Flora Adair; or, Love Works Wonders. Vol. 2 (of 2)

by A. M. Donelan

CHAPTER III.

Shortly afterwards they came down to tea, Flora feeling very shy and conscious. When they had finished, Mr. Earnscliffe said he would go out to smoke a cigar; and as he left the room, he gave Flora a look which seemed to say that as soon as possible he would be glad to have some other company besides that of the cigar. Marie, with delicate tact, followed his example, declaring that she must go to her room to mend her dress, which she had torn. Then Flora went and knelt beside her mother and said, "Mamma, Mr. Earnscliffe has proposed to me."

"What! Mr. Earnscliffe—the woman-hater, as you used to call him!"

"He is not a universal woman-hater now, mamma," replied Flora, with a little smile of triumph.

"So it seems; but what answer have you given?"

"Mamma! can you ask?"

"Which means, I suppose, that you have accepted him; but, my child, you know that he is not a believer in religion. If he were to become a Christian, then, indeed, I should not object to him as a son-in-law; whilst he remains in his present sentiments, however, you surely will not think of marrying him."

Flora started up, saying, "Not think of marrying him! Oh! mamma! But he is virtually a believer in Eternal Truth, if a yearning desire to know it constitutes one; he could not be the man he is, nor could I worship him so fully as I do, if error had ever been capable of satisfying him. From his early youth he has had a craving for truth which has never yet been appeased; the right means only have been wanting to lead him into the body of the Church, and to give rest to his soaring spirit. Then, mamma, do not, do not in pity say that I must not marry him, or you will break my heart; you will divide it between the two whom I love best on earth. You know well that no other man ever excited in me even a passing fancy, and I love Mr. Earnscliffe as only a woman can who has never loved before. I was so happy an hour ago when he asked me to be his, and now, mamma, you will not turn my happiness into wretchedness?" Flora knelt down again, and hid her burning face in her mother's lap.

Mrs. Adair's eyes filled with tears as she wound her arms round Flora, and said, "I cannot make you wretched, my precious one, when my only object on earth is your happiness; so I will not forbid you to marry him—besides, good seldom comes of forbidding marriages—but I beseech you to pause; take time to see if he will really become a Christian."

"I cannot oppose him, mamma; you may say anything you like to him about waiting, and if he consents to wait it is all right. I have no will but his, and I cannot begin to thwart him now when I ought to begin to practise that most sweet duty which is to be mine—the duty of obeying him even in trifles. Besides, his life has been so unhappy that it would be cruel in me to hesitate about granting whatever he wishes. Go to him, mamma, and do all you can to persuade him to wait for whatever time you wish to name, but do not ask me to join in opposing him—only let me be neutral."

"My poor child, I see yours is a hopeless case; but come with me, and I will say all that I think right before you."

Mrs. Adair kissed her again and again, then stood up, and putting her arm round her waist, led her out to meet Mr. Earnscliffe.

A little way down the walk they saw Mr. Earnscliffe leaning against a tree, and smoking furiously; as soon as he perceived them, he advanced quickly to meet them, and said, in an eager tone, "You are come to give me Flora, Mrs. Adair, are you not?"

"I cannot keep her from you, Mr. Earnscliffe; your conquest is indeed complete, so take her"—and she placed Flora's hand in Mr. Earnscliffe's. He kissed Flora's forehead warmly, then took Mrs. Adair's hand, and put it to his lips as he answered, "Oh, that I knew how to thank you, Mrs. Adair! At least you shall see how I will guard the precious trust which you now place in my hands."

"Do not thank me, Mr. Earnscliffe; I give her to you not as a free gift. Let us walk on,—I wish to speak to you very seriously."

He turned, and drawing Flora's arm within his own, he walked between her and Mrs. Adair, murmuring in a low tone to Flora, "You are mine now, indeed."

Mrs. Adair then began, "I said that I do not give you Flora as a free gift, Mr. Earnscliffe, and it is because you are not a believer in religion. You possess everything else that I could possibly desire for her in a husband, but what is there that can make up for the want of faith? It is a fearful risk for a Christian to marry an unbeliever; it is endangering that faith without which 'it is impossible to please God;' therefore I urged Flora—as strongly as a parent could urge without using authority—not to accept you. But, 'tis true, one does not reason where one loves: she would not listen to anything, and so implored me not to make her wretched for life by refusing to let her marry you,—that I could not do so. But I think I have a right to ask that you should wait a year, and try if you cannot during that time see the truth of religion."

