CHAPTER II.
"Farewell! though in that sound be years Of blighted hopes and fruitless tears-- Though the soul vibrate to its knell Of joys departed--yet farewell."
MRS. HEMANS.
To attempt description of either face or form would be useless. Theexquisite proportions of the rounded figure, the very perfection ofeach feature, the delicate clearness of the complexion--brunette whenbrought in close contact with the Saxon, blonde when compared with theSpaniard--all attractions in themselves, were literally forgotten, orat least unheeded, beneath the spell which dwelt in the _expression_of her countenance. Truth, purity, holiness, something scarcely ofthis nether world, yet blended indescribably with all a woman'snature, had rested there, attracting the most unobservant, andriveting all whose own hearts contained a spark of the same loftyattributes. Her dress, too, was peculiar--a full loose petticoat ofdark blue silk, reaching only to the ankle, and so displaying thebeautifully-shaped foot; a jacket of pale yellow, the texture seemingof the finest woven wool, reaching to the throat; with sleeves tighton the shoulders, but falling in wide folds as low as the wrist, andso with every movement displaying the round soft arm beneath. Anantique brooch of curiously wrought silver confined the jacket at thethroat. The collar, made either to stand up or fall, was this eveningunclosed and thrown black, its silver fringe gleaming through theclustering tresses that fell in all their native richness and ravenblackness over her shoulders, parted and braided on her brow, so as toheighten the chaste and classic expression of her features.
On a stranger that beautiful vision must have burst with bewilderingpower: to Arthur Stanley she united _memory_ with _being_, the _past_with the _present_, with such an intensity of emotion, that for a fewminutes his very breath was impeded. She turned, without seeing him,in a contrary direction; and the movement roused him.
"Marie!" he passionately exclaimed, flinging himself directly in herpath, and startling her so painfully, that though there was a strongand visible effort at self-control, she must have fallen had he notcaught her in his arms. There was an effort to break from his hold, amurmured exclamation, in which terror, astonishment, and yet joy, werepainfully mingled, and then the heroine gave place to the woman, forher head sunk on his shoulder and she burst into tears.
Time passed. Nearly an hour from that strange meeting, and still theywere together; but no joy, nor even hope was on the countenance ofeither. At first, Arthur had alluded to their hours of happy yetunconfessed affection, when both had felt, intuitively, that they wereall in all to each other, though not a syllable of love had passedtheir lips; on the sweet memories of those blissful hours, so brief,so fleeting, but still Marie wept: the memory seemed anguish more thanjoy. And then he spoke of returned affection, as avowed by her, whenhis fond words had called it forth; and shuddered at the recollectionthat that hour of acknowledged and mutual love, had proved the signalof their separation. He referred again to her agonized words, that aunion was impossible, that she dared not wed him; it was sin evento love him; that in the tumultuary, yet delicious emotions she hadexperienced, she had forgotten, utterly forgotten in what it mustend--the agony of desolation for herself, and, if he so loved her, forStanley also--and again he conjured her to explain their meaning. Theyhad been separated, after that fearful interview, by a hasty summonsfor him to rejoin his camp; and when he returned, she had vanished.He could not trace either her or the friend with whom she had beenstaying. Don Albert had indeed said, his wife had gone to one of thesouthern cities, and his young guest returned to her father's home;but where that home was, Don Albert had so effectually evaded, thatneither direct questionings nor wary caution could obtain reply. Buthe had found her now; they had met once more, and oh, why need theypart again? Why might he not seek her father, and beseech his blessingand consent?
His words were eloquent, his tone impassioned, and hard indeed thestruggle they occasioned. But Marie wavered not in the repetitionof the same miserable truth, under the impression of which theyhad separated before. She conjured him to leave her, to forget theexistence of this hidden valley, for danger threatened her father andherself if it was discovered. So painful was her evident terror, thatArthur pledged his honor never to reveal it, declaring that toretrace the path by which he had discovered it, was even to himselfimpossible. But still he urged her, what was this fatal secret? Whywas it sin to love him? Was she the betrothed of another? and thelarge drops starting to the young man's brow denoted the agony of thequestion.
"No, Arthur, no," was the instant rejoinder: "I never could love,never could be another's, this trial is hard enough, but it is all Ihave to bear. I am not called upon to give my hand to another, whilemy heart is solely thine."
"Then wherefore join that harsh word 'sin,' with such pure love, myMarie? Why send me from you wretched and most lonely, when no humanpower divides us?"
"No human power!--alas! alas!--a father's curse--an offendedGod--these are too awful to encounter, Arthur. Oh do not try me more;leave me to my fate, called down by my own weakness, dearest Arthur.If you indeed love me, tempt me not by such fond words; they do butrender duty harder. Oh, wherefore have you loved me!"
But such suffering tone, such broken words, were not likely to checkyoung Stanley's solicitations. Again and again he urged her, at leastto say what fatal secret so divided them; did he but know it, itmight be all removed. Marie listened to him for several minutes, withaverted head and in unbroken silence; and when she did look on himagain, he started at her marble paleness and the convulsive quiveringof her lips, which for above a minute prevented the utterance of aword.
"Be it so," she said at length; "you shall know this impassablebarrier. You are too honorable to reveal it. Alas! it is not that fearwhich restrained me; my own weakness which shrinks from being to theeas to other men, were the truth once known, an object of aversion andof scorn."
