Chapter XIX: The Perils of One Night

Words that weep, and tears that speak.
COWLEY.

Blanche's bed-room formed the angle of the right wing at the back of the Hall. Her window looked upon the terrace. Between the right wing and the offices ran an arcade, as a sort of a connecting link. The top of this arcade formed an open gallery with heavy balustrades, and paved with dark iron-grey tiles. A small side-door opened on to it from the bed-room; and frequently, in summer, did Blanche sit out in this gallery to enjoy the cool night-air, or, leaning against the balustrade, gazed at the heavy curtain of clouds,--

"While the rare stars rush'd thro' them dim and fast."

At the end of the interior of the arcade was a niche, in which were generally kept some of the girl's gardening tools, and a slight ladder which they used.

Blanche was still dressed, as the light in her bed-room told Cecil, who had stolen out in pursuance of the resolution recorded in the last chapter. She was seated on the side of her bed in an attitude of delicious reverie, her head slightly drooping, her hands carelessly fallen on her lap, when the sound of a pebble striking against the window-pane startled her. Again that sound--and again! She rose and went to the window. The sky was overcast, and the night was dark, but after a few seconds she recognised Cecil, and opened the window.

"Are you dressed, dearest?"

"Yes."

"Then come out into the gallery. I want to speak to you. I can get up by the ladder."

"Very well, but be careful."

She closed the window, and stepped out. He placed the top of the ladder against the pediment of the arcade and quickly ascended.

They rushed into each other's arms of course. Lovers always do that directly they are together, no matter what important business brings them there.

"Blanche, my beloved, are you willing to share my fate, whatever that may be?"

"Have you run all this risk to ask me that?" she said, reproachfully.

"No; but I must ask it you--and in saddest seriousness--before I speak further."

Her lips sought his, and pressed them ardently.

"Our secret is discovered--your father even suspects it--we must fly--will you be mine?--Hush! what is that?--hush!--I heard a door shut.--Hark! yes, a footstep--do you not hear it?--a hurried step.--It comes this way--good God! what shall we do?"

Blanche trembled with fright as the heavy sounds of an approaching step smote upon her ears; but, with a sudden inspiration, she dragged Cecil into her room, and opening her window leaned out as if star-gazing, though the sky was starless. At length the sharp ring of the footsteps upon the stone terrace was heard, and a male figure was dimly visible. It came right opposite the window.

"Blanche! not yet in bed?" said Captain Heath; "and breathing the autumnal night-air too?"

She shook slightly, but answered, "Yes. The night-air cools me."

Cecil was greatly agitated, but held his breath and listened. Nothing more was said for some seconds; at last Blanche asked him what brought him out so late.

"Inability to remain in doors. I have just had an interview with _him_, which has greatly agitated me. He shewed himself selfish, foolish, and contemptible."

Cecil was on the point of starting up, but restrained himself on remembering where he was. Blanche was hurt, and replied, "Silence on that subject. Remember you are speaking of one who is to be my husband."

"God forbid!" he exclaimed.

She closed the discussion by shutting her window.

He moved away; but had not taken four steps when the ladder caught his eye. The position of the ladder, coupled with Blanche at the open window, still dressed, at that hour of the night, at once convinced him that an elopement was meditated. A sick faintness overcame him for a moment; but it was only for a moment. He rallied immediately, and taking the ladder on his shoulder, carried it off.

Willing as he was to assist his rival in every honourable way, he could not, after that evening's conversation with him, think of allowing an elopement, which must not only deprive them of any chance of assistance from her father, but also, by an unseemly precipitation, plunge them both into a difficulty it was his care, as Blanche's protector, to save them from. Having carried away their ladder, he then proceeded to the lodge-gates to see if a post-chaise was in waiting.

Meanwhile, the lovers had recovered from their agitation, and were arranging their plans of escape for the following night. The first tremor of modesty Blanche felt, on becoming aware that she had introduced Cecil into her bed-room, was completely set aside--the more so as, with a delicacy which often distinguished this weak, selfish, but still in many respects, admirable man, Cecil kept himself at a distance from her, and though holding her hand, did not even raise it to his lips. By that mute language which is more eloquent than words, he had assured her that the situation only increased his respect, and that nothing should make him take a base advantage of her momentary forgetfulness.

There was something deeply interesting and even touching in the situation of these two lovers. Shut up in a bed-room with him at midnight, she was as sacred in his eyes as she would have been in broad daylight, and surrounded by friends. She felt her security; and this gave a frankness and tenderness to her manner, which plainly spoke her thanks.

