The Essential Elinor Glyn Collection. Glyn Elinor
was not having the success her zeal in promoting it deserved.
The weather was still glorious, and after lunch the whole party flocked out on the terrace.
A terrible nervous fear was dominating Theodora. She could not be alone with Hector, she did not dare to trust herself. And there would be the to-morrow and the Wednesday--without Josiah--and the soft warmth of the evenings and the glamour of the nights.
Oh, everything was too cruel and impossible! And wherever she turned she seemed to see in blazing letters, "A second honeymoon!"
The first was a horrible, fearsome memory which was over long ago, but the thought of a second--now that she knew what love meant, and what life with the loved one might mean--Oh, it was unbearable--terrible--impossible! better, much better, to die and have done with it all.
She kept close to Barbara, and when Barbara moved she feverishly engaged the Crow in conversation--any one--something to save her from any chance of listening to Hector's persuasive words. And the Crow's kind heart was pained by the hunted expression in her eyes. They seemed to ask for help and sanctuary.
"Shall we walk down to the polo-field, Mrs. Brown?" he said, and she gladly acquiesced and started with him.
If she had been a practised coquette she could not have done anything more to fan the flame of Hector's passion.
Lady Harrowfield had detained him on the top of the steps, and he saw her go off with the Crow and was unable to rush after them.
And when at last he was free he felt almost drunk with passion.
He had learned of Josiah's intended departure on the morrow, and that Theodora would join him again on the Thursday, and his mind was made up. On Wednesday night he would take her away with him to Italy. She should never belong to Josiah any more. She was his in soul and mind already, he knew, and she should be his in body, too, and he would cherish and love and protect her to the end of his life.
Every detail of his plan matured itself in his brain. It only wanted her consent, and that, when opportunity should be given him to plead his cause, he did not greatly fear would be refused.
Hitherto he had ever restrained himself when alone with her, had dominated his desire to make love to her; had never once, since Paris, given way to passion or tender words during their moments together.
But he remembered that hour of bliss on the way from Versailles; he remembered how she had thrilled, too, how he had made her feel and respond to his every caress.
Yes--she was not cold, his white angel!
He was playing in the scratch team of the polo match, and the wild excitement of his thoughts, coursing through his blood, caused him to ride like a mad thing.
Never had he done so brilliantly.
And Theodora, while she was every now and then convulsed with fear for him, had moments of passionate admiration.
The Crow remained at her side in the tent. He knew Hector would not be jealous of him, and the instinct of the brink of calamity was strong upon him, from the look in Theodora's eyes.
He used great tact--he turned the conversation to Anne and the children, and then to Lady Bracondale and Hector's home, all in a casual, abstract way, and he told her of Lady Bracondale's great love for her son, and of her hopes that he would marry soon, and how that Hector would be the last of his race--for Evermond Le Mesurier did not count--and many little tales about Bracondale and its people.
It was all done so wisely and well; not in the least as a note of warning. And all he said sank deep into Theodora's heart. She had never even dreamed of the plan which was now matured in Hector's brain--of going away with him. He, as really a lover, was not for her, that was a foregone conclusion. It was the fear of she knew not what which troubled her. She was too unsophisticated and innocent to really know--only that to be with him now was a continual danger; soon she knew she would not be able to control herself, she must be clasped in his arms.
And then--and then--there was the picture in front of her of Josiah and the "second honeymoon."
Thus while she sat there gazing at the man she passionately loved playing polo, she was silently suffering all the anguish of which a woman's heart is capable.
The only possible way was to part from Hector forever--to say the last good-bye before she should go, like a sheep, to the slaughter.
When she was once more the wife of Josiah she could never look upon his face again.
And if Hector had known the prospect that awaited her at Bessington Hall, it would have driven him--already mad--to frenzy.
The day wore on, and still Theodora's fears kept her from allowing a tte--tte when he dismounted and joined them for tea.
But fate had determined otherwise. And as the soft evening came several of the party walked down by the river--which ran on the western side below the rose-gardens and the wood of firs--to see Barbara's many breeds of ducks and water-fowl.
Then Hector's determination to be alone with her conquered for the time. Theodora found herself strolling with him in a path of meeting willows, with a summer-house at the end, by the water's bank.
They were quite separated from the others by now. They, with affairs of their own to pursue, had spread in different directions.
And it was evening, and warm, and June.
There was a strange, weird silence between them, and both their hearts were beating to suffocation--hers with the thought of the anguish of parting forever, his with the exaltation of the picture of parting no more.
They came to the little summer-house, and there they sat down and surveyed the scene. The evening lights were all opalescent on the water, there was peace in the air and brilliant fresh green on the trees, and soft and liquid rose the nightingale's note. So at last Hector broke the silence.
"Darling," he said, "I love you--I love you so utterly this cannot go on. I must have you for my own--" and then, as she gasped, he continued in a torrent of passionate words.
He told her of his infinite love for her; of the happiness he would fill her life with; of his plan that they should go away together when she should leave Beechleigh; of the joy of their days; of the tender care he would take of her; and every and each sentence ended with a passionate avowal of his love and devotion.
Then a terrible temptation seized Theodora. She had never even dreamed of this ending to the situation; and it would mean no second honeymoon of loathsome hours, but a glorious fulfilment of all possible joy.
For one moment the whole world seemed golden with happiness; but it was only of short duration. The next instant she remembered Josiah and her given word.
No, happiness was not for her. Death and sleep were all she could hope for; but she must not even hope for them. She must do what was right, and be true to herself, _advienne que pourra_. And perhaps some angel would give her oblivion or let her drink of Lethe, though she should never reach those waters beyond the rocks.
He saw the exaltation in her beautiful face as he spoke, and wild joy seized him. Then he saw the sudden droop of her whole body and the light die out of her eyes, and in a voice of anguish he implored her:
"Darling, darling! Won't you listen to what I say to you? Won't you answer me, and come with me?"
"No, Hector," she said, and her voice was so low he had to bend closer to hear.
He clasped her to his side, he covered her face with kisses, murmuring the tenderest love-words.
She did not resist him or seek to escape from his sheltering, strong arms. This was the end of her living life, why should she rob herself of a last joy?