Part 47 (1/2)
”Sweetheart!” he answered, catching the white hand that was so temptingly near his own, ”Our love IS perfect!--and so far as I am concerned there shall never be a cloud on such a dazzling sky!”
She smiled.
”Ah, you talk romance just now!” she said, ”But Aubrey, I want our love to be something more than romance--I want it to be a grand and helpful reality! If I am not worthy to be the companion of your very soul, you will not, you cannot love me long. Now, no protestations!” For he had possessed himself of the dear little hand again, and was covering it with kisses--”You see, it is very sweet just now to sit by the fire together, and look at each other, and feel how happy we are--but life does not go on like that. And your life, my Aubrey, belongs to the world . . .”
”To you!--to you!” said Aubrey pa.s.sionately, ”I give it to you! You know the song?--I set my life in your hand Mar it or make it sweet,--I set my life in your hand, I lay my heart at your feet!”
Sylvie rose impulsively, and leaning over his chair kissed his forehead.
”Yes, I know! And I know you mean what you say! I could not imagine you telling an untruth,--not even in making love!” and she laughed, ”Though there are many of your s.e.x who think any amount of lies permissible under similar circ.u.mstances! And it is just because I have found men such practised liars, that I have the reputation of being heartless.
Did you ever think me heartless?”
Aubrey hesitated a moment.
”Yes,” he admitted at last, frankly, ”I did till I knew better. I was told--”
”Stop! I know all you were told!” said Sylvie, drawing her slim figure up with a pretty dignity as she moved back to her place by the fire--”You were told that I was the cause of the death of the Marquis Fontenelle. So I was, unhappily--but not through my own fault. The actor Miraudin,--known to be one of the most coa.r.s.e-minded and brutal of men,--slandered me in public,--the Marquis defended me. Hence the combat and its fatal end, which no one has deplored more bitterly than I. Miraudin was never a gentleman,--Fontenelle could have been one had he chosen. And I confess I cared very much for him at one time!”
”You loved him,” said Aubrey, trying to master a pang of jealousy.
”Yes! I loved him!--till he proved himself unworthy of love.”
There was a silence.
”I tell you all this,” said Sylvie then slowly and emphatically, ”that you may know me at once as I am. I wish to hide nothing from you. I have read all your books--I know your views of life--your hatred of dissimulation--your contempt of a lie! In your love for me, you must have complete knowledge of my nature, and confidence in my truth. I would never give my life to any man unless he trusted me absolutely,--unless I was sure he felt I was a real helpmate for him. I love you--but I also love your work and your aims; and I go with all your thoughts and wish to share all your responsibilities. But I must feel that you will never misjudge me,--never set me down on the level of mean and small-natured women, who cannot sacrifice themselves or their personal vanities for another's sake. It is not for me to say that the calumnies circulated concerning me are untrue,--it is for my life to show and PROVE they are not! But I must be trusted--not suspected; and if you give me your life as you say, I will give mine to help make yours happier, asking from you in return just your faith--your FAITH as well as your love!”
Like a fair queen she stood, royal in her look, bearing and att.i.tude, and Aubrey bent his head low in reverence before her as he once more kissed her hand.
”My wife!” he said simply.
And the silence that followed was as that of G.o.d's benediction on that perfect marriage which is scarcely ever consummated in all the world,--the marriage of two souls, which like twin flames, unite and burn upward clear to Heaven, as One.
XXVII.
