Dawn

by H. Rider Haggard

  CHAPTER XLVIII

  Reader, have you ever, in the winter or early spring, come from a hot-house where you have admired some rich tropical bloom, and then, inwalking by the hedgerows, suddenly seen a pure primrose opening itssweet eye, and looking bravely into bitter weather's face? If so, youwill, if it is your habit to notice flowers, have experienced somesuch sensation as takes possession of my mind when I pass from thestory of Mildred as she was then, storm-tossed and loving, to Angela,as loving indeed, and yet more anxious, but simple-minded as a child,and not doubtful for the end. They were both flowers indeed, and bothbeautiful, but between them there was a wide difference. The one, inthe richness of her splendour, gazed upon the close place where shequeened it, and was satisfied with the beauty round her, or, if notsatisfied, she could imagine none different. The limits of that littlespot formed the horizon of her mind--she knew no world beyond. Theother, full of possibilities, shed sweetness even on the blast whichcut her, and looked up for shelter towards the blue sky she knewendured eternally above the driving clouds.

  Whilst Sir John Bellamy's health was being recruited at Madeira,Angela's daily life pursued an even and, comparatively speaking, ahappy course. She missed Pigott much, but then she often went to seeher, and by way of compensation, if she had gone, so had GeorgeCaresfoot and Lady Bellamy. Mr. Fraser, too, had come back to fill aspace in the void of her loneliness, and for his presence she was verygrateful. Indeed none but herself could know the comfort and strengthshe gathered from his friendship, none but himself could know what itcost him to comfort her. But he did not shrink from the duty; indeed,it gave him a melancholy satisfaction. He loved her quite as dearly,and with as deep a longing as Mildred Carr did Arthur; but howdifferent were his ends! Of ultimately supplanting his rival he neverdreamt; his aim was to assist him, to bring the full cup of joy,untainted, to his lips. And so he read with her and talked with her,and was sick at heart; and she thanked him, and consecrating all hermost sacred thoughts to the memory of her absent lover, and all herquick energies to self-preparation for his coming, possessed her soulin patience.

  And thus her young life began to bloom again with a fresh promise. Theclose of each departing day was the signal for the lifting of aportion of her load, for it brought her a day nearer to her lover'sarms, subtracting something from the long tale of barren hours; sinceto her all hours seemed most barren that were not quickened by hispresence. Indeed, no Arctic winter could be colder and more devoid oflight and life than this time of absence was to her, and, had it notbeen for the warm splendour of her hopes, shooting its beautifulpromise in unreal gleams across the blackness of her horizon, she feltas though she must have frozen and died. For hope, elusive as she is,often bears a fairer outward mien than the realization to which shepoints, and, like a fond deceiver, serves to keep the heart alive tillthe first bitterness is overpast, and, schooled in trouble, it canknow her false, and yet remain unbroken.

  But sometimes Angela's mood would change, and then, to her strainedand sensitive mind, this dead calm and cessation of events would seemto resemble that ominous moment when, in tropic seas, the fierceoutrider of the tempest has passed howling away clothed in flyingfoam. Then comes a calm, and for a space there is blue sky, and thesails flap drearily against the mast, and the vessel only rocks fromthe violence of her past plunging, while the scream of the sea-bird isheard with unnatural clearness, for there is no sound nor motion inthe air. Intenser still grows the silence, and the waters almost ceasefrom tossing; but the seaman knows that presently, with a sudden roar,the armies of the winds and waves will leap upon him, and that astruggle for life is at hand.

  Such fears, however, did not often take her, for, unlike Arthur, shewas naturally of a hopeful mind, and, when they did, Mr. Fraser wouldfind means to comfort her. But this was soon to change.

  One afternoon--it was Christmas Eve--Angela went down the village tosee Pigott, now comfortably established in the house her long departedhusband had left her. It was a miserable December day, a damp,unpleasant ghost of a day, and all the sky was packed with clouds,while the surface of the earth was wrapped in mist. Rain and snow fellnoiselessly by turns; indeed, the only sound in the air was the louddripping of water from the trees on the dead leaves beneath. The wholeoutlook was melancholy in the extreme. While Angela was in her oldnurse's cottage, the snow fell in earnest for an hour or so, and thenheld up again, and when she came out the mist had recovered itssupremacy, and now the snow was melting.

  "Come, miss, you must be getting home, or it will be dark. Shall Icome with you a bit?"

  "No, thank you, Pigott. I am not afraid of the dark, and I ought toknow my way about these parts. Good-night, dear."

