Part 24 (1/2)
Would those with whom he was a by-word for hard sternness of character have known him then? They would have been almost as much surprised to see Constance Brandon--thought so haughty and cold--overcoming her terror at his pa.s.sionate burst of grief, to soothe him with every tenderest gesture and with words that were each a caress, till the convulsion pa.s.sed away, and calm self-government returned.
Guy did not speak till he could quite control himself; then he said firmly, but with a sob in his voice still,
”Yet I have killed you!”
”No, no,” Constance answered, quickly; ”indeed it is not so. A cold which attacked my chest caused this illness; but they say my lungs were affected long ago, and that I could hardly have lived many months. You must think of that, dear; and perhaps it is much better that it should be so. Life is very hard and difficult, I think, and I should never have been strong enough to bear my part in it well.”
Guy shook his head sadly, as if only half convinced, though he knew she would not have said an untrue word even to save him from suffering.
”If you could only stay with me--if I could only keep you!” he cried out, and threw his arms round her, as if their strong clasp would hold her back one step on the road along which the messengers of G.o.d had been beckoning her for many days past.
”Hus.h.!.+” Constance whispered; ”you must be patient. Yet I like to think that you will not forget me soon. Now listen--” and she held up her finger with something of the ”old imperial air.” ”I have something to ask of you. Will you not like to do it for my sake, even if it is hard?”
He did not answer; but she understood the pressure of his hand, and went on.
”I have been fearing so much that something terrible will happen between you and Cyril. He is so pa.s.sionate and willful, he will not listen to me, though he loves me dearly, and though I have tried every entreaty I could think of. (She grew paler than ever, and shuddered visibly.) And you are not patient, Guy, dear; but you would be this time, would you not? Only think how it would grieve me if--”
The deep hollow cough that she had tried hard to keep back _would_ break in here.
”You can not doubt me,” Guy replied, caressing her fondly: ”I promise that nothing he can say or do shall tempt me to defend myself by word or deed. How could I, even if you had not asked this? Has he not bitter cause? Ask me something harder, my own!”
Constance hesitated; then she spoke rapidly, as if afraid to pause when she had once made up her mind. The lovely color came and flickered for a moment on her cheek, and then went out again as suddenly.
”I know it is easier for me to submit than for you, yet it is very hard to be obliged to leave you, Guy; it is harder still to leave you to Flora Bellasys. I hope my jealousy--I _am_ jealous--does not make me unjust; but I don't think she will make you better, or even happier in the end. Now do forgive me; perhaps I ought not--”
Guy interrupted her here: he had not stopped her till she began to excuse herself.
”I must see her once again (the knitting of his black brows omened ill for the peace of that interview); afterward, on my honor and faith, I will never speak to her one word, or willingly look upon her face.”
O true heart! that had suffered so long, and hitherto unavailingly, till your life-blood was drained in the struggle, be content, for the victory is won at last. Never did loyalty and right triumph more absolutely since those who stood fast by their King in the _dies irae_ of the great battle saw the rebel angels cast headlong down.
If, in the intense joy that thrilled through every fibre of Constance's frame, there mingled an element of gratified pride, who shall blame her?
Not I, for fear of being less indulgent than I believe was her Eternal Judge when, not many days later, she stood before him.
She needed no further protest or explanation; she never thought that, because her lover had once been entangled, there was danger of his falling into the net again; she never doubted for an instant--and she was right. The gaze of the spirit is far-seeing and rarely fallible when so near its translation as was hers.
As she leaned her head against his shoulder, murmuring, ”You have made me so very, very happy!” there were pleasant tears in the beautiful eyes that had known so many bitter ones, and had not lost their brightness yet.
There was silence for some minutes; then Constance spoke again, looking wistfully, and more sadly than she had yet done, on her companion:
”Do you know, Guy, I have been thinking that yours will not be a very long life? You are so strong that it seems foolish in me, but I can not help it.”
The faintest glimmer of satisfaction, like the ghost of a smile, came upon Livingstone's miserable, haggard face: there had been nothing like it there for many hours; there was nothing like it again for many days.
”You may be right,” he said, very calmly. ”I trust in G.o.d you are.”
”Yes,” Constance went on; ”but I was thinking more than that. I was hoping that perhaps, for my sake, if not for your own, you would try to grow better every day. Only think what it would be if, throughout all ages, we were never to meet after to-day.” She drew him closer to her, and her voice almost failed her. ”I don't believe you ever could be what is called a very religious character. I am so weak--strong-minded as you thought me--that I fear I have found an attraction in this fault of yours; but you could keep from great sins, I am sure. Try and be gentler to others first, and with every act of unselfish kindness you will have gained something. Any good clergyman will tell you the rest better than I. Remember how happy you will make me. I believe I shall see and know it all. It may be hard for you, dear, but it may not be for long.”
The same strange, wistful look came into her eyes again, as if shadows of the dim future were pa.s.sing before them.