_ CHAPTER XXXVII. 'I SHALL NEVER BE FREE'
'But there are true hearts which the sight
Of sorrow summons forth;
Though known in days of past delight,
We know not half their worth.'
BAYLY.
The words escaped from Michael almost unconsciously; he hardly knew that he spoke them aloud; but in his inner consciousness he had no doubt at all of the course that ought to be pursued. If he had been in Cyril's place he would not have hesitated for a moment. Dearly as he loved Audrey--and what that love was only he himself knew--he would have refused to marry her. He would have separated himself from her utterly, and at once.
Michael's strong, long-suffering nature would have carried him nobly through such an ordeal. He was a man who would have acted up to the spirit of the Gospel command 'to pluck out the offending eye, or to cut off the right hand;' there would have been no parleying, no weak dalliance with temptation.
'I love you, but it is my duty to leave you, so farewell for ever!'--that is what he would have said to her, knowing all the time that life would be utterly joyless to him. Would Cyril, in his hot, untried youth, be capable of a like generosity, or would he cleave to his betrothed with passionate, one-sided fealty, vowing that nothing on earth should separate them as long as they two loved each other?
'They will make her give me up!'--that was all he had said. That seemed to be the one deadly terror that assailed him.
Cyril had turned away with a groan when Michael spoke, but he made no audible answer, and the next moment his hand was on the door.
'Where are you going, Blake?' inquired Michael anxiously.
It was impossible to keep him, and yet, how could he let him leave him in such a condition?
'I must get away from here!' returned Cyril hoarsely. 'I must be alone somewhere.'
And Michael understood him.
'Let me at least walk with you,' he returned quickly. 'You might meet someone, and perhaps I may be of use. Do not refuse; I will not speak to you.' And, as Cyril made no objection--indeed, it was doubtful whether he even heard what Michael said--he followed him downstairs.
Just as they reached the hall the drawing-room door opened, and, before he could warn Cyril, Audrey came out. She had some music in her hand. She uttered an exclamation of surprise and pleasure when she saw them.
'Michael, I thought you were lost. What have you been doing with yourself all day? Were you going out with Cyril? Please don't go just yet; it is just beginning to rain, and I want him to practise this duet with me. Will you?' looking up in Cyril's face with one of her bright smiles.
'I cannot; another time. Please do not keep me!'
Cyril hardly knew what he said. He pushed by her as she stood there smiling, with the music in her hand, and went out bareheaded into the rain and darkness.
Audrey looked bewildered.
'What does he mean? Is he ill? has anything happened? He is so white, and he has forgotten his hat! He has never left me like this before. Oh, Michael, do call him back; I must speak to him!'
'I cannot. I think something is troubling him. Let me go, Audrey; he will tell you everything by and by.' And Michael snatched up his hat and Cyril's, and hurried after him as fast as his halting gait permitted.
Cyril had not gone far; he was standing by the gate quite motionless, and his hair and face were wet with the heavy rain. Michael took him by the arm and walked on with him; he must see him safely to his room, and charge Mrs. Blake not to go near him.
'He must have time; he is simply stunned and incapable of thought now,' he said to himself, as he piloted him through the dark, wet streets.
Biddy admitted them. She gave them a searching glance as they entered. Cyril's disordered condition must have told her everything, for she put her wrinkled, claw-like hand on his arm with a warning gesture.
'Don't let the mistress see you like that, Mr. Cyril avick, or you'll fright her to death. Go up softly, or she will hear you.'
But Biddy's warning was in vain. The staircase was badly lighted, and Michael made a false, stumbling step. The next moment Mrs. Blake came out on the landing. The sight of the two men together seemed to transfix her with horror.
'You have told him!--oh, heavens! you have told him!' she cried, in a despairing voice.
Cyril raised his heavy eyes and looked at her, but he did not speak; he passed her as he had passed Audrey, and went up to his room, and they heard the door close heavily behind him.
'I will go to him! How dare you detain me, Captain Burnett? I will go to my son!'
But Michael took no notice of this angry remonstrance; his hand was on her arm, and very gently, but firmly, he made her enter the drawing-room.
'Mrs. Blake, will you listen to me for a moment?'
'No, I will not listen!' she answered passionately, and her bosom began to heave. 'I will go to him and make him speak to me. Did you see how he looked at me--his mother--as he has never looked at me in his life?' And the unhappy woman broke into tears and sobs. 'Oh, my boy! my boy! Let me go to him, Captain Burnett, and I will bless you as long as I live; let me go and kneel to him, if I must. Do you think my boy will see his mother at his feet and not forgive her?'
'He will forgive you, Mrs. Blake,' returned Michael, in a pitying voice; 'but you must give him time. He cannot speak to you now--he can speak to no one; he is simply stunned. Give me your promise that you will not see him to-night.'
'Impossible! I will make no such promise. He is my son, not yours. If he cannot speak to me, I can at least take his hand and tell him that I am sorry.'
'He will not be able to hear you. As far as I can tell, he has taken nothing in; the news has simply crushed him. If you will give him time, he will pull himself together; but I would not answer for the consequences if you persist in seeing him to-night. He is not himself. There would be words said that ought never to be uttered. Mrs. Blake, do be persuaded. I am speaking for your sake as well as his.'
'You are always so hard,' she moaned.
But from her manner he thought she would not disobey him; he had managed to frighten her.
'You will be wise if you take my advice,' he returned, moving away from the door. 'I am going to him now, but I shall not stay; it is, above all things, necessary that he should be alone.'
'Will you speak to him for me? Will you tell him that my heart is nearly broken with that cold, reproachful look of his? Will you at least say this, Captain Burnett?'
'I think it would be better not to mention your name to him to-night.'
Then she threw herself back on the couch in a hysterical outburst.
Michael thought it useless to stay with her. He found Biddy outside as usual, and sent her in to do her best for her mistress; and then he went up to Cyril's room. He found him sitting on the edge of his bed; the window was wide open, and the rain was driving in, and had already wetted the carpet; a candle someone had lighted was guttering in the draught. Michael closed the window, and then he looked at the fireplace. There was plenty of fuel at hand. Cyril often worked in his own room, and now and then his mother's care had provided him with a fire. The room felt cold and damp. There were matches at hand, and Michael had no scruple in lighting a fire now; the crackle of wood seemed to rouse Cyril.
'Why do you do that? there is no need,' he said irritably.
'Pardon me, there is every need. Do you know your coat is wet, Blake? You must change it at once.'
But Cyril only gave an impatient shrug.
'Will you let me see you change it before I go?' he persisted, and he actually had his way, perhaps because Cyril was anxious to get rid of him. 'Now I am going; I only want to say one word, Blake: you will be safe to-night, your mother will not come near you.' Then a look of relief crossed Cyril's wan face. 'You shall, at least, have peace for a few hours. If I can help you in any way, you have only to speak. Will you remember that?'
'Thank you.'
'I mean it. There, that is all I have got to say. God bless you!' and as he grasped Cyril's hand there was a faint response.
Michael crept down as softly as he could. As he passed the drawing-room door he could hear Mrs. Blake's hysterical sobs, and Biddy soothing her. 'The Nemesis has come,' he said to himself; and then he went into the lower room, where he found Mollie and Kester reading over the fire.
'Don't let me disturb you,' he said hurriedly, as they both sprang up to greet him; 'Mollie, your brother wishes to be quiet to-night. He has just heard something that troubles him a good deal, and he has desired that no one should go near him. If I were you, I should take no notice at all.'
'But what are we to do about supper?' returned Mollie with housewifely anxiety; 'we have such a nice supper, and Cyril will be so cold and hungry shut up in his room. We have made such a big fire, because he was going to spend the evening with us.'
'He has a fire, too; he was very wet, and the room felt damp, so I lighted it. You might take up a tray to him presently and put it outside his door, and perhaps a cup of nice hot coffee.'
'Ah! I will go and make it at once, and mamma shall have some, too.' And Mollie ran off in her usual impetuous manner, but Kester sat still in his place.
'What is the matter, Captain Burnett?' he asked anxiously; 'we heard mother crying just now, and saying that Cyril would not speak to her. Mollie heard it quite plainly, and so did I.'
'You shall know all in good time, my dear boy,' returned Michael, laying his hand on Kester's shoulder; 'do not ask me any more just now.'
Kester looked at him wistfully, but he was trained to self-discipline, and he asked no more; and Michael went back to Woodcote.
It was just dinner-time, and the gong sounded before he was ready; but he made some easy excuse and slipped into his place, and began to talk to Dr. Ross about the new swimming-baths that were being built. It was the first topic that came handy to him, and Dr. Ross at once followed his lead; the subject lasted them until the end of dinner. Audrey was unusually silent, but neither of them made any remark on her gravity. Now and then Michael addressed some observation to her, but she answered him briefly and without interest.
They went into the schoolroom for prayers as usual, and Audrey played the harmonium; but as he was following Mrs. Ross back into the drawing-room, Audrey tapped him on the arm.
'Don't go in there just yet, Michael; I want to speak to you.'
Then he suffered himself very reluctantly to be detained by the hall fire.
'Michael,' she began, in rather a peremptory tone, 'I cannot understand either you or Cyril to-night. You are both very strange, I think. Cyril leaves me without a word, and goes out looking like a ghost, and you tell me that something is troubling him, and yet neither of you vouchsafes me one word of explanation.'
'I cannot help it, Audrey; it is not my affair. Blake was in a hurry; you must have seen that for yourself.'
'He was very extraordinary in his behaviour, and so were you. Of course, if you don't choose to answer me, Michael, I will just send a note across to Cyril, and tell him I must see him at once.'
'I should hardly do that, if I were you.'
'Not write to him!' in an offended voice. 'Really, Michael, you are too mysterious; why, this borders on absurdity! Cyril is in trouble--in one breath you tell me that--and then you would prevent my writing to ask him to come to me! I shall certainly write to him.'
'Will you go to your father instead? He has just gone into the study.'
Then Audrey looked at him with intense astonishment.
'What has my father got to do with it?'
'Never mind all that,' returned Michael slowly. 'Go to Dr. Ross, and ask him why Blake is in trouble. He will tell you; you may take my word for it.'
Audrey still gazed at him; but Michael's grave manner left her in no doubt as to the seriousness of the matter, and her eyes looked a little troubled.
'Go, dear,' he repeated gently; 'it will be best for you to hear it from him.'
Then she left him without another word, and went straight to the study.
It seemed as though her father expected her, for he looked at her as she came slowly towards him, and put out his hand.
'You have come to talk to me, my darling. Sit down beside me. No, not that chair; it is too far off. Come closer to me, my child.'
Then, as Audrey obeyed him, she felt a sense of growing uneasiness. What did that sorrowful tenderness in her father's voice mean? For the moment her courage failed her, and her lips could not frame the question she had come to ask.
'You want me to tell you about Cyril's trouble?'
Then she sat and gazed at him in speechless dread.
Dr. Ross cleared his throat and shifted his spectacles. He began to find his task difficult.
'If I only knew how to prepare you, Audrey! But I can think of no words that will break the force of such a shock. I will tell you one thing: a few hours ago Cyril was as ignorant of the great trouble that has befallen him as you are at this present moment.'
She touched him with a hand that had grown suddenly very cold.
'Wait for one minute, father; I must ask you something: Did Michael tell this thing to Cyril this afternoon?'
'Yes, dear. By some strange chance Michael was put in possession of a terrible secret. There was no one else to break it to the poor fellow, and, as you and I know, Mike is not the man to shirk any unpleasant duty.'
'I understand. You may go on now, father dear; I am prepared--I am quite prepared. I know it was no light trouble that brought that look on Cyril's face; and Michael, too, was very strange and unlike himself.' And then she composed herself to listen.
Dr. Ross told the story as carefully as he could, but he made no attempt to soften facts. A skilful surgeon cuts deep: the patient may quiver under the relentless knife, but the present pain will prevent lasting injury. Dr. Ross wished his daughter to see things from his point of view. It was impossible to spare her suffering; but she was young, and he hoped time and her own strong sense of duty would bring their own healing. He could not judge of the effect on her. Almost at his first words she had dropped her head upon his knees, and her face was hidden from him; and though his hand rested on her soft hair, she made no sign or movement.
'That is all I have to tell you, my darling. No one knows but you and I and Michael. I have not told your mother; I thought it best to wait.' Then she stirred a little uneasily under his caressing hand. 'My own child, you do not need to be told how I grieve for you and Cyril; it is a bitter disappointment to you both; but--but'--his voice dropped a little--'you must give him up.'
There was no perceptible start; only, as he said this, Audrey raised her face from his knee, and looked at him. She was very pale, but her eyes were quite dry; only the firm, beautiful lips trembled a little.
'I do not understand, father. Why must I give him up?'
'Why?' Dr. Ross could hardly believe his ears as he heard this. 'My child,' he said, with a touch of sternness, 'it is very easy to understand. Cyril is not to blame--he is as innocent as you are; but the son of Matthew O'Brien can never be my son-in-law.'
'No,' she returned slowly, 'I suppose not. I ought not to be surprised to hear you say that.'
'It is what any father would say, Audrey.'
'Anyhow, it is for you to say it, if you think it right, and it is for me to obey you.'
Then he put his arm round her with an endearing word or two. She was his good, obedient child--his dearly-loved daughter, who had never grieved him in her life.
'I trust I may never grieve you,' she replied gently; but there was a great solemnity in her eyes. 'Father, if you tell me that I must not marry Cyril, I shall be compelled to obey you; but it will break my heart to think that your mind is fully made up on this point.'
'My darling, you are both very young, and in time----' He stopped, arrested by the strangeness of her look.
'You think that we shall get over it: that is your meaning, is it not? But I am afraid you are wrong. Cyril loves me too well; he would never get over it.'
'But, my dear----'
'Father, will you listen to me for a moment? You need not fear that I should ever disobey you--you are my father, and that is enough. But I shall live in the hope that you will change your mind.'
'My child, I must forbid that hope. I cannot let you cheat yourself with any such false supposition. My mind will know no change in this matter.'
'Then, in that case, I shall never marry Cyril. If you cannot give me your blessing on my marriage, I will remain as I am--Audrey Ross. But, father, I shall never give him up! Never--never!'
'If Cyril be the man I think him, he will give you up, Audrey; he will be far too proud and honourable to hold you to your engagement.'
'That may be,' she answered a little wearily. 'I know the strong pressure that will be put on him. You will have no difficulty with him; he will do as you wish. My poor Cyril! how can he do otherwise? But all the same, I shall be true to him as long as he and I live. I shall feel that I belong to him.'
'But, my darling, do be sensible. When the engagement is broken off you will be free, utterly free.'
But she shook her head.
'I shall never be free while Cyril lives. Father, you do not understand. He may set me free to-morrow, but I shall still consider myself bound. When he comes here, I shall tell him so, and I do not think he will misunderstand me.'
Dr. Ross sighed. Here was an unexpected difficulty. She would obey him, but she would regard herself as the victim of filial obedience. She would not marry her lover without his consent, but she would have nothing to say to any other man. She would consider herself fettered by this hopeless betrothal. He had declined to accept the son of Matthew O'Brien as his son-in-law; but would not his own death set her free to fulfil her engagement? Dr. Ross groaned within himself as he thought of this. If only he could bring her to reason; but at his first word of pleading her eyes filled with tears.
'Father, I can bear no more; you have made me very unhappy. I have promised not to marry without your consent; but no one on earth could make me give him up.'
Then he looked at her very sorrowfully, and said no more. If she had thrown herself into his arms he could almost have wept with her. Would she ever know how his heart bled for her? But she only kissed him very quietly.
'You are not angry with me, father?'
'Angry with you? Oh, Audrey, my child, how can you ask such a question?'
'That is well,' she returned calmly. 'There must never be anything between us. I could not bear that.' Then her breast heaved a little, and a large tear stole down her face. 'Will you tell mother and Michael what I have said--that I will never give him up?'
And then she walked very slowly out of the room.
Half an hour later Michael came into the study. He did not speak; but the Doctor shook his head as he came silently towards him.
'It is a bad business, Mike. That girl of mine will give us trouble. She is as good as gold, but she will give us trouble.'
'She refuses to give him up?'
Michael sat down as he asked the question; his strength seemed to have deserted him.
'That is what she says--that she will regard herself as altogether bound to him. She is very firm. With all her goodness and sweetness, Audrey has a strong will.'
'Do you mean that she will still marry him?'
'Not unless I will give my consent. No, Mike; she is a dutiful child. She will never give herself to any man without her parents' blessing and approval; but she will not marry anyone else.'
Then there was a curious fixed look on Michael's face.
'I am not surprised, Dr. Ross. Audrey is too generous to forsake any man when he is in trouble. She will not think of herself--she never does; her whole heart will be set on the thought of giving him comfort. You must not try to change her resolution. It would be useless.'
'The deuce take it all!' returned the Doctor irritably. 'For there will be no peace of mind for any of us, Mike.' But Dr. Ross's voice was hardly as clear as usual. 'I suppose I must just go and have it all out with Emmie--there is nothing like getting an unpleasant job over; she and Geraldine can put their heads together, but they had better keep Harcourt away from me.'
And the Doctor stalked out of the room with an unwonted gloom on his genial face.
Michael did not follow him. He sat still for a few minutes looking at the Doctor's empty chair.
'I knew it; I could have said it. Audrey is just that sort of woman. She will never give him up--whether she loves him or not--as long as she feels he needs her. Poor Blake! poor fellow! Of the two, I hardly think he is the one to be pitied; but she will never find that out for herself. Never, never!'
And then Booty scratched and whined at the door, and he got up and let him in. _