Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 20 (14 page)

 
          
“I
never saw or knew him till a month ago.”

 
          
Evan
struck his hands together with a gesture of despair, as he sprang up, saying:

 
          
“Ah!
I see it now. A month ago I left you, and in that little time you learned to
love.”

 
          
“Yes,
in that little time I did learn to love.”

 
          
Again
the soft echo came, again the sadder tremor shook her, but she neither smiled,
nor wept, nor turned her steady eyes away from the unseen but controlling
presence that for her still seemed to haunt the room.

 
          
Evan
Forrest was no blind lover, and despite his own bitter loss he was keen-eyed
enough to see that some emotion deeper than caprice, stronger than pity,
sharper than regret, now held possession of his cousin’s heart. He felt that
some tie less tender than that which bound him to her bound her to this man,
who exercised such power over her proud spirit and strong will. Bent on reading
the riddle, he rapidly glanced through the happy past, so shared with Ursula
that he believed no event in the life of either was unknown to the other; yet
here was a secret lying dark between them, and only one little month of absence
had sowed the seed that brought such a harvest of distrust and pain. Suddenly
he spoke:

 
          
“Ursula,
has this man acquired power over you through any weakness of your own?”

 
          
A
haughty flash kindled in her eves, and for an instant her white face glowed
with womanly humiliation at the doubt implied.

 
          
“I
am as innocent of any sin or shame, any weakness or wrong, as when I lay a baby
in my mother’s arms. Would to God I lay there now as tranquilly asleep as she!”

 
          
The
words broke from her with a tearless sob, and spreading her hands before her
face he heard her murmur like a broken-hearted child:

 
          
“How
could he, oh, how could he wound me with a thought like that?”

 
          
“I
will not! I do not! Hear me, Ursula, and forgive me, if I cannot submit to see
you leave me for a man like this without one effort to fathom the inexplicable
change I find in you. Only tell me that he is worthy of you, that you love him
and are happy, and I will be dumb. Can you do this to ease my heart and
conscience, Ursula?”

           
“Yes, I can do more than that.
Rest tranquil, dearest Evan.
I know what I do; I do it
freely, and in time you will acknowledge that I did well in marrying Felix
Stahl.”

           
“You are betrothed to him?”

 
          
“I
am; his kiss is on my cheek, his ring is on my hand; I accept both.”

 
          
With
a look and gesture which he never could forget she touched the cheek w here one
deep spot of color burned as if branded there, and held up the hand whose only
ornament beside its beautv was a slender ring formed of two twisted serpents,
whose diamond eyes glittered with an uncannv resemblance of life.

 
          
“And
you will marry him?” repeated Evan, finding the hard fact impossible to accept.

 
          
“I
will.”

 
          
“Soon, Ursula?”

 
          
“Very soon.”

 
          
“You
wish it so?”

 
          
“I
w ish what he wishes.”

 
          
“You
will go away with him?”

 
          
“To the end of the earth if he desires it.”

 
          
“My God!
is
this witchcraft or
infatuation?”

 
          
“Neither,
it is woman’s love, w hich is quick and strong to dare and suffer all things
for those who are dearer to her than her life.” He could not see her face, for
she had turned it from him, but in her voice trembled a tender fervor w hich
could not be mistaken, and with a pang that wrung his man’s heart sorely he
relinquished all hope, and bade farewell to love, believing that no mystery
existed but that which is inexplicable, the workings of a woman’s heart.

 
          
“I
am going, Ursula,” he said; “you no longer have any need of me, and I must
fight out my fight alone. God bless you, and remember w hatever befalls, while
life lasts you have one unalterable friend and lover in me.”

 
          
As
he spoke w ith full eyes, broken voice and face eloquent with love, regret and
pity, Ursula rose suddenly and fell upon his bosom, clinging there with
passionate despair that deepened his ever growing wonder.

 
          
“God
help you, Evan!
love
me, trust me, pity me, and so
goodbye!
good-bye
!” she cried, in that strange
paroxysm of emotion, as tearless, breathless, trembling and wearied, yet still
self-controlled, she kissed and blessed and led him to the door. No pause upon
the threshold; as he lingered she put him from her, closed and bolted it: then
as if with him the sustaining power of her darkened life departed, she fell
down upon the spot where he had stood, and lay there, beautiful and pale and
still as some fair image of eternal sleep.

 
          
THE
NINE Days’ WONDER at the sudden wedding which followed that strange betrothal
had died away, the honeymoon was over, and the bridal pair
were
alone together in their new home. Ursula stood at the window looking out, with
eyes as wistful as a caged bird’s, upon the fading leaves that fluttered in the
autumn wind. Her husband lay on his couch, apparently absorbed in a
vellum-covered volume, the cabalistic characters of which were far easier to
decipher than the sweet, wan face he was studying covertly. The silence which
filled the room was broken by a long sigh of pain as the book fell from Stahl’s
hand, and his head leaned wearily upon the pillow. Ursula heard the sigh, and,
like a softly moving shadow, glided to his side, poured wine from an antique
flask, and kneeling, held it to his lips. He drank thirstily, but the cordial
seemed to impart neither strength nor- comfort, for he drew his wife’s head
down beside him, saying:

 
          
“Kiss
me, Ursula; I am so faint and cold, nothing seems to warm my blood, and my body
freezes, while mv heart burns with a never-dying fire.”

