Gerald Eversley's Friendship: A Study in Real Life

by J. E. C. Welldon

Lady Venniker did not say, but it was easy for Gerald Eversley, reading between the lines of the letter with the quickened instinct of love, to apprehend, that it was her own sweet influence, exercised in his behalf, which had won her husband’s consent to her writing this letter. Lord Venniker was moved by the natural aristocratic sentiment in favour of a high marriage for his only daughter. But in Lady Venniker’s beautiful and selfless mind considerations of rank were not weighed against the natural feelings of two young souls. If Ethel and Gerald were destined by Providence for each other, she would thankfully assent to their union. And she who had known most of Gerald’s spiritual troubles knew best the Christian spirit in which he had borne them. She thought and hoped that, in uniting his life to Ethel’s, he would find his way back to his Saviour.

It did not escape the keen observation of Mrs. Eversley that, when Gerald received the letter with the familiar postmark of Helmsbury, but in a handwriting which Mrs. Eversley did not remember to have seen before, his face became suffused with a sudden deep blush as he read it, he scanned the last part of it hurriedly and (she thought) as if he were ashamed of it, and soon afterwards, without finishing his breakfast, made some excuse for going out of the room. She had fancied for a day or two before that he was unusually restless, like one who is exerting himself to suppress some strong emotion, and that he looked with singular anxiety each morning to see if a letter had come for him. Her curiosity was not lessened when Gerald returned half an hour after leaving the breakfast table, saying that he had received an unexpected invitation to Helmsbury, and that he must go there at once. But his visits to Helmsbury had been so frequent that Mr. Eversley saw nothing strange in this invitation, and Mrs. Eversley soon ceased to trouble herself about it amidst the multitude of her domestic duties and her ‘good works.’ Gerald left Kestercham the same day in time to catch the train indicated in Lady Venniker’s letter.

Lord Venniker’s brougham was awaiting him when he reached Helmsbury Station, and he drove to the Hall. His heart sank a little as he passed through the long avenue of chestnuts leading to the draw-bridge outside the great gates of the courtyard. Lord Venniker greeted him with his usual hearty good nature; but as he shook hands with him he said only, ‘Well, Eversley, your train must have been in good time. Fortune favours the brave, you see’—a remark which Harry Venniker, who was sitting with his father in the small drawing-room when Gerald came in, did not wholly understand. Lady Venniker, who was alone in her boudoir, said nothing upon the subject that was next her heart and his, but he thought that the pressure of her hand was even warmer and tenderer than of old. Miss Venniker, as has been said, was away from home; she would return to-morrow. To-morrow! So Gerald enjoyed a respite of a few hours. It seemed strange to him that Harry—his friend of long eventful years—should be the one person left in ignorance of the great secret.

In Helmsbury Park, beneath a spreading ancient cedar, is a rustic bench, which for a time—a short time only—was known to the family at the Hall as The Lovers’ Seat. It is never so called now. There it was that Gerald Eversley found his opportunity of revealing (if indeed it was a revelation) all his love to the delicate and lovely girl who had made his heart her own. It happened in this way. Lord Venniker and his son and daughter and Gerald himself had gone out for a walk after luncheon. By a curious accident (which has never been satisfactorily explained) Gerald and Miss Venniker, lingering a little behind the others—for the others would walk so fast that it was impossible to keep pace with them—chanced to take one turning at a place where two roads parted, when Lord Venniker and Harry had taken the other. They did not discover their mistake until it was too late to retrieve it. Then they turned back and sat down on the rustic bench beneath the cedar. Gerald poured out his soul in those pure passionate words, ever old and ever new, which lovers have used, with more or less identity of phrase, since the days of the Garden of Eden, and yet no lover (it would seem) has ever used so truly as he who uses them to-day. It would be a sacrilege to try to report them here. Miss Venniker listened to them with downcast eyes and flushing cheek. When they were done—nay, before he had quite finished speaking them—she put her hand, without saying a word, in his. Just then a cloud which had veiled the sun for a minute passed away, and they were bathed in the effulgence of light. Did not a cloud too pass away from a human heart?

If life be a wilderness, it has its oases where the grass is green and the music of sweet waters is low.

The beautiful autumnal day was sinking to rest when Gerald Eversley and Ethel Venniker, walking slowly, drew near to the Hall, and, without saying anything to anybody, went to their bedrooms.

There was a small dinner party at Helmsbury Hall that evening.

‘I say, Gerald,’ said Harry in the presence of some of the guests as soon as Gerald Eversley entered the reception-room, ‘what became of you and Ethel this afternoon? Why did you not come with us?’

‘We lost you,’ said Gerald. ‘I suppose we must have taken a wrong turn.’

‘What did you do?’ asked Harry, innocently.