by Elinor Glyn
XXVI
At luncheon, when Theodora descended from her room, the whole party wereassembled and already seated at the several little tables. The onlyvacant place left was just opposite Hector.
And there they faced each other during the meal, and all the time hereyes reminded him of the wounded fawn again, only they were sadder, ifpossible, and her face was pinched and pale, not the exquisite naturalwhite of its usual fresh, soft velvet.
Something clutched at his heart-strings. What extra sorrow had happenedto her since last night? What could he do to comfort and protect her?There was only one way--to take her with him out of it all.
After the first nine days' wonder, people would forget. It would be anundefended suit when Josiah should divorce her, and then he would marryher and have her for his very own. And what would they care for theworld's sneers?
His whole being was thrilled and exalted with these thoughts; his brainwas excited as with strong wine.
To have her for his own!
Even the memory of his mother only caused him a momentary pang. No onecould help loving Theodora, and she--his mother--would get over it, too,and learn her sweetness and worth.
He was wildly happy now that he had made up his mind--so surely canpassionate desire block out every other feeling.
The guests at their table were all more or less civil. Theodora'sunassuming manner had disarmed them, and as savage beasts had beencharmed of old by Orpheus and his lute, so perhaps her gentle voice hadsoothed this company--the women, of course; there had been no questionof the men from the beginning.
Mildred's programme to make Mrs. Brown suffer was not having the successher zeal in promoting it deserved.
The weather was still glorious, and after lunch the whole party flockedout on the terrace.
A terrible nervous fear was dominating Theodora. She could not be alonewith Hector, she did not dare to trust herself. And there would be theto-morrow and the Wednesday--without Josiah--and the soft warmth of theevenings and the glamour of the nights.
Oh, everything was too cruel and impossible! And wherever she turned sheseemed to see in blazing letters, "A second honeymoon!"
The first was a horrible, fearsome memory which was over long ago, butthe thought of a second--now that she knew what love meant, and whatlife with the loved one might mean--Oh, it wasunbearable--terrible--impossible! better, much better, to die and havedone with it all.
She kept close to Barbara, and when Barbara moved she feverishly engagedthe Crow in conversation--any one--something to save her from any chanceof listening to Hector's persuasive words. And the Crow's kind heart waspained by the hunted expression in her eyes. They seemed to ask for helpand sanctuary.
"Shall we walk down to the polo-field, Mrs. Brown?" he said, and shegladly acquiesced and started with him.
If she had been a practised coquette she could not have done anythingmore to fan the flame of Hector's passion.
Lady Harrowfield had detained him on the top of the steps, and he sawher go off with the Crow and was unable to rush after them.
And when at last he was free he felt almost drunk with passion.
He had learned of Josiah's intended departure on the morrow, and thatTheodora would join him again on the Thursday, and his mind was made up.On Wednesday night he would take her away with him to Italy. She shouldnever belong to Josiah any more. She was his in soul and mind already,he knew, and she should be his in body, too, and he would cherish andlove and protect her to the end of his life.
Every detail of his plan matured itself in his brain. It only wanted herconsent, and that, when opportunity should be given him to plead hiscause, he did not greatly fear would be refused.
Hitherto he had ever restrained himself when alone with her, haddominated his desire to make love to her; had never once, since Paris,given way to passion or tender words during their moments together.
But he remembered that hour of bliss on the way from Versailles; heremembered how she had thrilled, too, how he had made her feel andrespond to his every caress.
Yes--she was not cold, his white angel!
He was playing in the scratch team of the polo match, and the wildexcitement of his thoughts, coursing through his blood, caused him toride like a mad thing.
Never had he done so brilliantly.
And Theodora, while she was every now and then convulsed with fear forhim, had moments of passionate admiration.
The Crow remained at her side in the tent. He knew Hector would not bejealous of him, and the instinct of the brink of calamity was strongupon him, from the look in Theodora's eyes.
He used great tact--he turned the conversation to Anne and the children,and then to Lady Bracondale and Hector's home, all in a casual, abstractway, and he told her of Lady Bracondale's great love for her son, and ofher hopes that he would marry soon, and how that Hector would be thelast of his race--for Evermond Le Mesurier did not count--and manylittle tales about Bracondale and its people.
It was all done so wisely and well; not in the least as a note ofwarning. And all he said sank deep into Theodora's heart. She had nevereven dreamed of the plan which was now matured in Hector's brain--ofgoing away with him. He, as really a lover, was not for her, that was aforegone conclusion. It was the fear of she knew not what which troubledher. She was too unsophisticated and innocent to really know--only thatto be with him now was a continual danger; soon she knew she would notbe able to control herself, she must be clasped in his arms.
