Kitabı oku: «A Secret Inheritance. Volume 1 of 3», sayfa 5
"As you are doing."
"As I am doing-though I am sadly conscious that my efforts may be vain."
"You are not my enemy?"
"On the contrary. I recognise in you noble qualities, but there is at the same time a mystery within you which troubles me.
"May you not be in error there?"
"It is possible. I speak from inward prompting, based upon observation and reflection."
"Dear doctor," I said, with a sense of satisfaction at the conviction that I was successfully probing him, "if I thought that my touch would blast the flower you speak of, I would fly the spot, and carry my unhappiness with me, so that only I should be the sufferer. But no need exists. Nothing lies at my door of which I am ashamed. No man, so far as I am aware, is my enemy, and I am no man's. I have never committed an act to another's hurt. You speak of my inner life. Does not every human being live two lives, and is there not in every life something which man should keep to himself. Were we to walk unmasked, we should hate and loathe each other, and saints would be stoned to death. We are maculate, and it is given to no man to probe the mystery of existence. There are pretenders, and you and I agree upon an estimate of them. If in private intercourse we were absolutely frank in our confession of temptations, gross thoughts, and uncommitted sins, it would inspire horror. The joys of life are destroyed by seeking too far. We are here, with all our imperfections. The wisest and truest philosophy is to make the best of them and of surrounding circumstances. Therefore when I see before me a path which leads to human happiness, I should be mad to turn from it. Will you not now ask questions to which I can return explicit answers?"
"You love?"
"Yes."
"Whom?"
"Lauretta."
"In honour?"
"In perfect honour. So pure a being could inspire none but a pure passion."
"You would make a sacrifice to render her happy?"
"I can make her happy without a sacrifice."
"But should the need arise?"
"If I were convinced of it, I would sacrifice my life for her. It would be valueless to me without her; it would be valueless with her did not her heart respond to the beating of mine."
"You have not spoken to her?"
"Of love? No."
"You will not, without my consent?"
"I cannot promise."
"You believe yourself worthy of her?"
"No man can be worthy of her, but I as much as any man."
"She is young for love."
"Those words should be addressed to nature not to me."
"Aspiring to win her, you would win her worthily?"
"It shall be my endeavour."
"I do not say she is easily swayed, but she is simple and confiding. She must have time to question her heart."
"What is it you demand of me?"
"That you should not woo her hastily. I am her father and her natural guardian. It would not be difficult for me to keep you and her apart."
"Do you contemplate an act so cruel?"
"Not at the present moment seriously, but it has suggested itself to me as the best safeguard I could adopt to save an inexperienced child from possible unhappiness."
"She would suffer."
"Less now than at some future time, when what is at present a transient feeling may become a faith, from which to tear her then would be to tear her heartstrings. You are, or would be, her lover; I am her father. Were you in my place and I in yours, you would act towards me as I am acting towards you. I repeat, you are a stranger among us; you must give us time to know more of you before I can take you by the hand and welcome you as a son. You must give my daughter time to know more of you before you ask her to take the most important step in a woman's life. It is in my power to-day to make my conditions absolute, and I intend to use my power.
"You require a guarantee from me?" I said.
"Yes."
"And if I give it, will it be the means of separating me from Lauretta?"
"No."
The fears which had begun to agitate me vanished. What guarantee could Doctor Louis demand which I would refuse to give, so long as I was permitted to enjoy Lauretta's society?
"State what you require," I said.
"I require a sacred promise from you, to be repeated when you are in full possession of your faculties, that, until the expiration of twelve months from this day, you will not seek to obtain from my daughter any direct or indirect pledge of love by which she will be likely to deem herself bound."
"On the understanding that I am a free agent to stay in Nerac or leave it, and that you will not, directly or indirectly, do anything to cause Lauretta and me to be separated, I give you the promise you demand."
"I am satisfied," said Doctor Louis.
"A moment," I said, a sudden vague suspicion disturbing me; "there is something forgotten."
"Name it."
"You will bind yourself not to use your parental authority over Lauretta to induce her to enter into an engagement with, or to marry, any other man than me."
"I willingly bind myself; my desire is that she shall be free to choose."
