Halcyone

Chapter 19

It was John Derringham who was taciturn next morning, not the Professor!

The light of day has a most sobering effect, and while still exalted in

a measure by all the strong forces of love, he was enabled to review

worldly events with a clearer eye, and could realize very well that he

was going to take a step which would not have a forwarding impetus upon

his career, even if it proved to be not one of retrogression.

He must give up the thought of using a rich wife as an advancement; but

then, on the other hand, he would gain a companion whose divine

sweetness would be an ennobling inspiration.

How he could ever have deceived himself in regard to his feelings he

wondered now, for he saw quite plainly that he had been drifting into

loving her from the first moment he had seen her that Good Friday

morning, the foundations having been laid years before, on the day in

the tree.

He felt rather uncomfortable about his old master, who he knew would not

approve of any secret union with Halcyone. Not that Cheiron would reck

much of conventionalities, or care in the least if it were a marriage at

a registry-office or not, but he would certainly resent any aspect of

the case which would seem to put a slight upon his much-loved protge

or place her in a false position.

He would tell him nothing about it until it was an accomplished fact and

Halcyone was his wife--then they would let him into the secret.

All the details of what she would have to say to her aunts in her letter

of farewell on leaving them would have to be thought out, too, so that

no pursuit or inopportune prying into the truth would be the

consequence.

Of any possibility of her stepfather's ultimate interference he did not

think, not knowing that she had even any further connection with him. To

satisfy in some way the ancient aunts was all that appeared a necessity.

And that was difficult enough. He had certainly undertaken no easy task,

but he did not regret his decision. The first and only strong passion he

had ever known was mastering him.

But there was yet one more unpleasant aspect to face--that was the

situation regarding Mrs. Cricklander. He had assuredly not committed

himself or even acted very unfairly to her. She had been playing a game

as he had been. He did not flatter himself that she really loved

him--now that he knew what love meant--and her ambition could be

gratified elsewhere; but there remained the fact that he was engaged to

stay with her for Whitsuntide, and whether to do so, and plainly show

her that he had meant nothing and only intended to be a friend, or

whether to throw the visit over, and go to London, returning just to

fetch Halcyone about Wednesday, he could not quite decide.

Which would be the best thing to do? It worried him--but not for long,

because indecision was not, as a rule, one of his characteristics, and

he soon made up his mind to the former course.

He would go to Wendover on Saturday, as was arranged, take pains to

disabuse his hostess's mind of any illusion upon the subject of his

intentions, and, having run over to Bristol this afternoon to give

notice to the registrar and procure the license, he would leave with the

other guests on the Tuesday, after lunch, having sent his servant up to

London in the morning to be out of the way.

Then he would sleep that night in Upminster, getting his servant to

leave what luggage he required there--it was the junction for the main

line to London, and so that would be easy. A motor could be hired, and

in it, on the Wednesday, he would come to the oak avenue gate, as that

was far at the other side of the park upon the western road; there he

would arrange that Halcyone should be waiting for him with some small

box, and they would go over to Bristol, be married, and then go on to a

romantic spot he knew of in Wales, and there spend a week of bliss!

By the time he got thus far in his meditations he felt intoxicated

again, and Mr. Carlyon, who was watching him as he sat there in his

chair reading the _Times_ opposite him, wondered what made him suddenly

clasp his hands and draw in his breath and smile in that idiotic way

while he gazed into space!

Then there would be the afterwards. Of course, that would be blissful,

too. Oh! if he could only claim her before all the world how glorious it

would be--but for the present that was hopeless, and at all events her

life with him would not be more retired than the one of monotony which

she led at La Sarthe Chase, and would have his tenderest love to

brighten it. He would take a tiny house for her somewhere--one of those

very old-fashioned ones shut in with a garden still left in Chelsea,

near the Embankment--and there he would spend every moment of his spare

time, and try to make up to her for her isolation. Well arranged, the

world need not know of this--Halcyone would never be _exigeante_--or if

it did develop a suspicion, ministers before his day had been known to

have had--_chres amies_.

But as this thought came he jumped from his chair. It was, when faced in

a concrete fashion, hideously unpalatable as touching his pure, fair

star.

"You are rather restless to-day, John," the Professor said, as his old

pupil went hastily towards the open window and looked out.

"Yes," said John Derringham. "It is going to rain, and I must go to

Bristol this afternoon. I have to see a man on business."

Cheiron's left penthouse went up into his forehead.

"Matters complicating?" was all he said.