He felt also the charm of the situation, but with the charm, the danger, and therefore dared not keep his eyes from her, dared not look upon the bed or toilet-table, and strove by looking only at her to forget the place.

Modest and respectful as his attitude was, there was an exquisite feeling engendered by that situation which he had never felt before, and which those will comprehend who have trembled with secret pleasure at the delicious nothings--an accidental touch of the hand--the contact of a ringlet against the cheek--nothings which love invests with an incomparable charm. It is like a coy lingering at the gates of paradise, whose splendour the soul anticipates with delicious awe.

But the time fled rapidly, and the first cold streaks of dawn, struggling with the faint starlight, warned him that he must depart, ere it seemed to him that he had said all there was to say. Repeating every detail of their plan once more, they arose. He timidly offered her his lips, as begging but not demanding a kiss, and she threw herself into his arms. There was gratitude in her embrace, though she knew not for what. Her innocence concealed from her the perilous situation she had gone through; but her instinct told her confusedly that she had been spared. He pressed her closer to him, and felt a thousand-fold repaid.

She opened the door, and they stepped out into the gallery. Horror stiffened their features as they missed the ladder. "Gone! gone!" he hoarsely whispered. "Then, we are lost. It's that meddler, Heath! ... He knew I was in your room, and he took that method of ... But I'll be revenged. The scoundrel!"

Blanche was too terrified to weep; she did nothing but wring her hands piteously.

What was to be done? The arcade was too high to allow him to drop; and yet there seemed to be no other mode of escape possible.

It was a moment of horrible suspense.

"Heath loves you, Blanche," he said presently, with a certain fierceness in his tone.

"I know it," she said, sadly.

There was a pause. She watched his countenance with anxiety: angry passions seemed drifting over his soul like the clouds over a stormy sky; and she, not understanding the tortures of jealousy, of hate, of revenge, of fierce resolutions as quickly chased away as formed, which then agitated him, looked with trembling at his distorted face.

"By God!" he suddenly exclaimed, "I will triumph yet."

Then seizing her by the waist, he carried her back again into the room.

"Cecil, Cecil," she said, "let me go. What do you mean? Cecil, you alarm me--set me down."

He tried to stop her mouth, but she struggled in his grasp, from which she at length freed herself.

"Blanche," he said, "we are betrayed. We shall be separated for ever--for ever! There is but one way to prevent it, but one way to defy them."

He approached her, but she eluded his grasp, and said: "Oh! dearest, dearest Cecil! do not ... do not outrage the memory of this night, hitherto so sacred ... do not lower me in your eyes, and my own."

"It must ... it shall be..."

"No, no; do not say it!"

"It is our only hope," he said, as he again clasped her in his arms.

"Cecil, Cecil, I am yours ... yours only will I be ... can you doubt it? ... but, oh! leave me now! leave me! leave me!"

She sank at his feet, raising her hands imploringly, and wept.

He was touched. The sight of this lovely girl, thus passionate in her sorrow, kneeling at his feet and imploring his pity, was more than he could withstand. All the wild passion and gross instincts which had been roused, were now calmed again with the rapidity which is usual in such moments of delirious excitement, when the soul seems not only susceptible of every influence bad or good, but also susceptible of the most violent and rapid changes.

He threw himself upon a chair, and bade her rise.

"God bless you! God bless you for that word!" she sobbed. "There spoke my own Cecil."

He was silent and humiliated. The flaring light of the candles just expiring in the socket, told her that they would soon be in darkness; and she shuddered at the thought, though not daring to disturb the sullen meditation in which he was indulging, by any prayer to him to depart. Each time the wayward light in its capricious action seemed on the point of being extinguished, a thrill of horror ran over her. The returning brightness brought returning courage.

Silent he sat,

Still as any stone,

His eyes fixed on the floor, a prey to a sort of remorseful stupid anger, not only at having been foiled, but at finding himself helpless in the dilemma.

One of the candles went out. Only a feeble vacillating glimmer was shed by the other; but it was enough to show him that Blanche had fainted. The emotions of the night had so enfeebled her, that the terror of approaching darkness made her senseless.

"I have killed her!" was the horrible thought that presented itself to his mind. He sprang forwards, raised her in his arms, and looked eagerly into her ashy-pale countenance.

