Part 12 (1/2)

”If there is any slight between Julius and me, father, I gave it; for he asked me to marry him, and I plainly told him no.”

”Hear--you--but. I _am_ glad. You refused him? Come, come, that's a bit of pleasure I would have given a matter of five pounds to have known a day or two since. It would have saved me a few good ratings. Eh? What?”

”Why, father! Who has been rating you?”

”Myself, to be sure. You can't think what set-downs I have given William Sandal. Do you mind telling me about that refusal, Charlotte? Eh? What?”

”Not a bit. It was in the harvest-field. He said he loved me, and I told him gentlemen did not talk that way to girls who had never given them the least encouragement; and I said I did not love him, and never, never could love him. I was very firm, father, perhaps a little bit cross; for I did not like the way he spoke. I don't think he admires me at all now.”

”I dare be bound he doesn't. 'Firm and a little bit cross.' It wouldn't be a nice five minutes for Julius. He sets a deal of store by himself;”

and then, as if he thought it was his duty not to show too much gratification, he added, ”I hope you were very civil, Charlotte. A good asker should have a good nay-say. And you refused him? Well, I _am_ pleased. Mother never heard tell of it? Eh? What?”

”Oh, no; I have told no one but you. At the long end you always get at my secrets, father.”

”We've had a goodish few together,--fis.h.i.+ng secrets, and such like; but I must tell mother this one, eh? She _will_ go on about it. In the harvest-field, was it? I understand now why he walked himself off a day or two before the set day. And he is all for Sophia now, is he? Well, I shouldn't wonder if Sophia will 'best' him a little on every side. You _have_ given me a turn, Charlotte. I didn't think of a son-in-law yet,--not just yet. Dear me! How life does go on! Ever since the sheep-shearing it has been running away with me. Life is a road on which there is no turning round, Charlotte. Oh, if there only were! If you could just run back to where you made the wrong turning! If you could only undo things that you have done! Eh? What?”

”Not even G.o.d can make what has been, not to have been. When a thing is done, if it is only the taking of a walk, the walk is taken to all eternity.”

At the word ”eternity,” they stood on the brow of the hill which they had been climbing, and the squire said it again very solemnly.

”Eternity! How dreadful to spend it in repentance which can undo nothing! That is the most awful conception of the word 'eternity.' Eh?

What?”

They were silent a moment, then Sandal turned and looked westward. ”It is mizzling already, Charlotte; the snow will turn into rain, and we shall have a downpour. Had we not better go home?”

But Charlotte painted in such glowing colors Ducie's fireside, and the pipe, and the cosey, quiet dinner they would be sure to get there, that the squire could not resist the temptation. ”For all will be at sixes and sevens at home,” he commented, ”and no peace for anybody, with greens and carols and what not. Eh? What?”

”And very likely, as it is Christmas Eve, you may be asked to give Sophia away. So a nice dinner, and a quiet smoke, and an hour's nap will help you through to-night.” And the thought in each heart, beyond this one, was ”Perhaps Harry will be at home.”

n.o.body missed the fugitives. Mrs. Sandal was sure Harry would come, and she was busy preparing his room with her own hands. The brightest fire, the gayest greens, the whitest and softest and best of every thing, she chose for Harry's room.

Certainly they were not missed by Julius and Sophia. They were far too much interested in themselves and in their own affairs. From the first hour of his return to Seat-Sandal, Sophia had understood that Julius was her lover, and that the time for his declaration rested in the main with herself. When the Christmas bells were ringing, when the house was bright with light and evergreens, and the very atmosphere full of happiness, she had determined to give him the necessary encouragement.

But the clock of Fate cannot be put back. When the moment arrives, the word is spoken or the deed done. Both of them were prepared for the moment, and yet not just then prepared; for Love still holds his great surprise somewhat in reserve.

They were in the drawing-room. The last vase had been filled, the last wreath hung; and Sophia looked at her beautiful hands, marked with the rim of the scissors, and stained with leaves and berries, in a little affected distress. Julius seated himself on the sofa beside her. She trembled, but he looked at her almost triumphantly. Over Sophia's heart he knew his power. With the questioning, unwinking gaze of love his eyes sought hers, and he tenderly spoke her name, ”_Sophia_.” She could answer only by her conscious silence.

”My wife! Mine in lives long forgotten.”

”O Julius!”

”Always mine; missed in some existences, recovered in others, but bringing into every life with you my mark of owners.h.i.+p. See here.”

Then he lifted her hand, and opening its palm upward, he placed his own in the same att.i.tude beside it. ”Look into them both, Sophia, and see how closely our line of fortune is alike. That is something, but behold.” And he showed her a singular mark, which had in his own palm its precise counterpart.

”Is it not also in Charlotte's palm? In others?”

”No, indeed. Among all the women on earth, only yours has this facsimile of my own. It is the soul mark upon the body. Every educated Hindoo can trace it; and all will tell you, that, if two individuals have it precisely alike, they are twin souls, and nothing can prevent their union.”

”Did they explain it to you, Julius?”