Those were the last words which passed between us on that occasion; and soon afterwards Doctor Louis left me to my musings. They were not entirely of a rosy hue. At first I was in a glow of happiness at what it seemed to me I had learnt from between the lines of Doctor Louis's utterances. If he had not had good reason to suppose that Lauretta loved me, he would not have sought the interview. What had been said was like a question asked and answered, a question upon which the happiness of my life depended. And it had been answered in my favour. Lauretta loved me! What other joys did the world contain for me? What others were needed? None. Blessed with Lauretta's love, all sources and founts of bliss were mine. It did not immediately occur to me that the probation of twelve months' delay before heart was joined to heart was a penance, or that there was danger in it. But certain words which Doctor Louis had uttered presently recurred to me with ominous significance: "My desire is that she shall be free to choose." To choose! Were there, then, others who aspired to win Lauretta? The thought was torture.
To debate the matter with myself in hot blood I felt would be unwise; therefore I schooled my mind to a calmer mood, and then proceeded to review the position in which I stood with respect to the being who was all the world to me.
It was not to be supposed that Lauretta had grown to womanhood without forming friendships and acquaintances, but I had seen nothing to lead to the belief that her heart had responded to love's call before I appeared. She was sweet and tender to all, but that it was in her nature to be, and I had allowed myself to be strangely self-deceived if the hope and the belief were false that in her bearing towards me there was a deeper, sweeter tenderness than she exhibited to others. That she was unconscious of this was cause for stronger hope. But did it exist, or was it simply the outcome of my own feelings which led the word of promise to my ear?
To arrive at a correct conclusion it was necessary that I should become better informed with respect to the social habits of Doctor Louis's family. I had been until this day confined to a sick room, but I was growing strong, and I had looked forward with tranquil satisfaction to the prospect of recovering my usual health by slow stages. This was no longer my desire. I must get well quickly; I would will myself into health and strength. I was sure that even now I could walk unaided. By a determined effort I rose to my feet, and advancing three or four steps forward, stood upright and unsupported. But I had overtaxed myself; nature asserted her power; I strove to retrace my steps to the chair, staggered, and would have fallen to the ground had it not been that a light form glided to my side and held me up. Lauretta's arm was round me.
"Shall I call my father?" she asked in alarm.
"No, no; do not speak, do not move; call no one; I shall be well in a moment. I was trying my strength."
"It was wrong of you," she said, in a tone of sweetest chiding. "Strength! You have none. Why, I could vanquish you!"
"You have done so, Lauretta."
She gazed at me in innocent surprise, and I equivocated by asking,
"You are not angry at my calling you Lauretta?"
"No, indeed," she replied; "I should feel strange if you called me by any other name. Lean on me, and I will guide you to your chair. You will not hurt me; I am stronger than you think."
Her touch, her voice with its note of exquisite sympathy, made me faint with happiness, I sank into the chair, and still retained her hand, which she did not withdraw from me.
"Do you feel better?"
"Much better, Lauretta, thanks to your sweet help. Remain with me a little while."
"Yes, I will. It was fortunate my father sent me to you, or you might have fallen to the ground with your rash experiment."
"Your father sent you to me, Lauretta?"
"Yes."
This proof of confidence, after what had passed between us, did wonders for me. A weight was lifted from my heart, a cloud from my eyes. I would prove myself worthy of his confidence.
"The colour has come back to your face," said Lauretta. "You are better."
"I am almost quite well, Lauretta. I have been so great a burden to you and your good parents that I thought it was time to give up my idle ways and show I was capable of waiting upon myself."
"It was very, very wrong of you," she repeated. "And as wrong to say you are a burden to us. It is almost as if you believed we thought you were. I must tell my dear mother to scold you."
"No, do not tell her, Lauretta; it might pain her. I did not mean what I said. Let it be a secret between us."
"A secret!" she exclaimed, raising her eyes to my face. "I never had one; but there is no harm in this."
"You have no secrets, Lauretta?"
"Not one," she replied, with guileless frankness; "and I will promise that my mother shall not chide you if you will promise not to try to force yourself into strength. The wisest and cleverest man cannot do that. But perhaps you are weary of us, and wish to run away?"
"I should be content to remain here for ever, Lauretta."