 
          
With
a meek obedience that robbed the act of all tenderness, she touched her ruddy
lips to the paler ones that ardently returned the pressure, yet found no
satisfaction there. Leaning upon his arm, he held her to him with a fierce
fondness, in strange contrast to his feeble frame, saving earnestly:

 
          
“Ursula,
before I married you I found such strength and solace, such warmth and
happiness in vour presence, that I coveted you as a precious healing for my
broken health. Then I loved you, forgetful of self — loved you as you never
will be loved again, and thanked heaven that my fate was so interwoven with
your own that the utterance of a word secured my life’s desire. But now, when I
have made you wholly mine, and hope to bask in the sunshine of vour beauty,
youth and womanhood, I find a cold, still creature in my arms, and no spark of
the fire that consumes me ever w arms the image of my love. Must it be so? Can
I never see you what you were again?”

 
          
“Never!”
she answered, leaning there as pale and passive as if she were in truth a
marble woman. “I vowed obedience at the altar, nothing more. I did not love
you; I could not honor you, but I felt that I might learn to obey. I have done
so, be content.”

 
          
“Not
I! Colder women have been taught love as well as obedience; you, too, shall be
a docile pupil, and one day
give
freely what I sue for
now. Other men woo before they wed, my wooing and my winning will come later —
if I live long enough.”

 
          
He
turned her face towards him as he spoke and scanned it closely; but no grateful
sign of softness, pity or regret appeared, and, with a broken exclamation, he
put her from him, locked both hands across his eyes and lav silent, till some
uncontrollable paroxysm of emotion had passed
bv
.
Presently he spoke, and the words betrayed what the pain had been.

 
          
“My
mother — heaven bless her for her tenderness! — used to pray that her boy’s
life might be a long and happy one; it is a bitter thing to feel that the only
woman now left me to love prays for the shortening of that same life, and can
bestow no look or word to make its failing hours happv.”

 
          
The
unwonted tone of filial affection, the keen sorrow and the mournful
acknowledgment of an inevitable doom touched Ursula as no ardent demonstration
or passionate reproach had ever done. She softly lifted up the folded hands,
saw that those deep eyes were wet with tears, and in that pallid countenance
read the melancholy record of a life burdened with a sad heritage of pain,
thwarted by unhappy love and darkened by allegiance to a superstitious vow.
Great as her sacrifice had been, deep as the wound still was, and heavily as
her captivity weighed on her proud heart, it was still womanly, generous and
gentle; and, despite all wrongs, all blemishes, all bitter memories, she felt
the fascination of this wild and wayward nature, as she had never done before,
and yielded to its persuasive potency. Laying her cool hand on his hot
forehead, she leaned over him, saying, with an accent of compassion sweeter to
his ear than her most perfect song:

 
          
“No,
Felix, I pray no prayers that heaven would refuse to grant. I only ask patience
for myself, a serener spirit for you, and God’s blessing upon Evan, wherever he
may be.”

 
          
Before
the words of tender satisfaction which rose to Stahl’s lips could be uttered, a
noiseless servant brought a black-edged card. Ursula read and handed it to her
husband.

 
          
“Mrs.
Heath. Shall we see her, love?” he asked.

 
          
“As
you please,” was the docile answer, though an expression of mingled pain and
sorrow passed across her face in
speaking.

 
          
He
half frowned at her meekness, then smiled and bade the man deny them, adding,
as he left the room,

 
          
“I
am too well content with this first glimpse of the coming happiness to be
saddened by the lamentations of that poor lady over her wilful daughter, who
had the bad taste to drown herself upon our wedding-day.”

 
          
“Felix,
may I ask you a question?”

 
          
“Anything of me, Ursula.”

 
          
“ Fell
me what you whispered in Kate’s ear on the evening
which both of us remember well.”

 
          
Questions
were so rare, and proving a sign of interest, that Stahl made haste to answer,
with a curious blending of disdain and pity, “She bade me tell her the most
ardent desire of her life, and I dared to answer truly, ‘To win my heart.’”

           
“A true answer, but a cruel one,”
Ursula said.

 
          
“That
cruel truthfulness is one of the savage attributes which two generations of
civilization cannot entirely subdue in my race.

 
          
Those
who tamely submit to me I despise, but those who oppose me I first conquer and
then faithfully love.”

 
          
“Had
you made poor Kate happy, you would not now regret the possession of a cold,
untender wife.”