"A year! Mrs. Adair! If you knew what my life has been, you would not ask me to wait so long before I may enjoy the only gleam of sunshine which has been granted to me during ten long lonely years. Give her to me at once, and she will teach me better than any one else can. I hope you do not think so badly of me as to imagine that I would care less to arrive at the knowledge of truth because I had already won her. If you could feel what it would be to one who has been buffeted about as I have been from opinion to opinion, to find rest in certain truth, you would not dread my leaving any means untried in order to obtain it; and to keep Flora from me can make no difference, as even for her dear sake I could not profess to believe unless I did so fully. However, it shall be as Flora wishes. I will abide by her decision whatever it may cost me; I would serve fourteen years for her, as we are told that Jacob did for Rachel. Now, Flora, say, must I suffer on through another year of loneliness and misery? or will you trust me with yourself at once, and have sufficient confidence in me to believe that I will use every effort to do and be all that I can to make you happy here and hereafter?" He let go her hand as if to leave her perfectly free, but she pressed her face against his arm, as Mrs. Adair said earnestly, "Flora, think what it is for a Christian to marry an unbeliever! Let there be this year's trial, and such a sacrifice to the advice of the Church will merit happiness for you both."

"Yes," added Mr. Earnscliffe, bitterly, "and so needlessly inflict twelve long months of suffering on him whom you love, and who for ten years has known nothing else—this, too, merely in obedience to the advice of your Church. If it gives you leave to marry me at once, will you refuse me? Flora, is it to be so?"

Poor Flora! what would she not have given not to be called upon to decide the question, to grant Mr. Earnscliffe's prayer. She knew that it was an act of weakness to consent to his wishes, but she had not the almost superhuman courage to inflict such pain as her refusal would give him, and from her own lips, too! No, she could not do it, and with her head still pressed against his arm, she murmured, "Mamma, I told you that I could not oppose Mr. Earnscliffe in anything which was not in contradiction to our Holy Faith. If he chooses me to marry him at once I must do it—that is, if I am permitted, and you do not positively forbid me."

"My own true Flora!" exclaimed Mr. Earnscliffe.

"God help her, poor child!" said Mrs. Adair, with a sigh.

"Do not say God help, but God bless her, Mrs. Adair. Had I your faith I would say God bless her ten thousand times over for her perfect trust in the world-wearied man."

Flora glided away from Mr. Earnscliffe's side, and went round to her mother, to whom she clung fondly, saying, "But you must not be angry with me, mamma; I could not help it; and you must bless me too, or it will be a miserable closing to a happy day. You must not make me feel that my love for him is pain to you—it would be too dreadful if the two strong feelings of my life were to clash."

"They shall not clash, my darling child, and of course I will bless you. I only want you to be happy; but I fear that you are grasping too eagerly at happiness—what if it were to be taken from you?"

Flora shuddered from head to foot, and cried, "Oh, don't, don't, mamma dearest,—let me be happy whilst I may without thinking of dark possibilities; only bless me and"—in a low tone—"him!"

Mrs. Adair kissed her with overweaning affection, and said, "God bless you, my own sweet child, and give him whom you love the great boon of Faith. Take her again, Mr. Earnscliffe, she is indeed yours." Once more she placed her hand in Mr. Earnscliffe's, who again drew her round to his side as he replied—

"Mrs. Adair, I can only say, as before, that you shall see how little cause you will have to regret letting me have her at once. And let it be all arranged now. When may we be married?"

"We expect to reach Paris in about ten days; there, if you choose; all the necessary preparations can be made, and the marriage solemnized."

"That will answer so nicely. From Paris I can take a run to England, and have the settlements—of which you and I, Mrs. Adair, can speak at our leisure—drawn up."

"There are not any settlements to be made, Edwin," said Flora, shyly, and for the first time calling him by his Christian name; "you know I have not any fortune."