Society soon learned the news of the Countess Hermenstein's betrothal to the ”eccentric Englishman,” Aubrey Leigh,--and with its million tongues discussed the affair in all tones,--most people preferring to say, with the usual ”society” kindness, that--”Leigh was not quite such a self-sacrificing idealist as he seemed to be,--he was going to marry for money.” Some few ventured to remark that Sylvie Hermenstein was charming in herself and well worth winning,--but the more practical pooh-poohed this view of the case at once. ”Pretty women are to be had by the score,” they said, ”It is the money that tells!” Aubrey Leigh caught these rumours, and was in a manner stung by them,--he said very little however, and to all the congratulations he received, merely gave coldly civil thanks. And so the gossips went to work again in their own peculiar way, and said, ”Well! She will have an iceberg for a husband, that is one thing! A stuck up, insolent sort of chap!--not a bit of go in him!” Which was true,--Aubrey had no ”go.” ”Go” means, in modern parlance, to drink oneself stupid, to bet on the most trifling pa.s.sing events, and to talk slang that would disgrace a stable-boy, as well as to amuse oneself with all sorts of mean and vulgar intrigues which are carried on through the veriest skulk and caddishness;--thus Aubrey was a sad failure in ”tip-top” circles. But the ”tip-top” circles are not a desirable heaven to every man;--and Aubrey did not care much as to what sort of comments were pa.s.sed on himself, provided he could see Sylvie always ”queen it” over her inferiors in that graceful, gracious way of conquest which was her special peculiarity and charm. Among her friends no one perhaps was happier in Sylvie's happiness than Angela Sovrani; her nature was of that rare quality which vibrates like a harp to every touch, and the joy of others swept over her with a gladness which made her more glad than if she had received some priceless boon for her own benefit. Florian Varillo was exceedingly angry at the whole affair,--and whenever Sylvie's betrothal was spoken of he a.s.sumed an expression of pained and personal offence which was almost grotesque.
”Such a marriage is ridiculous!” he declared,--”Everyone can see how utterly unsuited the two are in tastes, habits and opinions! They will rue the day they ever met!”
And not all the gentle remonstrances of his own fiancee Angela, could soothe his ruffled humour, or make him accept the inevitable with grace. Angela was exceedingly troubled and puzzled by his almost childish waywardness,--she did not yet understand the nature of a man who was to himself all in all, and who could not endure the idea that any woman whom he personally condescended to admire should become the possession of another, no matter how completely that woman might be beyond his own reach. Poor Angela! She was very simple--very foolish indeed;--she never imagined it could be possible for a man to carry on five or six love-affairs at once, and never be found out. Yet this was the kind of life her ”ideal” found the most suitable to his habit and temperament,--and he had made a mental note of Sylvie Hermenstein as one whom he proposed to add to his little list of conquests. So that her engagement of marriage to one who, though reserved in manner and without ”go,” was yet every inch a gentleman, and a determined opposer of sophistry and humbug, had considerably disturbed his little plans, and the unsettlement of anything he had set his heart upon greatly displeased him. He generally had his own way in most things, and could not at all comprehend why he was not to have it now. But among all the people who discussed the intended marriage there were two who were so well satisfied as to be almost jubilant, and these were the Monsignori Moretti and Gherardi. These worthies met together in one of the private chambers set apart for the use of the Papal court in the Vatican, and heartily congratulated each other on the subjugation and enthralment of Aubrey Leigh, which meant, as they considered, the consequent removal of a fierce opponent to the Roman Catholic movement in England.
”Did I not tell you,” said Moretti, as he untied some papers he had been carrying, and sat down at a table to glance over them, ”Did I not tell you that when all other arguments fail, the unanswerable one of woman can be brought in to clinch every business?”
Gherardi, though in a way contented, was not altogether so sure of his goal. He remembered, with an uncomfortable thrill of doubt, the little skirmish of words he had had with the fair Sylvie in the Pamphili woods.
”You take your thoughts for deeds, and judge them as fully accomplished while they are still in embryo!” he said, ”It is true that the engagement of marriage is settled,--but can you be certain that in religious matters the wife may not go with her husband?”
”What!” exclaimed Moretti, opening his dark eyes quickly, as a flash of h.e.l.l-fire illumined them at the very idea, ”Do you suggest that Sylvie Hermenstein,--the last of her race--a race which, back to its earliest source, has been distinguished for its faithful allegiance to Mother-Church, and has moreover added largely to the Papal revenues--could be otherwise than our obedient and docile daughter? Per la Santissima Madonna!--if I thought she could turn against us her marriage should never take place!”
And he brought his fist down with a fierce blow on the papers before him.