Chapter XVI: The Voice of Passion

Vyner soon recovered from the double shock he had sustained, and was now quite happy again with his two girls, and his excellent friend Heath, as his constant companions; while Julius and Rose were seldom two days absent from them.

For the sake of Blanche they now returned to Wytton Hall, and there her health was slowly but steadily restored.

Captain Heath was her companion in almost every walk and drive; reading to her the books she wished; daily becoming a greater favourite with little Rose Blanche, who would leave even her nurse to come to him; and daily feeling serener, as his love grew not deeper, but less unquiet: less, as he imagined, like a lover's love, and more like that of an elder brother.

Blanche was happier with him than with any one else; not that she loved him, not even that she divined his love; since Cecil's death, his manner had been even less demonstrative than it had ever been before, and it would have been impossible for the keenest observer to have imagined there was anything like love in his attentions.

What quiet blissful months those were which they then passed: Vyner once more absorbed in his Horace; Blanche daily growing stronger, and less melancholy; Heath living as one in a dream; Violet hearing, with a woman's pride in him she loves, of Marmaduke's immense success in parliament, where he was already looked up to as the future Chatham or Burke.

Every time Violet saw Marmaduke's name in the papers, her heart fluttered against the bars of its prison, and she groaned at the idea of being separated from him. Indeed her letters to Rose were so full of Marmaduke, that Rose planned with Julius a little scheme to bring the two unexpectedly together, as soon as Violet returned to town.

"I am sure Violet loves him," said Rose; "I don't at all understand what has occurred to separate them. Violet is silent on the point, and is uneasy if I allude to it. But don't you agree with me, Julius, that she must love him?"

"I think it very probable."

"Probable! Why not certain?"

"Because, you know, I am apt to be suspicious on that subject."

"I know you are," she said, laughing and shaking her locks at him, "and a pretty judge you are of a woman's heart!"

Julius allowed himself to be persuaded that Violet really did love Marmaduke, and accordingly some weeks afterwards, when the Vyners had returned, Julius arranged a pic-nic in which Marmaduke was to join, without Violet's knowledge. Fearful lest she should refuse to accompany them if she saw him before starting, it was agreed that Marmaduke should meet them at Richmond.

Imagine with what feverish impatience he awaited them, and with what a sinking, anxious heart he appeared amongst them. Violet blushed, and looked at Rose; the laughter in her eyes plainly betrayed her share in the plot, in defiance of the affected gravity of her face. He shook hands with such of the company as he knew personally, was introduced to the others, and then quietly seated himself beside Violet, in a manner so free from either embarrassment or gallantry, that it put her quite at her ease. She had determined, from the first, to frustrate Rose's kindly-intentioned scheme; and she felt that she had strength enough to do so. But his manner at once convinced her that, however he might have been brought there, it was with no intention of taking any advantage of their meeting to open forbidden subjects.

Marmaduke was in high spirits, and talked quite brilliantly. Violet was silent; but from time to time, as he turned to address a remark to her, he saw her look of admiration, and that inspired him.

I need not describe the pic-nic, for time presses, and pic-nics are all very much alike. Enough if we know that the day was spent merrily and noisily, and that dinner was noisier and merrier than all: the champagne drank, amounting to something incredible.

Evening was drawing in. The last rays of a magnificent sunset were fading in the western sky, and the cool breeze springing up warned the company that it was time to prepare for their return.

The boisterous gaiety of the afternoon and dinner had ceased. Every one knows the effect of an exhilarating feast, followed by a listless exhausted hour or two; when the excitement produced by wine and laughter has passed away, a lassitude succeeds, which in poetical minds induces a tender melancholy, in prosaic minds a desire for stimulus or sleep.

As the day went down, all the guests were exhausted, except Marmaduke and Violet, who, while the others were gradually becoming duller and duller, had insensibly wandered away, engrossed in the most enchanting conversation.

"Did I not tell you?" whispered Rose, as she pointed out to Julius the retreating figures of her sister and Marmaduke.

Away the lovers wandered, and although their hearts were full of love, although their eyes were speaking it as eloquently as love can speak, not a syllable crossed their lips which could be referred to it. A vague yearning--a dim, melancholy, o'ermastering feeling held its empire over their souls. The witching twilight, closing in so strange a day, seemed irresistibly to guide their thoughts into that one channel which they had hitherto so dexterously avoided. Her hand was on his arm--he pressed it tenderly, yet gently--so gently!--to his side. He gazed into her large lustrous eyes, and intoxicated by their beauty and tenderness, he began to speak.