"But I must make a provision for all future possibilities. Suppose, for instance, that you were to be left a widow; you must have a jointure."

"You are as bad as mamma, I declare—you both seem to foresee nothing but misfortunes for me."

"Heaven forbid!" exclaimed Mrs. Adair. "But we had better go in now; it is getting late and chilly."

"Chilly, mamma! why I find it quite hot, and it is so beautiful out here; really one does not know which to admire more, Achensee by sunset or by moonlight—it is exquisite at both times."

"I daresay you find it so," replied Mrs. Adair; "but I can answer for it its beauty does not keep me warm. Besides we ought to go in to Marie—she will feel so alone."

"That's true—how selfish I was to forget poor little Mignonne! she will feel alone."

They walked back to the hotel, and Mrs. Adair went in; Mr. Earnscliffe and Flora remained out a few minutes more. He thought he had a right to get a parting embrace from his betrothed, and Flora was not prude enough or coquette enough to try to withhold it from him. She could no more think of being capricious or tantalising towards her lover than she could of treating him coldly in order to increase his fervour,—as she had said to her mother, her only thought was how best to please him. The playfully capricious school of heroine is, we know, the favourite style in novels, but is not Shakespeare's Juliet a higher conception of a loving woman, as she says—

"But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true
Than those that have more cunning to be strange?"

Mrs. Adair's voice was heard calling, "Come, Flora." Mr. Earnscliffe let her go, saying, "I believe, after all, I must learn quickly to love God, that in perfect faith I may be able to ask Him to bless thee."

They joined Mrs. Adair, who said, holding out her hand to Mr. Earnscliffe, "Good-night. It is already late, and we start early to-morrow, so we must rest now."

"So soon, Mrs. Adair? But you have granted me so great a boon to-night that I cannot object to anything you wish; you have made me your most grateful and obedient subject for ever. Good-night then," and he kissed her hand.

They looked round for Flora, but she had disappeared. Mrs. Adair smiled, and said, "I dare say you have wished her good-night already, and she probably did not want to have the private good-night spoiled by a public one, so ran away."

Mr. Earnscliffe smiled too, as he handed Mrs. Adair her candle, and taking his hat he went out again.

Mrs. Adair was right. Flora had run away—she had gone up to Marie. As she entered the room the light of the moon showed her Marie sitting in the window, looking sadly dejected, and going over to her she put her arms round her, saying, "Poor darling Mignonne!"

Large tears rolled slowly down Marie's cheeks as she said in French, "Don't think me ill-natured, Flore—don't imagine that I would not do anything that I could to promote your happiness, but I felt so lonely; I felt that I was a stranger amongst you. Now that you are with me, however, and as fond as ever, it is all well, and I am so glad if you are happy, Flore. But Monsieur Earnscliffe is not un croyant, so I suppose you cannot marry him until he becomes one?"

Flora felt almost angry with Marie. Was there never to be an end of this question of religion? She subdued the feeling, however, and answered gently, "Mignonne, if Mr. Barkley were not a croyant, as you say, and if he came to you and told you how for years and years he had known only suffering, but that now he loved you and that you could make him forget it all if you would marry him at once, would you—could you say to him, 'No, suffer on until you become one of the body of the faithful?' Could you condemn him you love to endure pain which you could relieve? Could you refuse, even for a time, to fulfil the office for which woman was created—that of consoling and rendering happy one whom she loves?"

"I know it would be fearfully difficult," replied Marie, looking very much puzzled; "but if you were told it was right to do so, what then?"

"If the Church forbade me to marry him I would of course submit. But what misery it would be to make him endure one hour's suffering from which I might save him. Thank God, I know that there is no indispensable obstacle to my marrying him—it would be too dreadful."

"Take care, Flore, there may be some indispensable obstacle although you know it not."

"Mignonne, wish me joy at having won the love of such a man, rather than suggest obstacles to our happiness; it is a bad omen to hear of nothing but objections on the night of one's betrothal. God knows that 'sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,'" and again Flora shuddered.

"I do wish you joy, Flora, now and for ever, and I will daily pray that Monsieur Earnscliffe may soon be as firm a believer as you are yourself."