"Yes, the very devil," responded John Derringham.

"Beginning to feel the noose already, poor lad?"

"Er--no, not exactly," and he turned round. "But I don't quite know what

I ought to do about her--Mrs. Cricklander."

"A question of honor?"

"I suppose so."

The Professor grunted, and then chuckled.

"A man's honor towards a woman lasts as long as his love. When that

goes, it goes with it--to the other woman."

"You cynic!" said John Derringham.

"It is the truth, my son. A man's point of view of such things shifts

with his inclinations, and if other people are not likely to know, he

does not experience any qualms in thinking of the woman's feelings--it

is only of what the world will think of _him_ if it finds him out.

Complete cowards, all of us!"

John Derringham frowned. He hated to know this was true.

"Well, I am not going to marry Mrs. Cricklander, Master," he announced

after a while.

"I am very glad to hear it," Cheiron said heartily. "I never like to see

a fine ship going upon the rocks. All your vitality would have been

drawn out of you by those octopus arms."

"I do not agree with you in the least about any of those points," John

Derringham said stiffly. "I have the highest respect for Mrs.

Cricklander--but I can't do it."

"Well, you can thank whichever of your stars has brought you to this

conclusion," growled the Professor. "I suppose I'll pull through somehow

financially," the restless visitor went on, pacing the floor--"anyway,

for a few years; there may be something more to be squeezed out of

Derringham. I must see."

"Well, if you are not marrying that need not distress you," Cheiron

consoled him with. "Those things only matter if a man has a son."

John Derringham stopped abruptly in his walk and looked at his old

master.

His words gave him a strange twinge, but he crushed it down, and went on

again:

"It is a curse, this want of money," he said. "It makes a man do base

things that his soul revolts against." And then, in his restless moving,

he absently picked up a volume of Aristotle, and his eye caught this

sentence: "The courageous man therefore faces danger and performs acts

of courage for the sake of what is noble."

And what did an honorable man do? But this question he would not go

further into.

"You were out very late last night, John," Mr. Carlyon said presently.

"I left this window open for you on purpose. The garden does one good

sometimes. You were not lonely, I hope?"

"No," said John Derringham; but he would not look at his old master, for

he knew very well he should see a whimsical sparkle in his eyes.

Mr. Carlyon, of course, must be aware of Halcyone's night wandering

proclivities. And if there had been nothing to conceal John Derringham

would have liked to have sat down now and rhapsodized all about his

darling to his old friend, who adored her, too, and knew and appreciated

all her points. He felt bitterly that Fate had not been as kind to him

as she might have been. However, there was nothing for it, so he turned

the conversation and tried to make himself grow as interested in a

question of foreign policy as he would have been able to be, say, a year

ago. And then he went out for a walk.

And Cheiron sat musing in his chair, as was his habit.

"The magnet of her soul is drawing his," he said to himself. "Well, now

that this has begun to work, we must leave things to Fate."

But he did not guess how passion on the one side and complete love and

trust upon the other were precipitously forcing Fate's hand.

The possibility of John Derringham's sending a message to Halcyone was

very slender. The post was out of the question--she probably never got

any letters, and the arrival of one in a man's handwriting would no

doubt be the cause of endless comment in the household. The foolishness

had been not to make a definite appointment with her when they had

parted before dawn. But they had been too overcome with love to think of

anything practical in those last moments, and now the only thing would

be for him to go again to-night to the tree, and hope that she would

meet him there. But the sky was clouding over, and rain looked quite

ready to fall. As a last resource he could send Demetrius--his own valet

he would not have trusted a yard.

The rain kept off for his journey to Bristol, and his business was got

through with rapidity. And if the registrar did connect the name of John

Derringham, barrister-at-law, of the Temple, London, with John

Derringham, the Under-Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, he was a

man of discretion and said nothing about it.

It was quite late when Mr. Carlyon's guest returned to his

roof--cross-country trains were so tiresome--and it had just begun to

pour with rain, so there was no use expecting that Halcyone would be

there by the tree. And bed, with a rather feverish sensation of

disappointment, seemed John Derringham's portion.

