Part 42 (2/2)
The receipt of this letter gratified the Doctor very much, and for the rest of the day he was in high spirits.
CHAPTER XII.
THE MARQUIS OF LOSSY.
With Leon, the Doctor's suggestion had worked differently, though none the less potently, despite the fact that the lad himself did not detect the symptoms, as did the girl. I think a woman's instincts are more attuned to the influences of the softer pa.s.sions than are a man's. Certainly it has been often observed that she will recognize evidences of love, which man pa.s.ses by unnoted and unheeded. If a girl is quicker to discover that she is loved, she also admits sooner that she is in love, though the admission be made only to herself. Thus, as we have seen, the Doctor's charm operated upon Agnes.
When Leon awoke that same morning, it was a sudden awakening from dreamless sleep. He recalled nothing of what had occurred during the previous night, nor had he even a suspicion that Agnes had been in his thoughts at all. Nevertheless he dressed himself with feverish haste, and, contrary to his usual custom, he left the house and went ”for a walk,” or so he explained his action to himself. Yet very soon he had reached the nearest station of the Suburban Elevated railroad, and was rapidly borne towards the city. During this trip he thought that he was going to town to obtain some chemicals which he needed in the laboratory, but, as there was no immediate necessity for them, he might have delayed their purchase for several days. The truth was he was answering a scarcely recognized inward restlessness, which demanded action of some sort. The cause of this change from his normal habit was that ”something was the matter” with him, as he afterwards expressed it. But at the time he did not seek an explanation of his mood. He did procure the chemicals, but having done so, instead of returning home, he walked aimlessly for several blocks, until he stopped, seemingly without purpose, before a florist's shop. In an instant he had formulated a design, ”on the spur of the moment” he told himself, though it was but the outcome of the secret agency which controlled his whole conduct that day. He went in and purchased some rose-buds, selecting red ones, and he wrote the card which Agnes found upon them. When he reached the signature he quickly scribbled ”Leon,”
and then he paused. The thought within his mind was, ”I have no other name.” Therefore he did not continue. Thus it is evident that the single signature was not a familiarity, either intended or implied, but a response to that feeling, ever within his consciousness, that he had no right to call himself ”Grath”! Upon this point he was ever sensitive. He hastened to the Judge's house and left the bouquet at the door. Then he returned to Villa Medjora with a lighter heart, and, man-like, he wrongly attributed this to the ozone with which the morning air was laden. As yet he did not suspect that he had fallen in love. I wonder why we use the term ”fallen” in this connection, as though the acquirement of this chief pa.s.sion of the human heart were a descent, rather than an elevation of the soul, as it surely is. For one must be on a higher plane, from that moment when he abandons himself as the first consideration of his thoughts, and begins to sacrifice his own desires, that he may add to the pleasures of another.
The first meeting between Agnes and Leon was one to which the former looked forward with antic.i.p.ated embarra.s.sment, while Leon scarcely thought of it at all, until the moment came. But when they did meet, all was reversed. The girl was self-possession personified, while Leon never before found words so tardily arriving to meet the demands of conversation. He went to his own room that night, and wondered what had come to him, that he should have been so disturbed in the presence of one for whom hitherto he had had rather a tolerance, because of her intellectuality, than any feeling of personal inferiority such as now occupied his thoughts. How could he be less than she? Was he not a man, while she--she was only a woman? Only a woman! Ah! Therein lies the mysterious secret of man's undoing; of his lifelong slavery, that the wants of woman shall be supplied. Yet women prate of women's rights, deploring the fact that they are less than those, who, a.n.a.lysis would show, are but their slaves.
From this time on, the bud of love in the hearts of these two young people advanced steadily towards maturity, and, before very long, Agnes was living in a secret elysium of her own creation. She no longer questioned her own feelings. She freely admitted to herself that all her future happiness depended upon obtaining and enjoying Leon's love. But she had come to be very sure of the fulfilment of her heart's desire, since Leon's visits became more and more frequent, and his books and science apparently lost their power to allure him away from her side. The situation was very entertaining to her, who was so fond of a.n.a.lyzing and studying the intricate problems of life; and, to such as she, what could be happier occupation than probing the heart of him to whom she had intrusted her own? She thought she saw so plainly that he loved her, that it puzzled her to tell why it was that as yet he himself was not aware of this fact. But at last the awakening came.
One pleasant afternoon in early summer, they were walking down Fifth Avenue, deeply engrossed in a discussion of another of Correlli's novels. Leon read novels in these days. He said he did so because it was so pleasant to discuss them with Agnes. Besides, he found that even in novels there might be something to learn. They were speaking of that excellent work, _Thelma_.
”I think that it is Correlli's most finished work,” Agnes was saying; ”but I am surprised at the similarity between it and Black's novel, _The Princess of Thule_.”
”I have not yet read that. Wherein lies the resemblance?”
”In both books we find the story divided into three parts. First, the young Englishman seeking surcease from the _ennui_ of fas.h.i.+onable society by a trip into the wild north country. Black sends his hero to Ireland, and Correlli allows hers to visit Norway. Each discovers the daughter of a descendant of old time kings; the _Princess of Thule_ in one, and _Thelma_, the daughter of the Viking, in the other. The marriage ends the first part in each instance. In the second, we find the wedded couples in fas.h.i.+onable London society, and in each the girl finds that she is incongruous with her surroundings, and after bearing with it awhile, abandons the husband and returns to her old home, alone. The finale is the same in each, the husband seeking his runaway wife, and once more bringing her to his arms.”
”Still, Miss Agnes,”--the formal ”Miss Dudley” of the earlier days had been unconsciously abandoned--”what you have told is only a theme. Two artists may select the same landscape, and yet make totally different pictures.”
”So they have in this instance, and I think that Correlli's management of the subject is far in advance of Black's, as beautiful and as touching as that master's story is. The death of the old Viking transcends anything in _The Princess of Thule_. I do not at all disparage Correlli's work, only--well--it is hard to explain myself--but I would be better pleased had there been no likeness between the two.”
”Yet I have no doubt that it is accidental, or, if there was any imitation, that it was made unconsciously. I believe that a writer may recall what he has read long before, and clothing the idea in his own words, may easily believe that it is entirely original with himself.
There is one speech which Thelma makes, which I think most beautiful.
You remember where the busy-body tries to make mischief by telling Thelma that her husband has transferred his love to another? Thelma replies, in substance, that if her husband has ceased to love her, it must be her own fault, and to ill.u.s.trate her meaning she says that one plucks a rose, attracted by its fragrance, but when at last it is unconsciously thrown away, it is not because of fickleness, but rather because the rose having faded, has lost its power to charm, and so is cast aside. I think it was very touching for Thelma to make such a comparison, charging herself with the fault of losing the love of her husband.”
”Yes! It is very pretty and poetical, but like poetry in general, it is not very sensible. I think that if a man has enjoyed the attractions of his wife in her youthful days he should cherish her the more when her charms have begun to fade. There is quite a difference between a rose, which in losing its outward beauty loses all, and a woman who, however homely in feature, may still possess a soul as beautiful as ever.”
”Indeed, Miss Agnes, I indorse your sentiments. Such a man would be a brute. But Thelma's husband was not of that mould. He was true to her.”
”Yes,” said Agnes, smiling; ”but Thelma's charms had not faded, nor even begun to decline. Her simile was inapt as applied to herself.”
”Exactly! It was her heart, and not her head that gave birth to the beautiful sentiment. But I am sure that her husband would have loved her, however ugly she might have grown. I am sure that, in his place, I would have done so.”
”You? Why, Mr. Grath, I thought that you told me you would never love any one?” She spoke the words with mischievous intent, and glanced at him archly, as she watched the effect of the speech.
Leon blushed and became confused. He was at a loss for words, but was relieved from the necessity of formulating an answer, by an occurrence which threatened to end in a tragedy. They were crossing a street at the moment, and so intent had they become upon their discourse, that they scarcely heard the warning cries of the excited people. A maddened horse was running away, and as at length Leon was aroused to the imminence of some danger, intuitively, rather than by any well-defined recognition of what threatened, he gave one hasty glance in the direction from which the animal was approaching, and with a rapid movement he encircled Agnes's waist with his arm, and drew her back, barely in time to escape from the horse and cab which rattled by.
It was in this instant that Leon's awakening came to him. In presence of a danger which threatened to deprive him forever of the girl beside him, he became suddenly aware of the fact that she was essential to his future happiness. At last he knew that he loved Agnes, and from his silence as he took her home, and the tenderness of his tones at parting, Agnes instantly knew that he had been aroused. She already began to look forward to their next meeting, and to wonder whether he would at once unbosom himself. She meant to help him as much as possible. Poor fellow! He would be very much abashed, she had no doubt. She would not be coy and tantalizing as so many girls are. She thought that such affectation would be beneath her. Her sense of justice forbade it. No! She would be very nice to him. She would show no signs of uneasiness as he floundered about seeking words. She would wait patiently for what he would say, and then, when he had said the words, why, then--well, then it would be time enough at that sweet moment to decide what to do. She would make him happy, at any rate. Of that she was determined. There should be no ambiguity about her reply.
And in this mood the girl awaited the wooing.
Leon did not sleep at all that night, or if he slumbered, it was only to dream of Agnes. A hundred times he saw her mangled beneath the hoofs of that runaway horse, and suffered agonies in consequence; each time awakening with a start, to find beads of perspiration upon his brow. Again his vision was more pleasing, and in dream-land he imagined himself united to Agnes, and living happily ever afterward, as all proper books tell us that married lovers do. At last the day dawned, and with impatience he awaited that hour when with propriety he could call upon his sweetheart. He had a very good excuse, for by accident, (_sic?_) he had left his umbrella at the house the day before, and already it was growing cloudy. He might need it, and therefore of course he should go for it before it should actually begin to rain.
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