"Well, then," she said gaily, "be patient for a few days, and, as my dear father would say, do not be inconsistent." She uttered the last four words in playful imitation of her father's voice, and I was enchanted with this revealment of innocent lightness in her nature. "But I am losing sight of his admonition."
"He bade you do something?"
"Yes; he said you might like me to read or play for you. Which shall I do?"
"Neither, Lauretta."
"Can I do nothing?"
"Yes; talk to me, Lauretta."
I was never tired of uttering her name. It was the sweetest word in all the languages.
"Well, then," she said, clasping her hands in her lap, she had gently withdrawn the hand I held, "what shall I talk about?"
"About your friends. When I am strong, I shall want to know them. Introduce me to them beforehand."
"I introduce you, then," she said with tender gravity, without losing touch of her lighter mood, "to everybody."
"Is everybody your friend, Lauretta?"
"Yes, everybody-truly! and it makes me very glad to know it."
"But there are special ones, Lauretta."
"Of course there are special ones. First, my dearest."
"Your parents?"
"Yes, they are the first, the best, the dearest. It is well known; my mother is an angel."
"I honour them, Lauretta."
"All do. That is why people like me; because I belong to them, and they to me."
"You are loved for yourself, Lauretta."
"No," she said, with pretty wilfulness, "because of them. Then there is Father Daniel, a saint, my mother says; then Eric and Emilius-and that is all, I think, who can be called special."
"Eric and Emilius?" I said, in the form of a question.
"Yes, they are brothers, handsome, brave, and strong. You will like them, I am sure you will."
Handsome, brave, and strong! I gave Lauretta a searching look, and she returned it smilingly. There was no blush, no self-consciousness. Why, then, should I feel disturbed? Why should Eric and Emilius become established in my mind as barriers to the happiness for which I yearned. I did not dare to trust myself to ask for information of these friends of Lauretta, so handsome, brave, and strong-I was fearful that my voice might betray me; and as I could converse on no other topic with ease, I remained silent while Lauretta chatted on sweetly and artlessly.
CHAPTER IX
I was quite well; the fever had entirely departed, and my ankle was as strong and sound as ever. I moved about freely, with a keen enjoyment of life, an enjoyment intensified by the happiness which I believed to be in store for me. Four weeks had passed since Lauretta had uttered the names of Eric and Emilius, and I had seen nothing of them. Not only had they not visited the house, but I was convinced they were not in the village. My jealous fears were dead. The hopes in which I indulged were strengthened by Doctor Louis's behavior towards me. There had been a short conversation between us on the subject of what had passed while he was endeavouring to mesmerise me on the first day of my convalescence. It was I who, to his manifest relief, broached the subject.
"I remember everything perfectly," I said, "every phase of my sensations, every word that was spoken, every thought that occurred to me. Although my eyes were sealed, I saw you plainly, and it seemed to me that I could see what was passing through your mind."
"It is frank of you," said Doctor Louis, "to say so much. Was I in error in supposing that you were resisting me?"
"Not entirely in error," I replied. "I was aware of your design, and I strove to exercise over you, to some extent, a power similar to that you were exercising over me. If I did nothing else, I gave you pause."
"Yes," he said, "you compelled me to wait your pleasure, and now and then, instead of being dictated to, dictated. That, to me, was a new condition of a psychic force at present in its infancy, but which, at some not too distant time, will be the means of producing marvellous revealments."
"What brought us into harmony," I observed, "was the fact that the subject was one which commanded our entire and undivided sympathies."
"My daughter."
"Yes, your daughter Lauretta."
"You obtained a promise from me which was to be confirmed I infer in such a conversation as we are holding now. I confirm it. And you, on your part, will abide by the engagement into which you entered with me respecting Lauretta."
"Assuredly."
We clasped hands, and directed our conversation into another channel. The agreement we had made necessitated certain action with respect to my residence in Nerac during the period of probation. I felt that it would be scarcely right for me to continue to live in the doctor's house; even were a closer tie not in contemplation, it would have been indelicate on my part to encroach upon the hospitality of these generous friends. It was for me to make the first move in the matter, and I did so when we were sitting together after the evening meal.