Halcyone had passed a day of happy tranquillity. She was of that godlike

calm which frets not, believing always that only good could come to her,

and that, as she heard nothing from her lover, it was because--which was

indeed the truth--he was arranging for their future. If it had been fine

she had meant to go to the tree, but as it rained she went quietly to

her room, and let her Priscilla brush her hair for an hour, while she

stared in the old dark glass, seeing not her own pale and exquisite

face, but all sorts of pictures of future happiness. That she must not

tell her old nurse, for the moment, of her good fortune was her one

crumpled rose-leaf, but she had arranged that when she went she would

post a letter at once to her, and Priscilla would, of course, join her

in London, or wherever it was John Derringham would decide that she

should live. The thought of leaving her aunts did not so much trouble

her. The ancient ladies had never made her their companion or encouraged

her to have a single interest in common with them. She was even doubtful

if they would really miss her, so little had they ever taken her into

their lives. For them she was still the child to be kept in her place,

however much she had tried to grow a little nearer. Then her thoughts

turned back to ways and means.

She so often spent the whole day with Cheiron that her absence would not

be remarked upon until bedtime. But then she suddenly remembered, with a

feeling of consternation, that the Professor intended to leave on the

Tuesday in Whitsun week for his annual fortnight in London. If the

household knew of this, it might complicate matters, and was a pity.

However, there was no use speculating about any of these things, since

she did not yet know on which day she was to start--to start for

Paradise--as the wife of her Beloved!

Next morning it was fine again, and she decided she would go towards

their tree, and if John were not there, she would even go on to the

orchard house, because she realized fully the difficulty he would find

in sending her a message.

But he was there waiting for her, in the bright sunlight, and she

thought him the perfection of what a man should look in his well-cut

gray flannels.

John Derringham knew how to dress himself, and had even in his oldest

clothes that nameless, indescribable distinction which seems often to be

the birthright of Englishmen of his class.

The daylight made her timid again; she was no more the imperious goddess

of the night. It was a shy and tender little maiden who nestled into the

protecting strong arms of her lover.

He told her all his plans: how he had given notice for the license, and

that it would be forthcoming. And he explained that he had chosen

Bristol rather than Upminster because in this latter place everyone

would know the name of La Sarthe--even the registrar's clerk and whoever

else they would secure as a witness--but in Bristol it might pass

unnoticed.

They discussed what should be done about Cheiron and the old ladies, and

decided that when to apprise the former of their marriage must be left

to John's discretion; and as Halcyone would not be missed until the

evening, they would simply send two telegrams from Bristol in the late

afternoon, one to Miss La Sarthe and one to Priscilla, the former

briefly to announce that Halcyone was quite safe and was writing, and

the latter asking her old nurse not to let the old ladies feel worried,

and promising a letter to her, also.

"Then," John Derringham said, "you will be my wife by that time,

sweetheart, and you will tell your aunts the truth, ask them to keep our

secret, and say that you will return to them often, so that they shall

not be lonely. We will write it between us, darling, and I do not think

they will give us away."

"Never," returned Halcyone, while she looked rather wistfully towards

the house. "They are too proud."

He dropped her hand for an instant; the unconscious inference of this

speech made him wince. She understood, then, that she was going to do

something which her old kinswomen would think was a hurt to their pride,

and so would be silent over it in consequence. And yet she did not

hesitate. She must indeed love him very much.

A tremendous wave of emotion surged through him, and he looked at her

with reverence and worship. And for one second his own part of utter

selfishness flashed into his understanding, so that he asked, with

almost an anxious note in his deep, assured voice:

"You are not afraid, sweetheart, to come away--for all the rest of your

life--alone with me?"

And often in the after days of anguish there would come back to him the

memory of her eyes, to tear his heart with agony in the

night-watches--her pure, true eyes, with all her fresh, untarnished soul

looking out of them into his as they glistened with love and faith.

"Afraid?" she said. "How should I be afraid--since you are my lord and I

am your love? Do we not belong to one another?"

"Oh, my dear," he said, as he folded her to his heart in wild,

worshiping passion, "God keep you always safe, here in my arms."

And if she had known it, for the first time in his life there were tears

in John Derringham's proud eyes. For he knew now he had found her--the

one woman with a soul.

Then they parted, when every smallest detail was settled, for she had

promised to help Miss Roberta with a new design for her embroidery, and

he had promised to join Mrs. Cricklander's party for an early lunch.

They intended to make an excursion to see the ruins of Graseworth Tower

in the afternoon.

"And indeed we can bear the separation now, my darling," he said,

"because we shall both know that we must go through only four more days

before we are together--for always!"

But even so it seemed as if they could not tear themselves apart, and

when he did let her go he strode after her again and pleaded for one

more kiss.

"There!" she whispered, smiling while her eyes half filled with mist.

"This tree is forever sacred to us. John, it is listening now when I

tell you once more that I love you."

And then she fled.