  The prevailing dismalness of the scene oppressed her, and she made upher mind to go and see Mr. Fraser, instead of returning at present toher lonely home. With this view, leaving the main road that ranthrough Rewtham, Bratham, and Isleworth to Roxham, she turned up alittle bye-lane which led to the foot of the lake. Just as she did so,she heard the deadened footfall of a fast-trotting horse, accompaniedby the faint roll of carriage-wheels over the snow. As she turned halfinvoluntarily to see who it was that travelled so fast, the creepingmist was driven aside by a puff of wind, and she saw a splendid blood-horse drawing an open victoria trotting past her at, at least, twelvemiles an hour. But, quickly as it passed, it was not too quick for herto recognize Lady Bellamy wrapped up in furs, her dark, stern facelooking on straight before her, as though the mist had no power to dim_her_ sight. Next second the dark closed in, and the carriage hadvanished like a dream in the direction of Isleworth.

  Angela shivered; the dark afternoon seemed to have grown darker toher.

  "So she _is_ back," she said to herself. "I felt that she was back.She makes me feel afraid."

  Going on her way, she came to a spot where the path forked, one trackleading to a plank with a hand-rail spanning the stream that fed thelake, and the other to some stepping-stones, by crossing which andfollowing the path on the other side a short cut could be made to therectory. The bridge and the stepping-stones were not more than twentyyards apart, but so intent was Angela upon her own thoughts and uponplacing her feet accurately on the stones that she did not notice alittle man with a red comforter, who was leaning on the hand-rail,engaged apparently in meditation. The little man, however, noticedher, for he gave a violent start, and apparently was about to call outto her, when he changed his mind. He was Sir John Bellamy.

  "Better let her go perhaps, John," he said, addressing his own effigyin the water. "After all, it will be best for you to let things totake their course, and not to burn your own fingers or commit yourselfin any way, John. You will trap them more securely so. If you were towarn the girl now, you would only expose them; if you wait till he hasmarried her, you will altogether destroy them with the help of thatyoung Heigham. And perhaps by that time you will have touched thosecompromising letters, John, and made a few other little arrangements,and then you will be able to enjoy the sweets of revenge meted outwith a quart measure, not in beggarly ones or twos. But you arethinking of the girl--eh, John? Ah! you always were a pitiful beggar;but tread down the inclination, decline to gratify it. If you do, youwill spoil your own hand. The girl must take her chance--oh! clearlythe girl must take her chance. But all the same, John, you are verysorry for her--very. Come, come, you must be off, or her ladyship andthe gentle George will be kept waiting," and away he went at a briskpace, cheerfully singing a verse of a comic song. Sir John was a merrylittle man.

  In due course Angela reached the rectory, and found Mr. Fraser seatedin his study reading.

  "Well, my dear, what brings you here? What a dreary night!"

  "Yes, it is dreadfully damp and lonesome; the people look like ghostsin the mist, and their voices sound hollow. A proper day for evilthings to creep home," and she laughed drearily.

  "What do you mean," he answered, with a quick glance at her face,which wore an expression of nervous anxiety.


  "I mean that Lady Bellamy has come home; is she not an evil thing?"

  "Hush, Angela; you should not talk so. You are excited, dear. Whyshould you call her evil?"

  "I don't know; but have you ever noticed her? Have you never seen hercreep, creep, like a tiger on its prey? Watch her dark face, and seethe bad thoughts come and peep out of her eyes as the great blackpupils swell and then shrivel, till they are no larger than the headof this black pin, and you will know that she is evil, and does evilwork."

  "My dear, my dear, you are upset to talk so."

  "Oh! no, I am not upset; but did you ever have a presentiment?"

  "Plenty; but never one that came true."

  "Well, I have a presentiment now--yes, a presentiment--it caught me inthe mist."

  "What is it? I am anxious to hear."

  "I don't know--I cannot say; it is not clear in my mind. I cannot seeit, but it is evil, and it has to do with that evil woman."

  "Come, Angela, you must not give way to this sort of thing; you willmake yourself ill. Sit down, there is a good girl, and have some tea."

  She was standing by the window staring out into the mist, her fingersalternately intertwining and unlacing themselves, whilst an unusual--almost an unearthly expression, played upon her face. Turning, sheobeyed him.

  "You need not fear for me. I am tough, and growing used to troubles.What was it you said? Oh! tea. Thank you; that reminds me. Will youcome and have dinner with me to-morrow after church? It is ChristmasDay, you know. Pigott has given me a turkey she has been fatting, andI made the mincemeat myself, so there will be plenty to eat if we canfind the heart to eat it."

  "But your father, my dear?"

  "Oh! you need not be afraid. I have got permission to ask you. What doyou think? I actually talked to my father for ten whole minutesyesterday; he wanted to avoid me when he saw me, but I caught him in acorner. He took advantage of the opportunity to try to prevent me fromgoing to see Pigott, but I would not listen to him, so he gave it up.What did he mean by that? Why did he send her away? What does it allmean? Oh! Arthur, when will you come back, Arthur?" and, to Mr.Fraser's infinite distress, she burst into tears.