"Aversion! scorn! Marie, thou ravest," impetuously exclaimed Stanley;"torture me not by these dark words: the worst cannot be moresuffering."
But when the words were said, when with blanched lips and cheeks, andyet unfaltering tone, Marie revealed the secret which was to separatethem for ever, Arthur staggered back, relinquishing the hands he hadso fondly clasped, casting on her one look in which love and aversionwere strangely and fearfully blended, and then burying his face in hishands, his whole frame shook as with some sudden and irrepressibleanguish.
"Thou knowest all, now," continued Marie, after a pause, and she stoodbefore him with arms folded on her bosom, and an expression of meekhumility struggling with misery on her beautiful features. "SenorStanley, I need not now implore you to leave me; that look wassufficient, say but you forgive the deception I have been compelled topractise--and--and forget me. Remember what I am, and you will sooncease to love."
"Never, never!" replied Stanley, as with passionate agony he flunghimself before her. "Come with me to my own bright land; who shallknow what thou art there? Marie, my own beloved, be mine. What to meis race or blood? I see but the Marie I have loved, I shall ever love.Come with me. Edward has made overtures of peace if I would return toEngland. For thy sake I will live beneath his sway; be but mine, andoh, we shall be happy yet."
"And my father," gasped the unhappy girl, for the generous nature ofArthur's love rendered her trial almost too severe. "Wilt thou protecthim too? wilt thou for my sake forget what he is, and be to him ason?" He turned from her with a stifled groan. "Thou canst not--I knewit--oh bless thee for thy generous love; but tempt me no more, Arthur;it cannot be; I dare not be thy bride."
"And yet thou speakest of love. 'Tis false, thou canst not love me,"and Stanley sprung to his feet disappointed, wounded, till he scarceknew what he said. "I would give up Spain and her monarch's love forthee. I would live in slavery beneath a tyrant's rule to give thee ahome of love. I would forget, trample on, annihilate the prejudicesof a life, unite the pure blood of Stanley with the darkened torrentrunning through thy veins, forget thy race, descent, all but thine ownsweet self. I would
do this, all this for love of thee. And forme, what wilt thou do?--reject me, bid me leave thee--and yet thouspeakest of love: 'tis false, thou lovest another better!"
"Ay!" replied Marie, in a tone which startled him, "ay, thou hastrightly spoken; thy words have recalled what in this deep agony I hadwell nigh forgotten. There is a love, a duty stronger than that I bearto thee. I would resign all else, but not my father's God."
The words were few and simple; but the tone in which they were spokenrecalled Arthur's better nature, and banished hope at once. A pauseensued, broken only by the young man's hurried tread, as he traversedthe little platform in the vain struggle for calmness. On him thisblow had fallen wholly unprepared; Marie had faced it from the momentthey had parted fifteen months before, and her only prayer had been (afearful one for a young and loving heart), that Stanley would forgether, and they might never meet again. But this was not to be; andthough she had believed herself prepared, one look on his face, onesound of his voice had proved how vain had been her dream.
"I will obey thee, Marie," Stanley said, at length, pausing beforeher. "I will leave thee now, but not--not for ever. No, no; if indeedthou lovest me time will not change thee, if thou hast one sacred tie,when nature severs that, and thou art alone on earth, thou shalt bemine, whatever be thy race."
"Hope it not, ask it not! Oh, Arthur, better thou shouldst hate me, asthy people do my race: I cannot bear such gentle words," faltered poorMarie, as her head sunk for a minute on his bosom, and the pent-uptears burst forth. "But this is folly," she continued, forcing backthe choking sob, and breaking from his passionate embrace. "There isdanger alike for my father and thee, if thou tarriest longer. Not thatway," she added, as his eye glanced inquiringly towards the hill bywhich he had descended; "there is another and an easier path; followme--thou wilt not betray it?"
"Never!" was the solemn rejoinder, and not a word more passed betweenthem. He followed her through what seemed to be an endless maze, andpaused before a towering rock, which, smooth and perpendicular as awall built by man, ran round the vale and seemed to reach to heaven.Pushing aside the thick brushwood, Marie stood beside the rock, and bysome invisible movement, a low door flew open and disclosed a windingstaircase.
"Thou wilt trust me, Arthur?"
"Ay, unto death," he answered, springing after her up the ruggedstair. Narrow loopholes, almost concealed without by trees andbrushwood, dimly lighted the staircase, as also a low, narrow passage,which branched off in zig-zag windings at the top, and terminated, astheir woody path had done, in a solid wall. But again an invisibledoor flew open, closing behind them; and after walking about a hundredyards through prickly shrubs and entangled brushwood that obscured hissight, Marie paused, and Arthur gazed round bewildered. A seeminglyboundless plain stretched for miles around him, its green levelonly diversified by rocks scattered about in huge masses and wildconfusion, as if hurled in fury from some giant's hand. The rockwhence he had issued was completely invisible. He looked around againand again, but only to bewilder himself yet more.
"The way looks more dreary than it is. Keep to the left: though itseems the less trodden path thou wilt find there a shelter for thenight, and to-morrow's sun will soon guide thee to a frontier town;thy road will be easy then. Night is falling so fast now, thou hadstbest not linger, Arthur."
But he did linger, till once more he had drawn from her a confessionof her love, that none other could take his place, even while sheconjured him never to seek her again--and so they parted. Five minutesmore, and there was not a vestige of a human form on the wide-extendedplain.
The Vale of Cedars; Or, The Martyr Page 3