The second candle went out, and left them in obscurity, which the delicate tints of early morning peering through the window-curtains scarcely lessened.

He dragged her out into the gallery, where in a few minutes the keen air of morning revived her. On coming to herself, she saw the cold grey sky above, and Cecil's anxious face bending down to catch the first glimpse of returning life. A sweet sigh burst from her, as she closed her eyes again, and leaned her head upon his shoulder. It was like awaking from a nightmare!

In a few minutes, she was sufficiently revived to be able to stand. Not a word passed; but her eyes were most eloquent, as in mute thankfulness she fixed them on his agitated face.

Perhaps in all the emotions of that eventful night, there had been none which rivalled in peculiar and indescribable delight their present sense of subsided agitation and terror. A heavenly calmness had descended upon their spirits. It was like the hushed stillness which succeeds a storm, when the only sound is that of the gentle dripping of rain-drops from the leaves. Their feelings were in harmony with the scene. The twittering of a few early birds made them sensible of the deep repose and quiet of the hour; and the pale streaks of golden light, mixed with the heavy clouds which during the night had lowered from the sky, not inaptly represented the streaks of light which in their own souls drove away the clouds of darkness and tempest.

While in the mute enjoyment of this scene, they were suddenly alarmed by the appearance of a man emerging from the wood. Another glance assured them it was Captain Heath; and to avoid being seen they returned to the bed-room.

"Heath is still prowling about," said Cecil to her. "No doubt on the watch; so if any means could be devised of my descending on to the terrace, he would be certain to see me. I must make a bold venture, and go through the house. At this early hour, no one can be awake. I will take off my boots, and creep noiselessly along."

Captain Heath was returning, trying to persuade himself that the ladder placed against the arcade was purely accidental. No traces of a post-chaise were to be seen; and, after all, was not an elopement most improbable, when his interview with Cecil was kept in mind?

It may seem strange, that one capable of assisting his rival should feel so hurt at the thought of an elopement. Yet the shock had almost unmanned him. He roamed about, like a criminal in a condemned cell, endeavouring to persuade himself that his doom cannot be executed--that a reprieve must come. The truth is--and let it not impeach his heroism, but rather enhance it, by showing how great was his sacrifice--he had not fortitude enough to bear the blow when it fell. He had made up his mind to see his beloved the wife of another; but he had not made up his mind to see it so suddenly. Resigned to his fate, he had not imagined his doom so near its execution. Perhaps, in the secret recesses of his soul, there were vague, unexpressed hopes that _something_ might occur to prevent the marriage--that Vyner would refuse--that Cecil would repent. In short, the vicissitudes of life opened to him a hope; and faint as that hope might be, we know at what reeds the sinking man will snatch.

Rather than believe in an elopement, he made up his mind to the position of the ladder being an accident; and resolved at length to seek his couch in sleep to forget the troubles of his soul.

His bedroom was situated at the corner of a corridor, at the end of which was Blanche's room. His hand was upon the lock, and the door ajar, when, emerging from the corridor, Cecil turned the corner and came full upon his rival.

What a look was that darted from each startled and indignant face at this encounter! Both were speechless--both deadly pale; the muscles frightfully rigid; the eyes--oh! who shall describe the lightnings of their terrible eyes, glaring at each other like famished jaguars!

It was but a look, and they separated.

In that look of horror, of rage, of triumph, and despair, Cecil concentrated all the hate and jealousy he felt, as well as all the triumph in the pain he was inflicting--and Captain Heath all the anguish at the discovery of his rival having passed the night in Blanche's room, and despair at the irremediable destruction of all his hopes.

Throughout the varied scenes of after life, that look was never altogether forgotten; from time to time it would rise in the memory, recalling with it all the poignant sensations which the emotions of years could not efface.

Not a word passed between them. The captain went into his room, and closed the door. Cecil crept to his room, and threw himself undressed upon his bed; there, worn out with the excitement of the last few hours, he sank into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Watching the flood of light gradually spreading over the sky; watching, to use Browning's fine expression,

Day, like a mighty river, flowing in,

Captain Heath sat forlorn at his window; sleepless, motionless, hopeless. Measuring, with cruel calmness, the wreck of all his hopes; and, with stoic bitterness, the extent of his suffering. Learning to look his misery in the face; learning to stifle every vain regret; learning to bear with manly courage that which no unmanly wailing could alleviate.

Before he rose, he felt with the poet, that

Meeting what must be
Is half commanding it.