"It is getting late. We must return. We must separate. Oh! Violet, before we separate, tell me that it is not for ever----"

"Marmaduke!" she stammered out, alarmed.

"Dearest, dearest Violet, we shall meet again--you will let me see you--will you not?"

She was silent, struggling.

They walked on a few paces; then he again said,--

"You will not banish me entirely--you will from time to time----"

"No, Marmaduke," she said, solemnly; "no, it will not be right. You need not look so pained--I--have I nothing to overcome when I forego the delight of seeing you? But it must not be. You know that it cannot be."

"I know nothing of the kind!" he impetuously exclaimed; "I only know that you do not love me!"

She looked reproachfully at him; but his head was turned away.

"Cold, cold as marble," he muttered as they walked on.

She did not answer him. Lovers are always unreasonable and unjust. He was furious at her "coldness;" she was hurt at his misunderstanding her. She could have implored him to be more generous; but he gave her no encouragement--he spoke no word--kept his look averted. Thus neither tried to explain away the other's misconception; neither smoothed the other's ruffled anger. In silence they walked on, environed by their pride. The longer they kept silent, the bitterer grew their feelings;--the more he internally reprobated her for coldness, the more she was hurt at his refusal to acknowledge the justness of her resolution, after all that had passed between them by letter.

In this painful state of feeling, they joined their companions just as the boats were got ready.

Rose looked inquiringly at Violet; but Violet averted her head. Julius was troubled to perceive the evident anger of Marmaduke.

The boats pushed off. The evening was exquisite, and Rose murmured to Julius the words of their favourite Leopardi:--

Dolce e chiara è la notte, e senza vento,
E queta sovra i tetti e in mezzo agli orti
Posa la luna, e di lontan rivela
Serena ogni montagna.

Wearied by the excitement of the day, they were almost all plunged in reveries from which they made no effort to escape. The regular dip of the oars in the water, and the falling drops shaken from them, had a musical cadence, which fell deliciously on the ear. It was a dreamy scene. The moon rose, and shed her gentle light upon them, as they moved along, in almost unbroken silence, upon the silver stream. The last twitter of the birds had ceased; the regular and soothing sounds of the oars alone kept them in a sort of half consciousness of being awake.

Marmaduke and Violet were suffering tortures. She occasionally stole a glance at him, and with redoubled pain read upon his haughty face the expression of anger and doubt which so much distressed her. The large tears rolled over her face. She leaned over the boat side to hide them, and as she saw the river hurrying on beneath her, she thought of the unhappy Cecil, and of his untimely end. Over his dishonoured corpse had this cold river flowed, as gently as now it flowed beneath her... From Cecil her thoughts wandered to Wytton Hall, and her early inclination for him--to her scene in the field with the bull--to her first meeting with Marmaduke; and then she thought no more of Cecil.

Thus they were rowed through the silent evening. On reaching town, the party dispersed.

Marmaduke and Violet separated with cold politeness, and each went home to spend a miserable night.

For some days did Marmaduke brood over her refusal, and as he reflected on the strength of her character, and the slight probability that she would ever yield--her very frankness told him that--he took a sudden and very loverlike resolution that he would quit England, and return to Brazil.

Preparations for his departure were not delayed an instant, and with his usual impetuosity he had completed every arrangement before another would have fairly commenced.

Leave-taking began. He wrote to Vyner announcing his intention, and saying that he proposed doing himself the pleasure of bidding them adieu. He had the faint hope, which was very faint, that Violet might be present, and that he might see her for the last time. Lovers attach a very particular importance to a last farewell, and angry as Marmaduke was with Violet, the idea of quitting England for ever, without once more seeing her, was extremely painful to him.

It was a dull, drizzly day, enough to depress the most elastic of temperaments. Violet was in her father's study, looking out upon the mist of rain and cloud, debating with herself whether she should be present during Marmaduke's visit or not. After what had passed, she tried to persuade herself that it was fortunate he was going to quit England, fearing that her resolution would never hold out against his renewed entreaties; but it was in vain she sophisticated with herself, her heart told her that she was wretched, intensely wretched at his departure.

