you. How I should blame myself if I were to distract you from the aims to which you have devoted your life. I have no one to advise me; but this I know is _right_. You will, I think, not misunderstand me--you will not think it unmaidenly of me--if I confess to you that I have written these words with some pain, some touch of regret that all is not possible to you that you may desire. But for one soul on devotion. Do I express myself clearly?--you know English is not my native tongue. If we may not go through life together, in the sense that you mean, we need not be far apart; and you will know, as you go forward in the path of a n.o.ble duty, that there is not any one who regards you and the work you will do with a greater pride and affection than your friend,
NATALIE."
What could it all mean? he asked himself. This was not the letter of a woman who loved another man; she would have been more explicit; she would have given sufficient reason for her refusal. He read again, with a beating heart, with a wild hope, that veiled and subtle expression of regret. Was it not that she was prepared to sacrifice forever those dreams of a secure and happy and loving life, that come naturally to a young girl, lest they should interfere with what she regarded as the higher duty, the more imperative devotion? In that case, it was for a firmer nature than her own to take this matter in hand. She was but a child; knowing nothing of the sorrows of the world, of the necessity of protection, of the chances the years might bring. Scarcely conscious of what he did--so eagerly was his mind engaged--he opened a drawer and locked the letter in. Then he went hastily into the other room.
"Evelyn," said he, "will you take my place, like a good fellow? I shall be back as soon as I can. Waters will get you everything you want."
"But about Wolverhampton, Mr. Brand?" shouted Humphreys after him.
There was no answer; he was half-way down the stairs.
When the hansom arrived in Curzon Street a hurried glance showed him that the dining-room was lit up. She was at home, then: that was enough.
For the rest, he was not going to trouble himself with formalities when so beautiful a prize might still be within his reach.
He knocked at the door; the little Anneli appeared.
"Anneli," said he, "I want to see Miss Lind for a moment--say I shall not detain her, if there is any one with her--"
"They are in the dining-room, sir; Madame Potecki, and a strange gentleman--"
"Ask your mistress to let me see her for one moment; don"t you understand?"
"They are just finishing dinner, sir: if you will step up to the drawing-room they will be there in a minute or two."
But at last he got the little German maid to understand that he wished to see Miss Lind alone for the briefest possible time; and that she was to carry this message in an undertone to her mistress. By himself he made his way up-stairs to the drawing-room; the lamps were lit.
He lifted books, photographs, and what not, with trembling fingers, and put them down again without knowing it. He was thinking, not looking.
And he was trying to force himself into a masterful mood. She was only a child, he kept repeating to himself--only a child, who wanted guidance, instruction, a protecting hand. It was not her fancies, however generous and n.o.ble, that should shape the destinies of two lives. A beautiful child, ignorant of the world and its evil: full of dreams of impossible and unnecessary self-sacrifice, she was not one to ordain; surely her way in life was to be led, and cherished, and loved, trusting to the stronger hand for guidance and safety.
There was a slight rustle outside, and presently Natalie entered the room. She was pale--perhaps she looked all the paler that she wore the long, sweeping black dress she had worn at Lady Evelyn"s. In silence she gave him her hand; he took it in both his.
"Natalie!"
It was a cry of entreaty, almost of pain; for this fond vision of his of her being only a child, to be mastered and guided, had fled the moment he caught sight of this tall and beautiful woman, whose self-command, despite that paleness and a certain apprehension in the dark eyes, was far greater than his own.
"Natalie, you must give me a clearer answer."
He tried to read the answer in her eyes; but she lowered them as she spoke.
"Was not my answer clear?" she said, gently. "I wished not to give you pain."
"But was all your answer there?" he said quickly. "Were there no other reasons? Natalie! don"t you know that, if you regretted your decision ever so little--if you thought twice about it--if even now you can give me leave to hope that one day you will be my wife--there were no reasons at all in your letter for your refusing--none at all? If you love me even so little that you regret--"
"I must not listen to you," she said hurriedly. "No, no. My answer was best for us both. I am sorry if it pains you; but you have other things to think of; we have our separate duties in the world--duties that are of first importance. My dear friend," she continued, with an air of appeal, "don"t you see how I am situated? I have no one to advise me--not even my father, though I can guess what he would say. I know what he would say; and my heart tells me that I have done right."
"One word," said he. "This you must answer me frankly. Is there no other reason for your refusal? Is your heart free to choose?"
She looked up and met his eyes for a moment: only for a moment.
"I understand you," she said, with some slight color mounting to the pale clear olive of her brow. "No, there is not any reason like that."
A quick, proud light leaped into his eyes.
"Then," said he, "I refuse to accept your refusal. Natalie, you will be my wife!"
"Oh, do not say that--do not think of it. I have done wrong even to listen, to let you speak--"
"But what I say is true. I claim you, as surely as I now hold your hand--"
"Hush!"
There were two people coming into the room; he did not care if there were a regiment. He relinquished her hand, it is true; but there was a proud and grateful look on his face; he did not even turn to regard the new-comers.
These were Madame Potecki and Calabressa. The little Polish lady had misconstrued Natalie"s parting words to mean that some visitors had arrived, and that she and Calabressa were to follow when they pleased.
Now that they had appeared in the drawing-room, they could not fail to perceive how matters stood, and, in fact, the little gentlewoman was on the point of retiring. But Natalie was quite mistress of the situation.
She reminded Madame Potecki that she had met Mr. Brand before. She introduced Calabressa to the stranger, saying that he was a friend of her father"s.
"It is opportune--it is a felicitous circ.u.mstance," said Calabressa, in his nasal French. "Mademoiselle, behold the truth. If I do not have a cigarette after my food, I die--veritably I die! Now your friend, the friend of the house, surely he will take compa.s.sion on me; and we will have a cigarette together in some apartment."
Here he touched Brand"s elbow, having sidled up to him. On any other occasion Brand would have resented the touch, the invitation, the mere presence of this theatrical-looking albino. But he was not in a captious mood. How could he refuse when he heard Natalie say, in her soft, low voice,
"Will you be so kind, Mr. Brand? Anneli will light up papa"s little smoking-room."
Directly afterward he found himself in the small study, alone with this odd-looking person, whom he easily recognized as the stranger who had been walking in the Park with Natalie in the morning. Closer inspection rendered him less afraid of this rival.
Calabressa rolled a cigarette between his fingers, and lit it.
"I ask your pardon, monsieur. I ask your pardon beforehand. I am about to be impertinent; it is necessary. If you will tell me some things, I will tell you some things which it may be better for you to know. First, then, I a.s.sume that you wish to marry that dear child, that beautiful young lady up-stairs."
"My good friend, you are a little bit too outrageous," said Brand.
"Ah! Then I must begin. You know, perhaps, that the mother of this young lady is alive?"
"Alive!"
"I perceive you do not know," said Calabressa, coolly. "I thought you would know--I thought you would guess. A child might guess. She told me you had seen the locket--_Natalie to Natalushka_--was not that enough?"
"If Miss Lind herself did not guess that her mother was alive, how should I?"
"If you have been brought up for sixteen or eighteen years to mourn one as dead, you do not quickly imagine that he or she is not dead: you perceive?"