Love and hatred Part 37

But now? Since Oliver had taken her hands in his, and gazed down speechlessly into her eyes, she had known that it was he, not she, would set the pace in their new relationship, and that however sincere his self-imposed restraint and humility. So it was that Laura instinctively clung to Mrs. Tropenell's hand.

The pa.s.sion of love, which so often makes even quite a young man feel older, steadier, more responsible, has quite the opposite effect on a woman. To every woman love brings back youth, and the deeper, the more instinctive the love, the greater the tremors and the uncertainties which, according to a hypocritical convention, belong only to youth.

The years which Laura had spent with G.o.dfrey Pavely seemed obliterated.

Memories of her married life which had been very poignantly present in the early days of her widowhood, filling her with mingled repugnance, pain, and yes, remorse, were now erased from the tablets of her mind.

She felt as if it was the young, ignorant Laura--that Laura who had been so full of high, almost defiant ideals--who was now standing, so full of confused longing and hope, if yet also a little fearful, on the threshold of a new, wonderful life....

Good-breeding and the observance of certain long-established, social usages have an inestimable value in all the great crises of human existence. To-night each of the other three felt the comfort of Lord St.

Amant's presence among them. His agreeable ease of manner, his pleasant, kindly deference to the older and the younger lady, all helped to lessen the tension, and make what each of his companions felt to be a breathless time of waiting, easier to live through.

He himself was surprised and shocked by the change he saw in Oliver Tropenell's face. Oliver looked worn, haggard, yet filled with a kind of fierce gladness. He appeared to-night not so much the happy, as the exultant, conqueror of fate. He talked, and talked well, of the political situation in Mexico, of certain happenings which had taken place in England during his absence, and though now and again Mrs.

Tropenell joined in the talk, on the whole she, like Laura, was content to listen to the two men.

After dinner, while they were still alone in the drawing-room, Laura began to talk, rather eagerly, of her little Alice. She had begun to wonder whether it would not be well for the child to go to school as a weekly boarder. There was such a school within reasonable motoring distance. Alice was becoming rather too grown-up, and unchildlike. She had certain little friends in the town of Pewsbury, but they did not really touch her life.

But even as Mrs. Tropenell and Laura talked the matter over, they both felt their talk to be unreal. Each of them knew that Laura's second marriage, if ever marry she did, would completely alter the whole situation with regard to Alice. Oliver was not the man to hang up his hat in another man's house--besides, why should he do so? The Chase belonged to Alice, even now.

And then rather suddenly, Laura asked a question: "How long is Oliver going to stay in England, Aunt Letty?"

And Mrs. Tropenell quietly answered, "I should think he would stay till after Christmas. I gather everything is going on quite well out there, thanks to Gillie." She waited a moment, and then repeated, thoughtfully: "Yes--I feel sure Oliver means to stay till after the New Year----"

And then she stopped suddenly. There had come a change over Laura's face. Laura had remembered what Mrs. Tropenell for the moment had not done--that early in January G.o.dfrey Pavely would have been dead exactly a year.

As ten o'clock struck, the other two came in, still talking eagerly to one another.

Lord St. Amant sat down by Laura.

"I'm going to have a little shooting party later on--not now, but early in December," he said. "Mrs. Tropenell is coming, and I hope Oliver too.

I wonder if you would do me the great pleasure of being there, Laura?

It's a long, long time since you honoured the Abbey with your company----"

He was smiling down at her. "I would ask Alice to come too," he went on, "but I think she'd be bored! Perhaps you'll be bored too? I'm not having any very brilliant or wonderful people, just a few of the neighbours whom I feel I've rather neglected."

Laura laughed. "Of course I shall enjoy coming!" she exclaimed.

Oliver was standing by his mother. Suddenly he muttered, "Mother? Ask Lord St. Amant to come over and speak to you----"

But before she could obey him, Lord St. Amant got up and quickly came over to where Mrs. Tropenell was sitting, leaving a vacant place by Laura.

With his back to the two younger people he sat down close to Mrs.

Tropenell, and all at once he saw that her dark eyes were full of tears.

He took her hand and patted it gently. "I feel dreadfully _de trop_," he murmured. "Can't we go off, we two old folk, to your little room, my dearest? I'm sure you've something you want to show me there, or consult me about?"

