Part 28 (1/2)
The two young people were returning from the concert that had been given in St. Julian's Hall. They were walking. It was a beautiful evening. Not a breath of wind, not a cloud in the sky. Both nature and humanity slumbered. A deep silence prevailed along the lane in which the young couple were walking.
'Twas a charming spot, these lanes, bordered on either side by high hedges of stone and earth, on which grew furze and gra.s.s, while here and there, a solitary primrose--it was the month of March,--was bending its slender stalk, loaded as it was with dew.
Conversation is an art. So is silence. The latter is even less known than the former.
Both the young people were now silent as they proceeded towards ”Les Marches,” but it was a silence which spoke. They knew each other's thoughts, one heart spoke to the other; they were both impressed with the supreme beauty of nature and filled with love, for that same evening they had plighted their troth.
It was Frank who first broke the silence: ”How beautifully serene the sky is, Adele; almost as clear as your forehead.”
”What an immense number of stars,” she said, ”astronomy must be a beautiful pursuit.”
”It must be,” he replied. ”To soar far above this earth, to contemplate those worlds, to feel oneself lifted into s.p.a.ce, to visit the moon with its mountains and rivers, plateaux and lakes; to accompany Venus and Mars and all the other planets in their course; to float, as it were, amongst these gigantic masterpieces of the Creator, to calculate their dimensions, to measure their course, to weigh those monsters; to bring to light the treasures of metal which they contain, by the aid of Spectrum. a.n.a.lysis, all this and a great deal more which is a.s.sociated with the science must be indeed full of wonderful exhiliration.”
”To hear you talk, one would imagine that you yearn to be amongst all those stars and planets,” said Adele.
”It is not the case,” he answered, ”because--I'll tell you why--I am content to have Venus so near to me.”
”I am afraid you will have to be Mars,” she said somewhat anxiously.
”Not a bit of it,” he replied cheerfully, ”Mars is generally represented with a long beard, and look, I have but a slight moustache; have you ever noticed,” he continued, ”that all these planets move in circles. I think the circle is the ideal figure of the Creator. Man cannot measure a circle or sphere.”
”I thought the heavenly bodies moved in ellipses,” she interrupted.
”Yes, but ellipses are but a form of circles.”
”Of course, I had never thought about it before, one has so much to learn in life. Nature's wonders are numerous and full of instruction for the thoughtful student. It seems to me sometimes that my soul converses with nature. A cloud obscures the sky, and I feel that cloud pa.s.sing over my heart; a ray of suns.h.i.+ne illumines the earth, and causes my flowers to open their petals and the dew-drops on the gra.s.s to s.h.i.+ne like millions of diamonds, and I smile.”
”You have the soul of a poetess,” he said.
She laughed a rippling laugh. ”I do not know, but I think the study of nature, the proper study of man.”
”Others,--with a less poetic soul, doubtless--seem to differ from you. I think Pope did. But you love nature, and do not care for man.”
Her pearly teeth saw the light.
When Adele bade good-night to Frank that evening, a strange presentiment of coming evil overcame her.
She walked inside her father's house. When she entered the kitchen she was surprised at finding it empty. The lamp was on the table. It was lighted. Beside it was an empty mug. She lighted a candle, went into the parlour, and divested herself of her hat and jacket, thinking her father would soon return.
She did not feel at ease, however. Every other minute she turned round nervously, half afraid of finding someone in the room. Where could her father be? She grew anxious. Going at the foot of the stairs, she called out: ”Father, father.”
Not a sound, save that of her voice which sounded funereally.
She went to the door, opened it, and looked outside. Everything was still. All at once she heard something. It was not a shout, it was a scream, a shriek, an entreaty; it came again, much louder this time, she could distinctly hear the word: ”Help.”
She distinguished that voice; there was no mistaking it, she would have discerned its sound amongst ten thousand. This voice was Frank's. He had cried, he had implored, there was but one thing for her to do--to run to his aid.
Without even taking the trouble to fetch her hat, she hastily ran in the direction from whence the sound came.