The Daughters of Danaus Part 70

"Ah! life is horribly difficult!" she exclaimed. "I wish to heaven I had never budged from the traditions in which I was educated--either that, or that everybody had discarded them. I feel one way and think another."

"Then you do love me, Hadria," he cried.

Her instinct was to deny the truth, but there seemed to her something mean in concealment, especially if she were to blame, especially if those who respected tradition, and made it their guide and rule through thick and thin, in the very teeth of reason, were right after all, as it seemed to her, at this moment, that they were. If there were evil in this strange pa.s.sion, let her at least acknowledge her share in it. Let her not "a.s.sume a virtue though she had it not."

Professor Theobald was watching her face, as for a verdict of life and death.

"Oh, answer me, answer me--Yes or no, yes or no?" She had raised her eyes for a moment, about to speak; the words were stifled at their birth, for the next instant she was in his arms. Again came the voice of the singer, nearer this time. The song was hummed softly.

"Oh, gather me the rose, the rose, While yet in flower we find it, For summer smiles, but summer goes, And winter waits behind it."

CHAPTER XLIII.

The need for vigilance over that hidden distrust was more peremptory now than ever. The confession once made, the die once cast, anything but complete faith and respect became intolerable. Outwardly, affairs seemed to run on very much as before. But Hadria could scarcely believe that she was living in the same world. The new fact walked before her, everywhere. She did not dare to examine it closely. She told herself that a great joy had come to her, or rather that she had taken the joy in spite of everything and everybody. She would order her affections exactly as she chose. If only she could leave Craddock Dene! Hubert and her parents considered the opinion of the public as of more importance than anything else in life; for her mother's sake she was forced to acquiesce; otherwise there was absolutely no reason why she and Hubert should live under the same roof. It was a mere ceremony kept up on account of others. That had been acknowledged by him in so many words.

And a wretched, ridiculous, irksome ceremony it was for them both.

Hadria refused now to meet Professor Theobald at the Cottage. His visits there, which had been timed to meet her, must be paid at a different hour. He remonstrated in vain. She shewed various other inconsistencies, as he called them. He used to laugh affectionately at her "glimpses of conscience," but said he cared nothing for these trifles, since he had her a.s.surance that she loved him. How he had waited and longed for that!

How hopeless, how impossible it had seemed. He professed to have fallen in love at first sight. He even declared that Hadria had done the same, though in a different way, without knowing it. Her mind had resisted and, for the time, kept her feelings in abeyance. He had watched the struggle. Her heart, he rejoiced to believe, had responded to him from the beginning. By dint of repeating this very often, he had half convinced Hadria that it was so. She preferred to think that her feeling was of the long-standing and resistless kind.

Sometimes she had intervals of reckless happiness, when all doubts were kept at bay, and the condition of belief that she a.s.siduously cultivated, remained with her freely. She felt no secret tug at the tether. Professor Theobald would then be at his best; grave, thoughtful, gentle, considerate, responsive to every mood.

When they met at Craddock Place and elsewhere, Hadria suffered miseries of anxiety. She was terrified lest he should do or say something in bad taste, and that she would see her own impression confirmed on the faces of others. She put it to herself that she was afraid people would not understand him as she did. The history of his past life, as he had related it to her, appealed overpoweringly to all that was womanly and protective in her nature. He was emotional by temperament, but circ.u.mstance had doomed him to repression and solitude. This call on her sympathy did more than anything to set Hadria's mind at rest. She gave a vast sigh when that feeling of confidence became confirmed. Life, then, need no longer be ridiculous! Hard and cruel it might be, full of lost dreams, but at least there would be something in it that was perfect.

This new emotional centre offered the human _summum bonum_: release from oneself.

Hadria and the Professor met, one morning, in the gardens of the Priory.

Hadria had been strolling down the yew avenue, her thoughts full of him, as usual. She reached the seat at the end where once Professor Fortescue had found her--centuries ago, it seemed to her now. How different was _this_ meeting! Professor Theobald came by the path through the thick shrubberies, behind the seat. There was a small s.p.a.ce of gra.s.s at the back. Here he stood, bending over the seat, and though he was usually prudent, he did not even a.s.sure himself that no one was in sight, before drawing Hadria's head gently back, and stooping to kiss her on the cheek, while he imprisoned a hand in each of his. She flushed, and looked hastily down the avenue.

"I wonder what our fate would be, if anyone had been there?" she said, with a little shudder.

"No one was there, darling." He stood leaning over the high back of the seat, looking down at his companion, with a smile.