And then--and then--there was the picture in front of her of Josiah andthe "second honeymoon."
Thus while she sat there gazing at the man she passionately lovedplaying polo, she was silently suffering all the anguish of which awoman's heart is capable.
The only possible way was to part from Hector forever--to say the lastgood-bye before she should go, like a sheep, to the slaughter.
When she was once more the wife of Josiah she could never look upon hisface again.
And if Hector had known the prospect that awaited her at BessingtonHall, it would have driven him--already mad--to frenzy.
The day wore on, and still Theodora's fears kept her from allowing atete-a-tete when he dismounted and joined them for tea.
But fate had determined otherwise. And as the soft evening came severalof the party walked down by the river--which ran on the western sidebelow the rose-gardens and the wood of firs--to see Barbara's manybreeds of ducks and water-fowl.
Then Hector's determination to be alone with her conquered for the time.Theodora found herself strolling with him in a path of meeting willows,with a summer-house at the end, by the water's bank.
They were quite separated from the others by now. They, with affairs oftheir own to pursue, had spread in different directions.
And it was evening, and warm, and June.
There was a strange, weird silence between them, and both their heartswere beating to suffocation--hers with the thought of the anguish ofparting forever, his with the exaltation of the picture of parting nomore.
They came to the little summer-house, and there they sat down andsurveyed the scene. The evening lights were all opalescent on the water,there was peace in the air and brilliant fresh green on the trees, andsoft and liquid rose the nightingale's note. So at last Hector broke thesilence.
"Darling," he said, "I love you--I love you so utterly this cannot goon. I must have you for my own--" and then, as she gasped, he continuedin a torrent of passionate words.
He told her of his infinite love for her; of the happiness he would fillher life with; of his plan that they should go away together when sheshould leave Beechleigh; of the joy of their days; of the tender care hewould take of her; and every and each sentence ended with a passionateavowal of his love and devotion.
Then a terrible temptation seized Theodora. She had never even dreamedof this ending to the situation; and it would mean no second honeymoonof loathsome hours, but a glorious fulfilment of all possible joy.
For one moment the
whole world seemed golden with happiness; but it wasonly of short duration. The next instant she remembered Josiah and hergiven word.
No, happiness was not for her. Death and sleep were all she could hopefor; but she must not even hope for them. She must do what was right,and be true to herself, _advienne que pourra_. And perhaps some angelwould give her oblivion or let her drink of Lethe, though she shouldnever reach those waters beyond the rocks.
He saw the exaltation in her beautiful face as he spoke, and wild joyseized him. Then he saw the sudden droop of her whole body and thelight die out of her eyes, and in a voice of anguish he implored her:
"Darling, darling! Won't you listen to what I say to you? Won't youanswer me, and come with me?"
"No, Hector," she said, and her voice was so low he had to bend closerto hear.
He clasped her to his side, he covered her face with kisses, murmuringthe tenderest love-words.
She did not resist him or seek to escape from his sheltering, strongarms. This was the end of her living life, why should she rob herself ofa last joy?
She laid her head on his shoulder, and there she whispered in a voice hehardly recognized, so dominated it was by sorrow and pain: "It must begood-bye, beloved; we must not meet. Ah! never any more. I have beenmeaning to say this to you all the day. I cannot bear it either. Oh, wemust part, and it must end; but oh, not--not in that way!"
He tried to persuade her, he pleaded with her, drew pictures of theirhappiness that surely would be, talked of Italy and eternal summer andexquisite pleasure and bliss.
And all the time he felt her quiver in his arms and respond to eachthought, as her imagination took fire at the beautiful pictures of loveand joy. But nothing shook her determination.
At last she said: "Dearest, if I were different perhaps, stronger andbraver, I could go away and live with you like that, and keep it all aglorious thing; but I am not--only a weak creature, and the memory of mybroken word, and Josiah's sorrow, and your mother's anguish, would killall joy. We could have blissful moments of forgetfulness, but the greatghost of remorse would chase for me all happiness away. Dearest, I loveyou so; but oh, I could not live, haunted like that; I shouldjust--die."
Then he knew all hope was over, and the mad passion went out of him, andhis arms dropped to his sides as if half life had fled. She looked up inhis face in fear at its ghastly whiteness.
And at this moment, through the parted willows, there appeared thesullen, mocking eyes of Morella Winmarleigh.
She pushed the bushes aside, and, followed by Lord Wensleydown, she cametowards the summer-house.
Her slow senses had taken in the scene. Hector was evidently veryunhappy, she thought, and that hateful woman had been teasing him, nodoubt.
Thus her banal mind read the tragedy of these two human lives.