"I have had it for some time in my mind," I said, "to endeavour to express my heartfelt thanks for all the kindness you have shown me; but although I am not usually at a loss for words, I am at a loss to carry out my wish in a fitting manner."
"It is enough," said Lauretta's mother, with a gentle inclination of her head. "Having said so much, there is no need for anything more. Do not distress yourself. What has been done has been cheerfully and willingly done, and your restoration to health is the best return you could make for the slight service we have been able to render you."
"There was a time," I remarked, "when I myself might have regarded the saving of my life a slight service; that was when I deemed life of little value, when I thought there was little in the world worth caring for. But it is different now; my life is precious to me, and the world is very beautiful."
"It is," said Doctor Louis, "all a question of the liver. The world is bright or dark according to the state of our digestions."
He often interjected these pleasant discordances, upon which we placed their proper value, knowing that they were introduced chiefly for the purpose of giving a healthy turn to the conversation. This did not, however, detract from the wisdom of his utterances, which were nuts with sound kernels within.
"Therefore," I continued, smiling at the doctor, and becoming grave immediately afterwards, "what you have done for me is of inestimable value, and cannot be priced. There is only one way of showing my gratitude, and that way lies in the future, not in the present. It shall be my endeavour to prove to you that your precious kindness has not been wasted."
Lauretta's mother nodded and looked kindly at me, and then turned her eyes of full love upon her daughter, who was sitting by her side. Between me and Lauretta's mother no words had been exchanged with reference to the dear wish of my heart, but without being told I knew that Doctor Louis had imparted to his wife all the particulars of what had passed between us, and that she was aware that I stood in the position of one who desired to win their Home Rose for my wife. There was a new tenderness and solicitude in the mother's looks which deeply moved me.
"Then there is another matter," I said, "upon which I hope we shall be in accord. I am mustering up courage to leave you."
"I feared, mother," said Lauretta, and it delighted me to note that her voice was tremulous, "that he was growing weary of us. I told him so a little while since, I think."
"And my reply was," I said, "that I should be content to remain here for ever; but that can scarcely be. I have no intention of leaving Nerac, however."
"Of course not, of course not," said Doctor Louis; "the air here is so fine, so much finer than it is anywhere else-"
"Very much finer," I said.
"And the fruit is so delicious, so much more delicious than it is anywhere else-"
"Much more delicious," I said.
"And the skies are so bright, so much brighter than they are anywhere else-"
"Much brighter."
"And the flowers are so much lovelier, and the stars are so much more brilliant-"
"The doctor and I," I said, entering into his mood, and addressing his wife and daughter, "so perfectly agree."
They smiled, but in Lauretta's smile there was a tender wistfulness.
"Then the people," continued Doctor Louis; "they are so much superior, so much more refined, so much higher-"
"Indeed," I said, with a touch of earnestness, "that has been truly proved to me."
"No, no," said Doctor Louis, "I am not to be turned from the track by sentiment. It has been left to our young friend to discover-all honour to him-that, taking us altogether, we in the little village of Nerac here are a very exceptional lot. Now, I have only to make this public to bring us an inch nearer to the sun. The least we can do for him is to present him with a testimonial."
"Which he is ready to accept," I said gaily; "but, doctor, you omitted to mention one important thing."
"What is it?"
"My health; it will take a considerable time to establish it, and it cannot be established elsewhere."
"A poor compliment to my skill," observed Doctor Louis, quizzically. "Ah, I always thought I was a pretender, but until this moment no one has had the courage to tell me so to my face."
"Be serious, Louis," said his wife.
"I am dumb," he rejoined, with a comical look.
I then unfolded my plan. It was my desire to take a house in Nerac, not at too great a distance from the house of Doctor Louis, in which I could reside, with two or three servants to attend to it and me. I had seen such a house on the borders of a forest about a mile and a half away, which appeared to me to have been long uninhabited. The grounds in which it was built and the gardens by which it was surrounded had been neglected by man, but there was much wild beauty in them, and a little care and attention would soon bring them into order. The place had attracted me, and I had spent an hour in wandering through the grounds, and had attempted, also, to enter the house to examine it, but the doors were locked. Attached to the house was a cottage, which I supposed had been the gardener's cottage. This little dwelling was literally imbedded in climbing wild roses, which had grown in wonderful luxuriance upon all its walls. There were stables also, which I judged would afford accommodation for half a dozen horses.
