Lover or Friend Part 70

And presently, when he was a little stronger, he put it all before her.

He explained to her as well as he could the future that lay before him; the yoke of his father's sin was on his neck, and it was useless to try and break it off. He might call himself Blake, and look for new work in a new place, and the miserable fact would leak out.

There is a fatality in such cases, he went on. 'One may try to hush it up, to live quietly, to attract no notice; but sooner or later the secret will ooze out. I think I am prouder than most men--perhaps I am morbid; but I feel I shall never live down this shame.'

'You will live it down one day.'

'Yes, the day they put me in my coffin; but not before, Audrey.' Then, as she turned pale at the thought, he accused himself bitterly for his selfishness. 'I am making you wretched, and you are an angel of goodness!' he cried remorsefully. 'But you must forgive me, darling; indeed, I am not myself.'

'Do you think I do not know that?'

'A braver man than I might shrink from such a future. What have I done that such a thing should happen to me? I loved my work, and now it is taken from me; as far as I know, I may have to dig for my bread.'

'No, no!' she returned, holding him fast; for this was more than she could bear to hear--that the bright promise of his youth was blasted and destroyed. 'Cyril, if you love me, as you say you do, will you promise me two things?'

He looked at her a little doubtfully.

'If I love you!' he said reproachfully.

'Then I will alter my sentence, I will say, because of your love for me, will you grant me these two things? Cyril, you must forgive your mother.

However greatly she has erred, you must remember that it was for your sake.'

'I do remember it.'

'And you will be good to her?'

Then, his face became very stern.

'I will do my duty to her. I think I may promise you that.'

'Dearest, I do not doubt it. When have you ever failed in your duty? But I want more than that: you must try so that your heart may be softer to her; you are her one thought; with all her faults, I think no mother ever loved her son so well. It is not the highest love, perhaps, since she has stooped to deceit and wrong for your sake; but, Cyril, it is not for you to judge her.'

'Perhaps not; but how am I to refrain from judging her? To me truth is the one absolute virtue--the very crown and chief of virtues. That is why I first loved you, Audrey--because of your trustworthiness. But now I have lost my mother--nay, worse, she has never existed!'

'I do not quite understand you.'

'Do you think my mother--the mother I believed in--could have acted this life-long lie? Would she have worn widows' weeds, and utterly forsworn herself? No; with all her faults, such crooked ways would have been impossible. Audrey, you must give me time to become acquainted with this new mother. I will not be hard to her, if I can possibly help it; but'--here the bitterness of his tone betrayed his deep agony--'she can never be to me again what she has been.'

'Then I will not press you any more, Cyril. I have such faith in you, that I believe you will come through even this ordeal; but there is something more I must ask you: Will you let Michael be your friend?'

'We are friends, are we not?' he said, a little bewildered at this.

'Ah! but I would have you close friends. Dear, you must think of me--how unhappy I shall be unless I know you have someone to stand by you in your trouble. If you would let my father help you!' But a shake of the head negatived this. 'Well, then, it must be Michael, our good, generous Michael, who will be like a brother to you.'

'I do not feel as though any man could help me.'

'No one but Michael. Dear Cyril, give me my way in this. We are going to part, remember, and it may be for a long term of years; but if you value my peace of mind, promise me that you will not turn from Michael.'

'Very well; I will promise you that. Have you any more commands to lay upon me, Audrey?'

'No,' she returned wistfully; 'be yourself, your true, brave, honest self, and all may yet be well. Now go! We have said all that needs to be said, and I must not keep you. You are free, my dear one; but it is I who am bound, who am still yours as much as ever. When we shall meet again, G.o.d knows; but in heart and in thought I shall be with you wherever you may go. Now kiss me, but you need not tell me again it is for the last time.'

Then she put her arms round his neck, and for a minute or two they held each other silently.

'My blessing, my one blessing!' murmured Cyril hoa.r.s.ely.

Then she gently pushed him from her.

'Yes, your blessing. You may call me that always, if you will.' And then, still holding his hand, she walked with him to the door; and as he stood looking at her with that despair in his eyes, she motioned to him to leave her. 'Go, dearest; I cannot bear any more.' And then he obeyed her.

A few hours afterwards her mother found her lying on her bed, looking very white and spent.

'Are you ill, Audrey? My dear, your father is so anxious about you, and so is Michael. When you did not appear at luncheon, they wanted me to go to you at once. Crauford says you have eaten nothing.'

'Dear mother, what does that matter? I am quite well, only so very tired. My strength seemed to desert me all at once, so I thought I would lie down and keep quiet. But you must tell father that I am not ill.'

'I shall tell him how good and brave you are,' returned her mother, caressing her; 'Audrey, did Crauford tell you that Geraldine is here?'

Then a shadow pa.s.sed over Audrey's pale face.

'No, mother.'

'She came up the moment luncheon was over to ask if you could go with her to Beverley, and of course she saw at once that something was amiss.

Your father took her into the study and told her himself. She is very much upset. That is why I have left you so long.'

'I did not know it was long,' returned Audrey, speaking in the same tired voice; 'it seems to me only a few minutes since Crauford took away the tray.'

'It is nearly four o'clock,' replied Mrs. Ross, looking at her anxiously--could it be her bright, strong girl who was lying there so prostrate? 'Geraldine has been here nearly two hours. She sent her love to you, darling, and wanted so much to know if she could see you; but I shall tell her you are not fit to see anyone.'

'I do not know that,' returned Audrey in a hesitating manner; 'I was just wishing that I could speak to Michael. If you had not come up, I think I should have put myself straight and gone downstairs. I think I may as well see Gage for a moment; it is better to get things over.'

'But, Audrey, I am quite sure it would be wiser for you to keep quiet to-day; you have had such a terrible strain. Everyone ought to do their best to spare you.'

'But I do not want to be spared,' returned Audrey, echoing her mother's sigh; 'so please send Gage to me, and tell her not to stop too long.

Crauford can tell her when tea is ready.' And then Mrs. Ross left her very reluctantly.

Geraldine's face was suffused with tears as she sat down beside the bed and took her sister's hand. Audrey shook her head at her.

'Gage, I don't mean to allow this; you and mother are not to make yourselves miserable on my account.'

'How are we to help it, Audrey?' replied Geraldine with a sob; 'I have never seen you look so ill in your life, and no wonder--this unhappy engagement! Oh, what will Percy say when I tell him?'

'He will be very shocked, of course. Everyone will be shocked. Perhaps both he and you will say it serves me right, because I would not take your advice and have nothing to do with the Blakes. Gage, I want you to do me one favour: tell Percival not to talk to me. Give him my love--say anything you think best--only do not let him speak to me.'

'He shall not, dearest; I will not let him. But all the same, he will grieve bitterly. He knows how bad it will be for you, and how people will talk. I have been telling mother that you ought to go away until things have blown over a little.'

Audrey was silent. This was not the sympathy her sore heart needed.

Geraldine's tact was at fault here; but the next moment Geraldine said, with manifest effort: