Chapter XII: Hester's Love

To meet her spirit in a nimble kiss,
Distilling panting ardour to her breast.
JOHN MARSTON.--_The Malcontent._

S'il ose m'alléguer une odieuse loi
Quand je fais tout pour lui, s'il ne fait rien pour moi;
Dès le moment, sans songer si je l'aime,
Sans consulter enfin si je me perds moi même
J'abandonne l'ingrat.
RACINE.--_Bajazet._

Cecil found Hester writing, in a charming négligé. She threw down her pen with a movement of impatient joy as he entered.

She took his outstretched hand in hers, and pressing it tenderly, looked with serious alarm into his face as she said, "You are not well. Something is on your mind. Am I right?"

"You are."

"Sit down on the sofa--there." She sat by his side still holding his hand, which he could not withdraw. "Now, tell me what it is."

He shook his head.

"Won't you make me your confidante? Am I not worthy to share your sorrows?"

"Don't ask me ... you are right .... I am unhappy. But I cannot tell you wherefore."

"How is your novel getting on? Why won't you tell me?" She pressed his hand as she said it.

He was perplexed, and knew not what to say. Her dark eyes were darting forth fire--her face was so close to his, that he felt its warmth--her loose morning dress, thrown slightly open by the attitude in which she sat bent forward, made a dangerous display of her finely moulded bust; he was surrounded with such an atmosphere of voluptuousness, that his intoxicated senses confused his reason. In that moment he forgot everything but the moment's intense sensation. His eyes answered hers; his hand returned her pressure; he drank her breath, and felt the blood flushing his face.

Both were silent; both feared to break that silence. With irresistible impulse they mutually bent forward till their lips touched, and then clung together in a burning kiss.

She burst into tears, and pressed him feverishly to her, as if in an embrace to express the unutterable fervour of her love. And in this delirium they remained some time, not a word passing, only a few deep sighs, and a fierce pressure of the hand, telling of the fire which consumed them.

Hester was supremely happy. Her doubts were set at rest. He loved her!

Cecil was violently excited, and in his excitement forgot whom he was embracing--forgot his wife--forgot the world. The vague suggestions of his conscience were stifled at once by the agitation of his senses. Hester by a word recalled him to himself.

"You love me, then?" she said, tenderly.

He started, and could not answer her.

"Cecil, dearest Cecil, my own, my best beloved!"

He was sobered in an instant.

But what could he do? To continue this scene was impossible; yet to undeceive her, to tell her that he loved her not! what man could do that?

"Why are you so silent?"

"I suffer horribly."

"From what?"

He beat his brow distractedly.

"Hester, .... you will curse me..... It is not my fault..... You ...."

"Do you not love me?" she almost shrieked.

"I do, I do!" he hurriedly exclaimed; "yes, Hester, I love you .... but .... how shall I tell it you? .... We must forget this .... we must meet no more...."

"Not meet, when you love me? Impossible! The whole world shall not separate us."

"It is the world which will separate us."

"What .... your wife!" she said scornfully, almost savagely.

"Alas!"

"I recognise no barrier in a wife. I scorn the whole system of marriage..... It is iniquitous! Two hearts that love to be separated by a sophism of convention! If you love _her_, keep to her. If you love _me_, you are mine." Hester rose from the sofa as she spoke: her whole frame trembled with passion.

Cecil remained seated; his eyes fixed on the ground, in a helpless state of irresolution.

"Cecil, one word--and but one. Are you afraid of the idle gossip of the world, and are your instincts cowed at it?"

"Hester! I feel, Hester, we must part for ever."

"Then you love me not?"

He did not answer.

A loud knocking at the street door startled them. She ran to the window, and looked out.

"It is Sir Chetsom. Cecil, this instant must decide my fate. Do you reject my love?"

"Believe me, this is a situation----"

"_He_ is coming up stairs. One word--yes, or no?"

He twirled his hat, and sought for an expression which should soften the blow, but could find none. She looked at him with intense eagerness, and reading in his hesitation her worst fears, gave a low heart-breaking sob, and rushed into the other room. In a few seconds the door opened, and the servant announced,--

"Sir Chetsom Chetsom."

Cecil brushed past him with a hurried bow, and made a precipitate retreat.

"What the devil is all this?" muttered the astonished baronet. "Hester not here!"

Hester's maid appeared, and informed him that her mistress would be down immediately, if he would only be good enough to wait.

"Where is your mistress, then?"

"In her dressing-room, Sir Chetsom."

Without saying another word, Sir Chetsom, to the horror of the maid, recovered the speed of his youth to ascend the stairs, and to rush into the dressing-room. On all ordinary occasions he preserved _les convenances_ with great punctilio; but he was at this moment in an exasperation of jealousy, and only thought of clearing up his doubts. Cecil's exit, and Hester's absence, were alone startling circumstances; but when to these be added the jealousy which for a long time Sir Chetsom had felt towards Cecil, his exasperation may be conceived.

He found Hester extended on a couch, bathed in tears. She rose angrily at his approach, and with a gesture of great dignity pointed to the door. As he seemed noways disposed to obey her, she said,--

"I would be alone .... alone, Sir Chetsom."

"My dear Hester, what is all this? In tears! what has distressed you?"

Her only answer was to pass into her bedroom, and lock herself in.

Sir Chetsom felt foolish. He tapped at the door; but she gave no answer.

He threatened to break it open; but she remained silent.

He then began to wheedle and entreat, to threaten, to promise, to storm, and to implore, alternately. All in vain: not a word could he extort from her.

He went down into the drawing-room, there to await her pleasure; sulky and suspicious, angry yet anxious.

Hester, meanwhile, gave full scope to the paroxysm of her grief. In Cecil's manner, she had read her condemnation. She understood his momentary aberration. She saw that although he had not been able to withstand the excitement of that moment, yet it was not his heart, but his senses she had captivated. She saw that he loved his wife!

Fierce were the convulsions into which this conviction threw her, and many were the tears she shed; but after an hour's misery she grew calmer, and began to think of her condition.

Sir Chetsom was below, awaiting her. He was jealous; he was angry. He was ready to quarrel with her, and she felt that a good quarrel was just the thing she wanted.

Prepared, therefore, for a "scene," she descended into the drawing-room.

"Oh! at last," said Sir Chetsom, coldly.

"Yes, Sir Chetsom, at last. I presume I may choose my own time for seeing my visitors; those who do me the honour of calling upon me will be pleased to accept that condition, or else be pleased to stay away."

"Indeed, madam!" replied he, greatly astonished at her tone, and foreseeing that she was ready to burst forth at a word.

"So it is, Sir Chetsom. In which class am I to place you?"

"Hester, I don't understand this language."

"Then I will say good-morning. I dislike talking to those who do not comprehend me."

She rose and moved towards the door.

"Hester! Hester!"

She turned round again.

"Stay a moment.--Sit down again. There, now let us talk over matters quietly."

"Begin. What have you to say?"

"I found you in tears just now."

"You did; what then?"

She said this so angrily, that he was forced to pause a moment, and change his tone to say,--

"I wish--as a friend--my love prompts me to ask the cause of those tears?"

"Wretchedness!"

"You wretched?"

"Intensely!"

"My poor Hester! What has occurred?--Is Mr. Chamberlayne--has he anything to do with it?"

She made no reply.

"Answer me, dear girl. Do. I have a right to know."

She continued silent.

"I insist upon knowing."

"Insist then," she replied, quietly.

"I do insist!" he said, raising his voice.

"But your insistance is useless."

"Eh? Hester, do not go too far--Remember--"

"What? _What_ am I to remember?"

"That you--that I may enforce----"

An ironical laugh was her answer.

"Hester, you forget--I am here as your protector--you owe everything to me.--Be careful, I am willing to overlook a great deal----"

"Are you willing to quit the room?" she said, her eyes flashing as she spoke. "There is the door. May you never enter it again! Go! I command you! _You_ insist--_you_ enforce? And do you imagine that I am to give up my youth and beauty to age and folly--that I am to sacrifice myself, and to such as you, and then to be told that _you_ insist! Undeceive yourself, Sir Chetsom. I am my own mistress. I follow my own caprices. My caprice once was to live with you. Now my caprice is to show you the door. Go! I owe you nothing. I have not sold myself. I have not bound myself. Go!--Why do you stand there gaping at me--do you not comprehend my words? or do you fancy that it is something so strange I should wish never to see you again? You imagine, perhaps, that I am not calm now, that I am unaware of what I do in relinquishing the protection of Sir Chetsom Chetsom? Undeceive yourself. If I am angry, I know perfectly what I do. I know the _extent_ of my folly--shall I tell you what it is? It is that I ever listened to you! It is that I ever sullied my name by accepting your protection! _Now_, do you understand me?"