In some respects the estate reminded me of Rosemullion, which, considering the kind of life I had passed therein, might not have been considered an attraction; nevertheless, I found myself insensibly drawn towards it. Its points of resemblance were that the house stood alone, and could not be overlooked; that it was at some distance from other habitations; and that it was on the borders of a wood. In one respect it was pleasantly dissimilar. No stone walls surrounded it; there was not even a fence; the fine trees around it had been so arranged by man or nature as to form an intelligible barrier, which, however, any person was at liberty to pass. The gloom of Rosemullion did not, therefore, pervade it, and, living there, I should not feel as if I were cut off from communion with my fellows.
I had visited it on a bright day; the sun was shining, the birds were singing in the trees; and when I visited it, and as I wandered through the grounds, I was thinking of Lauretta. But when, indeed, was I not thinking of her? She was my sun, my light, my life. All aspects of nature were rendered beautiful by thought of her; she was to me the essence of joy; through her, and through her only, my heart was a garden. Through her I discovered beauties even in nature's sad moods; her spiritual presence was never absent from me. She moved by my side when I strolled unaccompanied through the quaint little thoroughfares of the village and the sweet and solemn woods in the valleys of which it lay; alone in my chamber she was ever with me; she was not only life of my life, she was my religion-I who had had no religion, and to whom the sacred peace of church or chapel had never come. My father had never taken me by the hand and led me to a place of worship; I had read the Bible, not as a religious study, but for the most part as a collection of amusing, improbable romances. There was certainly one character in it which had deeply impressed me-the character of Isaiah, for whose wild prophetic life I entertained a profound admiration. Otherwise, the book simply entertained me. It was different now. Not that I read the Bible in a newer light, or indeed that I read it at all, but that, through Lauretta, I became amenable to certain influences of a religious nature. I sat with her in the pretty chapel of the village in which Father Daniel officiated, and the hushed air within the building, and the voices of the choir of children, and the tender, sacred music, had upon me a purifying influence. The music was Lauretta's; the angel voices were Lauretta's; the tender peace was Lauretta's; the priest's consoling, compassionate admonitions were Lauretta's. What mystic thoughts of a higher future state these matters brought dimly to my mind were inspired by Lauretta. It was she for whose sweet sake I gave Father Daniel money for his poor. Through her I saw "good in everything;" through her I inhaled it.
The money I gave to Father Daniel was given privately, but I did not think of laying an injunction of secrecy upon him, and it became known. I was guiltless of any wish to earn praise for my actions in that or in any other respect, but a reward most disproportionate, but most sweet, was bestowed upon me by words and looks from Lauretta and her mother.
"It is good of you," said Lauretta's mother.
"You almost make me ashamed," I said.
"Why?" asked Lauretta's mother. "It gladdens us. I am learning not only to know you but to love you."
Precious were those words from her lips; but afterwards, when I offered my contributions to Father Daniel I asked him not to speak of them. I think he respected my wish, but nevertheless I gained a reputation for charity in Nerac which did me no harm.
To return to the conversation respecting the house I desired to take.
It was well known to Doctor Louis and his family, and of course to all in the village, and one reason why it had remained for so long a time uninhabited was that it was a gentleman's house, and no person rich enough had desired to become its tenant.
"It is filled with old furniture," said Doctor Louis, "and a man with a large family could be tolerably comfortable there, no doubt. There were gay doings in it once upon a time. A nobleman inhabited it for many years, and entertained shoals of visitors. He was not a favourite in Nerac, and took no pains to make himself one, looking down upon us as somewhat too common for intimate association; and as we have a pride of our own, we returned his scornful opinion of us in kind. He died there, and his affairs were found to be hopelessly involved. Since then the house has been empty. The agents, a firm of lawyers, live a hundred miles away, but there will be no difficulty in communicating with them if you are really serious in wishing to occupy it."
"I am quite serious," I said.
"You will be lonely there," said Lauretta's mother.
"You must remember," I said, "that until I came here I have lived a life of solitude."
"Have we not cured you of that?" she asked.