And while Lord St. Amant was saying this to his old love, the two on the other side of the room were silent, as if stricken dumb by the nearness each felt to the other.

And at last it was Laura who broke the silence. "I think I must be going home," she said uncertainly.

She looked across at her hostess. "I don't want to make Lord St. Amant think he ought to go too. Perhaps I can slip away quietly?"

"I'll walk back with you."

Oliver spoke with a kind of dry decision.

He got up. "Mother? I'm taking Laura home. I shan't be long. Perhaps Lord St. Amant will stay till I come back. It's quite early."

He turned to Laura, now standing by his side: "Say good-bye to them now. I'll fetch your shawl, and we'll go out through the window."

Laura obeyed, as in a dream. "Good-bye, Aunt Letty. Good-night, Lord St.

Amant--I shall enjoy being at the Abbey."

She suffered herself to be kissed by the one--her hand pressed by the other. Then she turned as if in answer to an unseen signal.

Oliver was already back in the room, her Shetland shawl on his arm. He put it round her shoulders, taking care not to touch her as he did so; then he opened the long French window, and stood aside for a moment while she stepped through into the moonlight, out of doors.

They were now in the beech avenue, in a darkness that seemed the more profound because of the streaks of silvery moonlight which lay just behind them. But even so, the white shawl Laura was wearing showed dimly against the depths of shade encompa.s.sing her.

All at once Oliver turned and said so suddenly that she, walking by his side, started: "Laura? Do you remember this time last year?"

And as she answered the one word "Yes," he went on: "It was to-night, just a year ago, that I promised to become your friend. And as long as you were another man's wife, I kept my promise, at any rate to the letter. If you tell me to go away for the next three months, I will do so--to-morrow. If I stay, I must stay, Laura, as your lover."

As she remained silent, he went on quickly: "Do not misunderstand me. I only ask for the right to love you--I do not ask for any return."

She was filled with an exquisite, tremulous joy. But that side of her nature which was restrained, and which had been so atrophied, was ignorant of the generosities of love, and shrank from quick surrender.

So all she said, in a voice which sounded very cold to herself, was, "But that, Oliver, would surely not be fair--to you?"

"Quite fair!" he exclaimed eagerly--"quite fair. In no case would I ever wish to obtain what was not freely vouchsafed."

He muttered, in a voice so low as to be scarcely audible, some further words which moved her strangely, and vibrated to a chord which had never before been touched, save to jar and to offend.

"To me aught else were sacrilege," were the words Oliver Tropenell said.

By now Laura's eyes had become accustomed to the darkness. She could see her companion's tall, at once broad-shouldered and lean figure, standing at rights angles to herself, keeping its distance....

Taking a step forward, she put out her right hand a little blindly, and laid it on the sleeve of his coat. Laura had always been an inarticulate woman, but with that touch, that fleeting moment of contact between them, something of what she was feeling took flight from her heart to his----

"Laura?"

He grasped her hands as he had grasped them three hours ago when they had first met in his mother's presence. And then again he breathed her name. But this time the touch of doubting, incredulous joy had pa.s.sed into something ardent, exultant, possessive, and she was in his arms--her self-absorption, her fastidiousness, her lifelong shrinking from any strong emotion, swept away by a force which she had once only known sufficiently to abhor and to condemn, but which she now felt to be divine.

And then Oliver Tropenell said a strange thing indeed. "To have secured this immortal moment, I would willingly die a shameful, ign.o.ble death to-morrow," were the words he whispered, as he strained Laura to his heart, as his lips sought and found her lips....

At last they paced slowly on, and Laura found herself secretly exulting in the violence of Oliver's emotion, and in the broken, pa.s.sionate terms of endearment with which he endowed her. That her response was that of a girl rather than that of a woman was to her lover an added ecstasy. It banished the hateful, earthy shade of G.o.dfrey Pavely--that shade which had haunted Oliver Tropenell all that evening, even in his mother's house.

Just as they were about to step out from under the arch of the beech trees on to the high road, he again took her in his arms. "Laura?" he whispered. "May I tell my mother?" But as he felt her hesitating: "No!"

he exclaimed. "Forget that I asked you that! We will say nothing yet.