 
          
“Who
would gather a gav tulip when they can reach a royal rose, though thorns tear
the hand that seizes it?
for
even when it fades its
perfume lingers, gifting it w ith an enduring charm. Love, I have found mv
rose, so let the tulip fade
— ”

 
          
There
he paused abruptly in his flowerv speech, for with the sw ift instinct of a
temperament like his, he was instantlv conscious of the fact when her thoughts
w andered, and a glance showed him that, though her attitude w as unaltered,
she was listening intentlv. A far-off bell had rung, the tones of a man’s voice
sounded from
below ,
and the footsteps of an
approaching servant grew audible. Stahl recognised the voice, fancied that
Ursula did also, and assured himself of it
bv
an
unsuspected test that took the form of a caress. Passing his arm about her
waist, his hand lay lightly above her heart, and as her cousins name was announced
he felt the sudden bound that glad heart gave, and counted the rapid throbs
that sent the color to her cheeks and made her lips tremble. A black frown
lowered on his forehead, and his eyes glittered ominously for an instant, but
both betrayals were unseen, and nothing marred the gracious sweetness of his
voice.

 
          
“Of
course vou will see vour cousin, Ursula. I shall greet him in passing, and
return when you have enjoyed each other alone.”

           
“Alone!” she echoed, w ith a
distrustful look at him, an anxious one about the room, as if no place seemed
safe or sacred in that house where she was both mistress and slave.

           
He understood the glance, and
answered w ith one so reproachful that she blushed for the ungenerous
suspicion, as he said, with haughty emphasis:

 
          
“Yes, Ursula, alone.
Whatever evil names I may deserve,
those of spv and eavesdropper cannot be applied to me; and though my wife can
neither love nor honor me, I will prove that she may trust me.

 
          
W ith that he left her, and meeting Evan just w ithout, offered his
hand franklv, and gave his welcome with a cordial grace that was irresistible.
Evan could not refuse the hand, for on it shone a little ring which Ursula once
wore, and yielding to the impulse awakened by that mute reminder of her, he
betrayed exactly what his host desired to know, for instantaneous as was both
recognition and submission, Stahl’s quick eye divined the cause.

 
          
“Come
often to us, Evan; forget the past, and remember only that through Ursula we
are kindred now. She is waiting for you; go to her and remain as long as you
incline, sure of a hearty welcome from both host and hostess.”

 
          
Then
he passed on, and Evan hurried to his cousin; eager, yet reluctant to meet her,
lest in her face he should read some deeper mystery or greater change than he
last saw there. She came to meet him smiling and serene, for whatever gust of
joy or sorrow had swept over her, no trace of it remained; yet, when he took
her in his arms, there broke from him the involuntary exclamation:

 
          
“Is
this my cousin Ursula?”

 
          
“Yes, truly.
Am I then so altered?”

 
          
“This
is a reflection of what you were; that of what you are. Eook, and tell me if I
have not cause for wonder.”

 
          
She
did look as he drew a miniature from his bosom and led her to the mirror. The
contrast was startling even to
herself
, for the
painted face glowed with rosy bloom, hope shone in the eves, happiness smiled
from the lips, while youthful purity and peace crowned the fair forehead with
enchanting grace. The living face was already wan and thin, many tears had
robbed the cheeks of color, sleepless nights had dimmed the lustre of the eyes,
much
secret suffering and strife had hardened the soft
curves of the mouth and deepened the lines upon the brow. Even among the dark
waves of her hair silver threads shone here and there, unbidden, perhaps
unknown; and over the whole woman a subtle blight had fallen, more tragical
than death. Silently she compared the two reflections, for the first time
realising all that she had lost, yet as she returned the miniature she only
said, with pathetic patience:

 
          
“I
am not what I was, but my heart remains unchanged, believe that, Evan.”

 
          
“I
do. Tell me, Ursula, are you happy now?”

           
Her eyes rose to his, and over her
whole face there shone the sudden magic of a glow' warmer and brighter than a
smile.

 
          
“I
am supremely happy now.”

 
          
It
was impossible to doubt her truth, however past facts or present appearances
might seem to belie it, and Evan was forced to believe, despite his
disappointment.

 
          
“He
is kind to you, Ursula? You suffer no neglect, no tyranny nor wrong from this
strange man?” he asked, still haunted by vague doubts.

 
          
She
waved her hand about the lovely room, delieatelv dainty as a bride’s bower
should be, and answered, w ith real feeling:

 
          
“Does
this look as if I suffered any neglect or wrong? Every want and whim is seen
and gratified before expressed; I go and come unwatched, unquestioned; the
winds of heaven are not allowed to visit me too roughly, and as for kindness,
look there and see a proof of it.”

 
          
She
pointed to the garden where her husband walked alone, never quitting the wide
terrace just below her window', though the sunshine that he loved had faded
from the spot, and the autumn w inds he dreaded blew
⁷
gustily about
him. He never lifted up his eyes, nor paused, nor changed his thoughtful
attitude, but patiently paced to and fro, a mute reproach for
Ursulas
unjust suspicion.