"Do you know," he said, "I fear I shall have to go up to town to-morrow, for the day."

Hadria's face fell. She hated him to go away, even for a short time; she could not endure her own thoughts when his influence was withdrawn. His presence wrapped her in a state of dream, a false peace which she courted.

"Oh no, no," she cried, with a childish eagerness that was entirely unlike her, "don't go."

"Do you really care so very much?" he asked, with a deep flush of pleasure.

"Of course I do, of course." Her thoughts wandered off through strange by-ways. At times, they would pa.s.s some black cavernous entrance to unknown labyrinths, and the frightened thoughts would hurry by.

Sometimes they would be led decorously along a smooth highway, pacing quietly; sometimes they would rise to the sunlight and spread their wings, and then perhaps take sudden flight, like a flock of startled birds.

Yes, he needed sympathy, and faith, and love. He had never had anyone to believe in him before. He had met with hardness and distrust all his life. She would trust him. He had conquered, step by step, his inimical conditions. He was lonely, unused to real affection. Let her try to make up for what he had lost. Let her forget herself and her own little woes, in the effort to fill his life with all that he had been forced to forego. (An impish thought danced before her for a second--"Fine talk, but you know you love to be loved.") If her love were worth anything, that must be her impulse. Let her beware of considering her own feelings, her own wishes and fears. If she loved, let it be fully and freely, generously and without reserve. That or nothing. ("Probably it will be nothing," jeered the imp.) "Then what, in heaven's name, _is_ it that I feel?" the other self seemed to cry in desperation.

"An idea has struck me," said the Professor, taking her hand and holding it closely in his, "Why should you not come up to town, say on Friday--don't start, dearest--it would be quite simple, and then for once in our lives we should stand, as it were, alone in the world, you and I, without this everlasting dread of curious eyes upon us. Alone among strangers--what bliss! We could have a day on the river, or I could take you to see--well, anything you liked--we should be free and happy. Think of it, Hadria! to be rid of this incessant need for caution, for hypocrisy. We have but one life to live; why not live it?"

"Why not live it, why not live it?" The words danced in her head, like circles of little sprites carrying alluring wreaths of roses.

"Ah, we must be careful; there is much at stake," she said.

He began to plead, eloquently and skilfully. He knew exactly what arguments would tell best with her. The imps and the other selves engaged in a free fight.

"No; I must not listen; it is too dangerous. If it were not for my mother, I should not care for anything, but as it is, I must risk nothing. I have already risked too much."

"There would be no danger," he argued. "Trust to me. I have something to lose too. It is of no use to bring the whole dead stupid weight of the world on our heads. There is no sense in lying down under a heap of rubbish, to be crushed. Let us go our way and leave other people to go theirs."

"Easier said than done."

"Oh no; the world must be treated as one would treat a maniac who brandished a razor in one's face. Direct defiance argues folly worse than his."

"Of course, but all this subterfuge and deceit is hateful."

"Not if one considers the facts of the case. The maniac-world insists upon uniformity and obedience, especially in that department of life where uniformity is impossible. You don't suppose that it is ever _really_ attained by any human being who deserves the name? Never! We all wear the livery of our master and live our own lives not the less."

"Ah, I doubt that," said Hadria. "I think the livery affects us all, right through to the bones and marrow. What young clergyman was it who told me that as soon as he put on his canonicals, he felt a different man, mind, heart, and personality?"

"Well, _your_ livery has never made you, Hadria, and that is all I care for."

"Indeed, I am not so sure."

"It has not turned you out a Mrs. Jordan or a Mrs. Walker, for instance."

"To the great regret of my well-wishers."

"To the great regret of your inferiors. There is nothing that people regret so bitterly as superiority to themselves." Hadria laughed.

"I am always afraid of the gratifying argument based on the a.s.sumption of superiority; one is apt to be brought down a peg, if ever one indulges in it."

"I can't see that much vanity is implied in claiming superiority to the common idiot of commerce," said the Professor, with a shrug.

"He is in the family," Hadria reminded him.

"The human family; yes, confound him!" They laughed, and the Professor, after a pause, continued his pleading.

"It only needs a little courage, Hadria. My love, my dear one, don't shake your head."

He came forward and sat down on the seat beside her, bending towards her persuasively.

"Promise me to come to town on Friday, Hadria--promise me, dearest."

"But if--oh, how I hate all the duplicity that this involves! It creates wretched situations, whichever way one turns. I never realized into what a labyrinth it would lead one. I should like to speak out and be honest about it."

"And your mother?"

"Oh, I know of course----" Hadria set her teeth. "It drives me mad, all this!"