Part 7 (1/2)
In the upper chamber where Will had left his sister, a great mystery of sorrow was being endured. Aspatria felt as if all had been. Life had no more joy to give, and no greater grief to inflict. She undressed with rapid, trembling fingers; her wedding finery was hateful in her sight. On the night before she had folded all her store of clothing, and laid it ready to put in a trunk. She had been quite in the dark as to her destiny; the only thing that appeared certain to her was that she would have to leave home. Perhaps she would go with Ulfar from the church door. In that case Will would have to send her clothing, and she had laid it in the neatest order for the emergency.
On the top of one pile lay a crimson Canton c.r.a.pe shawl. Her mother had worn it constantly during the last year of her life; and Aspatria had put it away, as something too sacred for ordinary use. She now folded it around her shoulders, and sat down. Usually, when things troubled her, she was restless and kept in motion, but this trouble was too bitter and too great to resist; she was quiet, she took its blows pa.s.sively, and they smote her on every side.
Could she ever forget that cruel ride home, ever cease to burn and s.h.i.+ver when she remembered the eyes that had scanned her during its progress? The air seemed full of them. She covered her face to avoid the pitying, wondering, scornful glances. But this ride through the valley of humiliation was not the bitterest drop in her bitter cup; she could have smiled as she rode and drank it, if Ulfar had been at her side. It was his desertion that was so distracting to her. She had thought of many sorrows in connection with this forced marriage, but this sorrow had never suggested itself as possible.
Therefore, when Ulfar bade her farewell she had felt as if standing on the void of the universe. It was the superhuman woman within her that had answered him, and that had held up her head and had strengthened her for her part all through that merciless ride. And the sight of her handsome, faithless lover, the tones of his voice, the touch of his hand, his half-respectful, half-pitying kindness, had awakened in her heart a tenfold love for him.
For she understood then, for the first time, her social and educational inferiority. She felt even that she had done herself less than justice in her fine raiment: her country breeding and simple beauty would have appeared to greater advantage in the white merino she had desired to wear. She had been forced into a dress that accentuated her deficiencies. At that hour she thought she could never see Mrs. Frostham again.
To these tempestuous, humiliating, heart-breaking reflections the storm outside made an angry accompaniment. The wind howled down the chimney and wailed around the house, and the rain beat against the window and pattered on the flagged walks. The darkness came on early, and the cold grew every hour more searching. She was not insensible to these physical discomforts, but they seemed so small a part of her misery that she made no resistance to their attack. Will and Brune, sitting almost speechless downstairs, were both thinking of her. When it was quite dark they grew unhappy. First one and then the other crept softly to her room door. All was as still as death. No movement, no sound of any kind, betrayed in what way the poor soul within suffered. No thread of light came from beneath the door: she was in the dark, and she had eaten nothing all day.
About six o'clock Will could bear it no longer. He knocked softly at her door, and said: ”My little la.s.s, speak to Will! Have a cup of tea!
Do have a cup of tea, dearie!”
The voice was so unlike Will's voice that it startled Aspatria. It told her of a suffering almost equalling her own. She rose from the chair in which she had been sitting for hours, and went to him. The room was dark, the pa.s.sage was dark; he saw nothing but the denser dark of her figure, and her white face above it. She saw nothing but his great bulk and his s.h.i.+ning eyes. But she felt the love flowing out from his heart to her, she felt his sorrow and his sympathy, and it comforted her. She said: ”Will, do not fret about me. I am over-getting the shame and sorrow. Yes, I will have a cup of tea, and tell Tabitha to make a fire here. Dear Will, I have been a great care and shame to you.”
”Ay, you have, Aspatria; but I would rather die than miss you, my little la.s.s.”
This interview gave a new bent to Aspatria's thoughts. As she drank the tea, and warmed her chilled feet before the blaze, she took into consideration what misery her love for Ulfar Fenwick had brought to her brothers' once happy home, the anxiety, the annoyance, the shame, the ill-will and quarrelling, the humiliations that Will and Brune had been compelled to endure. Then suddenly there flashed across her mind the card given to Will by Ulfar's friend. She was not too simple to conceive of its meaning. It was a defiance of some kind, and she knew how Will would answer it. Her heart stood still with terror.
She had seen Will and Ulfar wrestling; she had heard Will say to Brune, when Ulfar was absent, ”He knows little about it; when I had that last grip, I could have flung him into eternity.” It was common enough for dalesmen quarrelling to have a ”fling” with one another and stand by its results. If Will and Ulfar met thus, one or both would be irremediably injured. In their relation to her, both were equally dear. She would have given her poor little life cheerfully for the love of either. Her cup shook in her hand. She had a sense of hurry in the matter, that drove her like a leaf before a strong wind. If Will got to bed before she saw him, he might be away in the morning ere she was aware. She put down her cup, and while she stood a moment to collect her strength and thoughts, the subject on all its sides flashed clearly before her.
A minute afterward she opened the parlour door. Brune sat bent forward, with a poker in his hands. He was tracing a woman's name in the ashes, though he was hardly conscious of the act. Will's head was thrown back against his chair; he seemed to be asleep. But when Aspatria opened the door, he sat upright and looked at her. A pallor like death spread over his face; it was the crimson shawl, his mother's shawl, which caused it. Wearing it, Aspatria closely resembled her. Will had idolized his mother in life, and he wors.h.i.+pped her memory. If Aspatria had considered every earthly way of touching Will's heart, she could have selected none so certain as the shawl, almost accidentally a.s.sumed.
She went direct to Will. He drew a low stool to his side, and Aspatria sat down upon it, and then stretched out her left hand to Brune. The two men looked at their sister, and then they looked at each other.
The look was a vow. Both so understood it.
”Will and Brune,” the girl spoke softly, but with a great steadiness,--”Will and Brune, I am sorry to have given you so much shame and trouble.”
”It is not your fault, Aspatria,” said Brune.
”But I will do so no more. I will never name Ulfar again. I will try to be cheerful and to make home cheerful, try to carry on life as it used to be before he came. We will not let people talk of him, we will not mind it if they do. Eh, Will?”
”Just now, dear, in a little while.”
”Will, dear Will! what did that card mean,--the one Ulfar's friend gave? You will not go near Ulfar, Will? Please do not!”
”I have a bit of business to settle with him, Aspatria, and then I never want to see his face again.”
”Will, you must not go.”
”Ay, but I must. I have been thought of with a lot of bad names, but no one shall think 'coward' of me.”
”Will, remember all I have suffered to-day.”
”I am not likely to forget it.”
”That ride home, Will, was as if I was going up Calvary. My wedding-dress was heavy as a cross, and that foolish wreath of flowers was a wreath of cruel thorns. I was pitied and scorned, till I felt as if my heart--my real heart--was all bruised and torn. I have suffered so much, Will, spare me more suffering. Will! Will! for your little sister's sake, put that card in the fire, and stay here, right here with me.”
”My la.s.s! my dear la.s.s, you cannot tell what you are asking.”