Her father's voice roused her from this reverie, and she passed into the drawing-room, where a few minutes afterwards the servant entered, and announced "Mr. Ashley."

A stream of fire seemed suddenly to pour along her veins; but by the time he had shaken hands with Vyner and Blanche, and had turned to her, she was comparatively calm. His face was very sallow, and there was a nervous quivering of his delicate nostrils, which indicated the emotion within, but which was unobserved by her, as her eyes were averted.

The conversation was uneasy and common-place. Marmaduke's manner was calm and composed, but his voice was low. Violet sat with her eyes upon the carpet, deadly pale, and with colourless lips. Blanche, who did not quite understand the relation between them, but who knew that Violet loved him, was anxious on her account. Vyner alone was glib and easy. He talked of parliament, and remarked, that the best thing he knew of it was, that the members always quoted Horace.

As the interview proceeded, Marmaduke's grave, cold manner became slightly tinged with irony and bitterness; and when Vyner said to him, "Apropos, what--if the question be permissible--what induces you to leave us? are you to be away long?"

He replied, with a marked emphasis, "Very long."

"Is Brazil, then, so very attractive?"

"England ceases to be attractive. I want breathing space. There I can, as Tennyson sings,--

'Burst all the links of habit--there to wander far away,
On from island unto island, at the gateways of the day.'"

Blanche, mildly interposing, said,--

"But what does he also sing, and in the same poem?

'Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay.'"

Violet's eyes were fixed upon the ground.

"And, after all--poetry aside--what are you going to do with yourself in that hot climate?"

"To marry, perhaps," he said, carelessly, and with a forced laugh.

Violet shook all over; but she did not raise her eyes.

"An heiress?" asked Vyner.

"No,--to continue Tennyson,--

'I will take some savage woman, she shall rear my dusky race.'"

There was singular bitterness, as he added,--

"In those climates, the passions are not cramped by the swaddling clothes of civilisation; their franker natures better suit my own impulsiveness; when they love they love--they do not stultify their hearts with intricate sophisms."

Violet now raised her large eyes, and, with mournful steadiness, reproached him by a look, for the words he had just uttered. He met her look with one as steady, but flashing with scorn.

"Well, for my part," said Vyner, tapping his snuff-box, "Brazil would have little attraction for me, especially if the women are violent. I can't bear violent women."

Marmaduke had expected some remark from Violet in answer to his speech; but that one look was her only answer, and she was now as intently examining the carpet as before. He noticed her paleness, and the concentrated calmness of her manner, and it irritated him the more.

Blanche, with true feminine sagacity, saw it was desirable, in every case, that Violet should have an opportunity of speaking with him alone, so walked out of the room, and in a few minutes sent the servant with a message to Vyner that he was wanted for an instant down stairs.

The lovers were now alone, and horribly embarrassed. They wanted to break the uneasy silence, but neither of them could utter a word.

At last Violet, feeling that it was imperative on her to say something, murmured, without looking at him,--

"And when do you start?"

"On Monday."

Another pause ensued; perhaps worse this time than before, because of the unsuccessful attempt.

"I wonder whether it still rains?" he said, after a few moments' silence, and walked to the window to look out.

Left thus sitting by herself--an emblem of the far more terrible desertion which was to follow--Violet looked in upon her desolate heart, and felt appalled at the prospect. The imperious cry of passion sounded within her, and would not be gagged: the pent-up tide burst away the barriers, and rushed precipitately onwards, carrying before it all scruples like straws upon a stream.

"Marmaduke!" she exclaimed.

He turned from the window; she had half-risen from her seat; he walked up to her.

She flung herself into his arms.

"Is this true, Violet? Speak--are you mine--mine?"

She pressed him closer to her. It is only men who find words in such moments; and Marmaduke was as eloquent as love and rapture could make him.

When she did speak, it was in a low fluttering tone, her pale face suffused with blushes, as she told him, that to live apart from him was _impossible_;--either he must stay, or take her with him.

Meanwhile, Vyner had been prettily rated by Blanche for his dulness in not perceiving that the lovers wanted to be alone.

"But are you certain, Blanche, that they are lovers? For my part, I wish it were so; but although Violet certainly has a regard for him, I have reason to believe, that he has none for her."

Blanche sighed and said,--

"Then let us go back, for in that case, they will only be uncomfortable together."

* * * * * *

_N.B._--The journey to Brazil was indefinitely postponed.