"Of the desire for a life of solitude? Yes. It is only that I am accustomed to it, and that it is not so irksome to me as it would be to others. But why talk of my being lonely unless you have decided to banish me from your society?"
"We shall be happy to have you here as often as you care to come," said Lauretta's mother. "Meanwhile you will remain with us, and we can be of assistance to you in settling yourself. Left to your own devices in arranging matters, you would make, I am afraid, a sad bungle of them."
It was settled so, and in a few days the keys of the house arrived, and we all set out together to inspect it. We found it charming, but very musty. Some of the rooms were spacious, some small and cosy. Of bedrooms there were at least a dozen, all amply furnished; but Lauretta's mother shook her head when she examined the linen, and declared that it would occupy some time and much labour to put it in order. I asked her to take direction of the affair, and she consented to do so. We decided which rooms were to be locked up and which used, and in which way the furniture was to be disposed of. The agents, in reply to my letter, had sent an inventory, which I would have taken for granted, but Lauretta's mother would not have it so, and chided me for my easiness.
"What would you have?" said Doctor Louis. "It was his misfortune to be born a man, and what does he knows of sheets and curtains and footstools?"
"He will not want footstools," said Lauretta's mother.
"Indeed I shall," I declared, "and everything feminine. Am I to be shut up here alone, without ever a visit from my friends?"
"Oh," said Lauretta's mother, "we will come and see you if you invite us."
"Therefore, footstools," said I gravely.
There was, indeed, a great deal to be done, and it did not surprise me to discover that Lauretta's mother was thoroughly practical in all household matters. Lauretta herself gave her opinion and advice, timidly and shyly, and not a word she said was lost upon me. Subsequently, when the work was done and I was duly installed in my new residence, she was delighted to see that every hint she had given had been acted upon.
"The first necessary thing," said Lauretta's mother, "is to hire some one to take care of the place and look after it while the workmen are employed. It should be a gardener, who could usefully employ his time, and who, perhaps, might afterwards be permanently engaged, if he gives satisfaction."
"I know the very man," said Doctor Louis. "Martin Hartog, who is seeking employment. A faithful fellow, and capable."
"He has a daughter, too," said Lauretta's mother, "who could look after-"
"The footstools," said Doctor Louis.
"His character is excellent," said Lauretta's mother; "it is a pity he is so eccentric."
"His eccentricity," said Doctor Louis to me, "consists in his having opinions. For instance, he does not believe in kings and queens; he believes in the universal equality of man. For another instance, he is supposed to be a materialist; yet I never heard of his doing wrong to a fellowman, and I am sure he would scorn to rob even the rich. For my part, I have a respect for Martin Hartog, and so has my wife, whose only sorrow with respect to him is that she cannot convert him."
"He is a conscientious man," said Lauretta's mother, "and will faithfully perform any duty he undertakes."
"As good an epitaph," said Doctor Louts, "as could be graven upon any tombstone."
The next day Martin Hartog was engaged, but when I spoke to him about his daughter he declined to allow her to enter service. He had always maintained her, and he hoped to be always able to do so. She could live with him in the gardener's cottage attached to the house, and he promised that I should never find her in my way. If I objected to her living with him in the cottage he would remain where he was, and come to his work every morning, and if that would not do, why, he could not accept the employment I offered him. What particularly struck me in him was the tender tones in which he spoke of his daughter; she was evidently the treasure of his life. In the course of a day or two, when I saw her-for Martin was engaged upon his own conditions, which were quite suitable to me-I was not surprised at this, for she was a maiden of singular beauty.
I pass over all further details with respect to the house of which I became the tenant. It will be sufficient to say that the work proceeded satisfactorily, though its complete execution occupied a longer time than I expected. I spared no money, and insisted upon the appointments, within and without, being of such an order as to be worthy of the dear friends whom I hoped to receive often as my guests. The association between me and the members of Doctor Louis's family grew closer and more binding in its intimate relationship; perfect confidence was established between us, and it made me glad to think that they regarded me almost as one of themselves. I faithfully observed the contract into which I had entered with Doctor Louis; nearly three months of the twelve belonged to the past, and nothing had occurred to disturb my tranquillity.