"Thanks, dear Mignonne, it is so unselfish of you to think about me now in the midst of your own trial."

"I was not unselfish a few minutes ago, Flore, when I saw you and Monsieur Earnscliffe together, and his kiss of betrothal imprinted on your brow made me cry; yet indeed it was not that I envied you, Flore, but it made me feel how different everything was for me."

"You need not tell me that it was not envy, Mignonne. I verily believe that you would not know envy if you were to see it, so you might indeed answer with regard to it as Nelson did when somebody spoke to him of fear, 'What's fear? I never saw it.'"

"It is very gentil of you to say so, Flore; but I want to talk about yourself. I want you to tell me all about it,—how long you have cared for Monsieur Earnscliffe; when you discovered that he liked you,—everything, enfin."

"It will only pain you, Mignonne,—only recall Florence."

"But it will be such sweet pain, Flore; do tell me?"

"Yes, anything you like, darling," answered Flora, who certainly was just in the mood to-night to do whatever could give anybody pleasure. So they had a long chat over this prolific subject to young ladies—a love affair. Then Flora went in to Mrs. Adair, and nearly an hour passed before she sought her own room.

It was the last on the corridor, and had a balcony looking upon the lake, so she was tempted to go out and look again on the beautiful scene without. To any one Achensee would have looked surpassingly lovely on that clear moonlight night, but to Flora Adair its beauty spoke with one of those voices "which set the inmost music of our souls a-going," singing a song which requires no words, yet breathing a prayer to heaven to be made more worthy of ministering to the object of our love, and to be enabled to make him happy. At length she muttered half aloud, "What bliss it was to hear him say that I had done him good!—my Edwin!"

"Flora!"

She started, but more with pleasure than fear, at the sound of her own name, as she saw Mr. Earnscliffe come from under the shadow of the trees and stand facing the balcony as he said, "I saw you come out, and I have been watching you ever since. It was so delightful to see you there, and know that you were thinking of me. I even heard a sound which seemed very like Edwin; but it would have been still more delightful if I could have been standing up there beside you."

Flora blushed and laughed as she answered, "Well, I must say it was very wicked of you to be out here eaves-dropping when you ought to have been in bed; and pray, why are you not there?"

"Might I not ask the same question, fair lady?"

"No, it is quite a different thing for me. A lady may have work and a thousand other things to keep her up, but a man has no such excuse."

"And does standing on a balcony in the moonlight get a lady's work done for her?"

"Such a question does not merit any answer. But you will go in now, will you not? It is really very late."

"Do you wish me to go?"

"I think you ought to go."

"That is not saying whether you wish me to go or not; if you do, I will go."

"Unfortunately wish and ought are very often at variance, and so they are now; wish says, 'stay out and enjoy this beautiful night,' and ought, 'go in and to bed.' But now I must obey ought for I have been very refractory of late."

"In what?"

"In not listening to its voice, which told me to wait a year before I gave a certain person of my acquaintance the right to plague me with his presence at all seasons and hours; so now good-night indeed."

"Stay a moment longer, Flora; do not go yet."

"If I stay a moment it may probably stretch into an hour, and it really must not be; good-bye again, but only till to-morrow." She retreated into her room as he kissed hands to her; the window was closed, and he too went in for good.

We can imagine that, although it was very late when Flora got to bed, she was up betimes next morning, and took a stroll before breakfast, and of course it is unnecessary to say that her stroll was not a solitary one. Again they wandered down that walk which borders the lake,—that lake which evermore will be mirrored in Flora's memory as she saw it at eventide with the snowy mountains around it, crimsoned by the setting sun; then as it lay calm and unruffled in the pale silvery moonlight; and lastly as on that morning when the sun shone full upon it, and a light breeze tossed its waters into sparkling, dancing waves. It will ever be to her

"The greenest spot on memory's waste."

When they got a little way from the hotel, Mr. Earnscliffe said, "Mrs. Adair was so kind as to say that all the arrangements for our marriage could be made in Paris, and that she expects to arrive there in about ten days, but I want you to name the day when you will give yourself to me 'for better, for worse.' I feel a feverish impatience to have you in my own keeping—to be certain that nothing on earth can separate us more."