She sank in a chair, exhausted. Poor Sir Chetsom was troubled and confused. The scorn of her manner which lent such momentum to her words, quite crushed the feeling of anger which continually rose within him. She had often threatened to quit him; but never in such terms, and never seemed so earnest.

"My dear Hester," he said, submissively, taking a seat near her, "you have misunderstood me."

"I do not wish to understand you then."

"But are you serious?--do you wish to leave me?"

"Very serious."

"But what have I done? I am sure my life is spent in trying to make you happy. Every wish of yours, as soon as it is expressed, I endeavour to gratify."

"Then my wish is never to see you again; gratify that!"

"My dear Hester, be reasonable! You are angry now--I don't know wherefore--I won't inquire, if it displeases you--but you will get over this to-morrow, you will have forgotten it. To-morrow I will come and see you."

"I will not see you; so spare yourself the trouble."

"Not see me! Is everything over then between us? Is this your calm decision?"

"It is. I have told you so before. What makes you doubt it? Do you suppose your society is so fascinating that I cannot relinquish it? Try me!"

"I will," said Sir Chetsom, buttoning his coat, and rising in concentrated anger.

"Do so."

"You will repent this. You force me to it, recollect! You force me!"

"Good-morning!"

"I am not joking, I am serious now."

"Good-morning."

"If I once quit this house it will be never to return."

"Sir Chetsom I have the pleasure of wishing you _good-morning_!"

There was no replying to the cutting coolness of her manner. He took up his hat, buttoned his coat up to the chin, fidgeted his gloves, and at last making an effort, said:--

"Very well, very well!" and left the room.

Hester felt considerably relieved. She had taken a savage pleasure in this contest, and utterly reckless of consequences, found in that very recklessness a satisfaction, which helped to console her mortified vanity and wounded affection. Towards Cecil, she felt hate and scorn; towards Sir Chetsom, contemptuous anger, she knew not why. She had played her whole existence in that quarrel; and knew that she was a beggar without a moment's anxiety.

The next Day, Sir Chetsom sent her a note, in which he deplored what had passed between them, but was willing to attribute it to some extraordinary irritation; and he moreover offered to settle six hundred a year upon her for her life, if she would only consent to remain his friend as heretofore.

The irritation in Hester's mind had not abated, and she returned this laconic answer:--

"CADOGAN PLACE, 13_th June_ 1841.

"Not for six thousand.

"H. M."

Sir Chetsom was alarmed. The idea of her quitting him was more than he could endure. Completely fascinated by her, the more he knew of her, the more hopelessly he became her slave. He could not imagine living without her.

He called; was refused admittance; called again; was refused again; wrote, and received back his letter unopened.

He was in despair. So great was his preoccupation, that he actually went out with his whiskers unoiled and undyed! Hester's servant at length took pity on his sorrow, and consented to let him enter the house, against her orders.

He stole up to her boudoir, and throwing himself at her feet, said,--

"Hester, I cannot exist without you."

"But I can without you," she said, smiling.

"You smile; then I am forgiven."

"Yes; but I keep to my resolution."

"Hester, hear me out; if, after what I have to say, you still keep your resolution, I shall have nothing to do but to leave you in peace. Here, then, I offer you my hand--be Lady Chetsom, and make me happy."

At that moment a strange image rose in Hester's mind. She had that afternoon met Cecil driving in the Park. He raised his hat in cold politeness, but made no attempt to speak to her. The recollection of this scene now presented itself, as the sort of background to Sir Chetsom on his knees offering a title, offering wealth, offering consideration to the friendless, forsaken, ambitious girl.

"Will you accept me?" again whispered Sir Chetsom.

"I shall plague your life out," she said.

"Then that is a settled matter!"

Sir Chetsom was the happiest of men.

But his happiness only lasted a fortnight, and was then suddenly cut short by that inflexible lady--Atropos. Driving home one evening, his horse shied at something in the road, and ran away with him down Constitution Hill, then stumbled and threw Sir Chetsom against the railings. A concussion of the brain was the consequence.

By this accident, Hester not only lost the honour of becoming Lady Chetsom, but she was absolutely left penniless, as Sir Chetsom died intestate.

To this had her ambition brought her! With no resources, with no _friends_, without even a good name, she had to begin the world anew. Literature was the desperate resource which alone awaited her; and she resolved to live by her pen.