"What could separate us now, Edwin?"—she pronounced his name shyly; then laughed and looked up at him, saying, "Do you know that I still feel half afraid to call you by your Christian name; it sounds so strange that I should have the right to take such a liberty with so grand and unapproachable a personage as you are."

"What, child, afraid of your captive! You ought rather to triumph in your victory over one who made so fierce a resistance; and pray don't have the least fear of wounding your captive's pride by taking such liberties with him. You can never know how sweet it sounded to him last night when first he heard you say Edwin."

"Well then, Edwin, I ask again what could separate us now? Surely you have ceased to doubt me, and know that the chains in which you hold me cannot be riveted any tighter; the marriage ceremony will only bless them, and give me its sacred sanction to dwell in the mighty shadow of your love."

"Ceased to doubt you, dearest! Of course I have. There is no real love without trust; but I want you to be mine beyond the reach of all danger. I am like a man who has found some rich treasure in an open field, and can feel no rest or peace until he can convey it into his house and revel in its possession; until then he dreads, he knows not what, but that something may rob him of what is so precious to him. But does the treasure not wish to be taken home? Would it rather be left where it is for some time longer?"

"Oh, Edwin!"

"Then, the day, Flora—the day!"

She paused for a moment, and then said in a low tone—

"The happiest day I have ever known until now was the 21st of June, the great feast of my dear school days, and its happiness consisted in the power of being nearly all the time with my favourite mistress, the object of my girlish love; so let my wedding day be the 21st of June, that day which will give me the unutterable happiness of being always with the love of my riper years; and thus the 21st of June will be to me the happiest day of my life in youth as in childhood. Are you satisfied, Edwin?"

She blushed all over as she spoke, and still more so when his answer was to fold her in his arms, and murmur—

"My wife, then, in a few weeks hence!" Then he added, letting her go, but making her lean upon him again, "I will write to England immediately and desire all the papers to be got ready, so that I shall only have the signing work to do when I go there from Paris."

"But you will not be long away, Edwin, will you?"

"Trust me, I'll not stay longer than is absolutely necessary; but I must pay a flying visit to Earnscliffe Court to give orders about its being fitted up for your reception. Shall I take you to it—my real home—at once, darling?"

"Please, Edwin. Would it be possible to get there from Paris without stopping on the way? That would be so pleasant."

"So it would; and I'll think about how we can manage. The old place will bring up many painful memories, for I have not been there for more than ten years; but you will exorcise all those ghosts of the past, my Flora."

"It shall not be my fault if I do not, Edwin."

"Then in September I must whirl you off to Capri. I promised my poor fisherpeople there to go and see them again as soon as I could; but I almost doubt if they will know me, for I shall have grown so young-looking in this new atmosphere of happiness. How much I shall have to show you on those classic shores!"

"How bright a picture, Edwin: its brightness dazzles me. Oh, that it may be realised!"

"Why should it not be realised? Now I may ask, why do you doubt it?"

"Because it is too—too bright for me, Edwin. But we must return, or we shall be late for breakfast, and then mamma will not be pleased."

When they got into the breakfast-room, they found Mrs. Adair and Marie there. Flora had jestingly told the latter that she must congratulate Mr. Earnscliffe the first time she met him; but, of course, never meant that she should take it seriously. However, as Mr. Earnscliffe shook hands with Marie and wished her good-morning, she said, timidly—

"I wish you much happiness, Mr. Earnscliffe; and it would be very astonishing if you were not happy when you shall have Flore."

"I quite agree with you, Mademoiselle Mignonne: it would be very astonishing. But what do you say of Flora? If you were in her place, would you likewise say that it would be very astonishing if you were not to be happy?"

"Oh, that is all another thing, Monsieur. I would have fear of you; but Flora has not."

This speech of Marie's caused a general laugh, which covered the poor child with confusion; but Flora said gaily—

"Never mind, Mignonne! What you said was perfectly true:—I am not dreadfully afraid of the formidable Mr. Earnscliffe. I don't suppose that he will chop me up into mincemeat. But here comes the coffee, and we must not let it get cold."

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