The Wings of Icarus - LightNovelsOnl.com
You're reading novel online at LightNovelsOnl.com. Please use the follow button to get notifications about your favorite novels and its latest chapters so you can come back anytime and won't miss anything.
"Take me away! I am weary of all things. The summer is fledged; he will take wing before we realise it. You must marry me soon, very soon."
And I promised that I would,--on the 15th of July, as we presently decided.
Surely, if I were not mad, I should be very joyful. I feel no joy, only disbelief; I cannot believe, sore as I am with doubt and sorrow, that in nineteen days all will be well, and I again full mistress of that I fear to lose. Just at first, I was dizzy with joy, and thought my misgivings had been very vain and foolish; but then it occurred to me that Gabriel was perhaps impelled to this sudden decision by the dawning consciousness of his infidelity, and hoped--by marrying me at once--to check the further growth of his fancy.
If this be so, he is wise; for that it is a pa.s.sing fancy I am certain. I should not marry him if I thought otherwise.
But it is very sad; I am so sorry for us all.
_June 30th._--It must be late; the chimes have just told three quarters, it must be a quarter to three. I was in bed,--I am very much troubled. I think I had better write a little, lest I lose my self-possession; that would be fatal. Constance and I returned to-day from London; we had been there to get my things. I took her with me because I feared to leave her alone with Gabriel; it seemed unwise. Besides, I could not leave them; I am indeed intolerably jealous; I never leave them now for the fraction of a minute. I cannot, it is too cruel pain; and I am grown such a coward, I cannot bear it.
Yet it was foolish to take her with me; I might have foretold how it would be. I saw very soon that she pined for him, perhaps as much as I did. And I knew that he wandered to and fro at home, meeting her thoughts with his. I brought her back as soon as I could. Gabriel met us at the station; the engine shrieked, as I did in my heart. It was a strange mingling of the Heaven of my life with the sordid greyness of the world. I saw at once that there was a change; I had parted them and taught them what each was worth to the other.
So now I know. It is well, perhaps, to have reached the end, the limit of misery, to know that, come what may, I have suffered my fill. And I was so happy. I cannot think to-night; I know not what to do; I stare at my dead joy,--it is dead and cold, nothing can wake it now. When I have stared a little longer, I must dig its grave, bury it in the bare earth, in eternal darkness.
That is all I feel, the death of my joy; I cannot yet think of them that killed it.
To-night in my despair I cannot tell whether I love or hate them; love them for what they were, or hate them for what they are.
_July 2d._--The day is hot and heavy; it suits me very well.
Yesterday we were nearly all day together. I remember how it was with me when my mother died; I had sooner bear it again than my pain of every day. To be with them, watching the growth of their terrible love, that is murdering me, and yet to stay on, fearing a worse agony. Their eyes shall never meet; I shall stay and watch them, if I die for it.
Only thirteen days more and he is mine, and I can bear him from her.
Yesterday I thought, Shall I give him to her? But I am not generous.
It may be wicked, it may be cruel, but I, too, am living. Why should I break my heart that theirs may be whole? No; he chose me for his wife, he will not take his word from me. I know he loves her better, but he will forget that, I shall make him so happy, I shall spoil him so! Oh, yes, he will forget. For a year, perhaps, he will be unhappy; then all will be well.
It might be different if I did not know how happy I can make him.
_July 3d._--Let me write it down, all my infamy. I am possessed by a new fear,--that Gabriel might prove honest. It is not true that trouble chasteneth; there is no health left in me. If I clear all the cobwebs away, I still can see the right. I can see this: that he loves her better than me, and I remember our covenant.
I know that it is my duty to go to him and lay his freedom in his hands; or, barring this, to await the truth from his own lips. Yet now, when I am alone with him, I am possessed by this terrible new fear, that he might be true to his own self and me. For to marry one woman and love another is a shameful act indeed.
Let me look upon my love and ask myself whereof it is made. If I seek to have this man, knowing his heart to be another's, if I desire for him rather the silence of cowardice than the n.o.bler loyalty of truth, why, then, my love is not good love. It is not love, but a most unholy pa.s.sion, that places its desire above the well-being of its object. And yet I can see the right.
Oh! how empty are these dreams, and how the devil in us, the man of flesh, mocks the G.o.d-led spirit that dreamed them!
The blood of the heart is master. We shall never reach perfection.
_July 4th._--They have not met to-day. I was at the Cottage, and we made merry as best we could. Gabriel laughed. But when I went into the larder to fetch the bread for tea, I stayed and cried; for he had laughed otherwise the first day I came.
Oh, what have we done, we two! We set up Truth as our G.o.d, believing that we should right all the wrongs of the world by living clean of heart and hand and tongue. Where are we now? Falsehood lies thick upon us, blackening each word, each trifling action. Yes, I went and cried in the larder, and when I got back to the kitchen Gabriel was playing with the kittens, a very imp as of old. We laughed, both of us.
But later, when I came upon him unawares, he sat with head bowed low, and his white hands clasped on his knee. I closed the door softly and went home. It rained a little.
I knew, I know that I am cruel, yet,--only one life,--and I love him so! Only one life, and he loves her so. The road is dark; I cannot find my way.
_July 6th._--I have been very sinful. I was worse yesterday, if can be, than before; more blind, unjust, and selfish. Gabriel came to supper; it had been a hot day, and in the evening we walked together, we three.
We watched the colours fade from the sky and the blue night deepen; the little stars came one by one. The wind rose, soft and cool, and there we stood, we three, under broad Heaven. I fell back a little, and they went on side by side, silent and still. Not a word, not a sign, but I knew, I, what peace was upon them, soothing the turmoil of their blood. There they stood against the sky,--how I had watched them, how I knew them,--oh, my heart, how I loved them! And it came to me suddenly how hatefully I had been loving them.
Two women pa.s.sed us on the road; they spoke of their dead, and one of them said, "It is G.o.d's will."
I stood still and laughed aloud, so that my dears turned, wondering.
But I have repeated it to myself ever since. The woman spoke the truth. For, G.o.d or no G.o.d, there is a Might against which we cannot stand, and woe be unto those that lift their little wills against the will of Nature. When two love, they must belong to each other; when one loves, Miserere.
I will wait a day or two, until I have learned my lesson well, until I am strong; then I will do what must be done. But I must first be strong, test my strength to the uttermost, and tell myself every day, "She will be his; she will take the joy that shone into your eyes; you will have nothing, nothing."
Then I must try to realise that thought and bear it n.o.bly; for to make a sacrifice and bear it ill is beneath contempt.
_July 9th._--How beautiful love is! Now that, one by one, I am breaking the tendrils from the wall, and shall soon hold Love in my hand, an emblem merely, clinging to nothing, I see all that is divine in it. I myself am selfish, earth-smeared; yet by means of this talisman I am to be heroic, even I, finding joy in the gift I prepare for others through the tearing of my heart, the outpouring of my own blood. It is a blessed madness. Sober, I could not.
To-day one week remains. Gabriel said to me just now, "In a week, Emilia, we shall be gone."
"Yes, dear," said I; and I wondered at his strength, at his loyalty to me.
How comes it, I wonder, that it took me so long to find the small straight path. I must hasten now and be ready soon; he has suffered all too long. And Constance is thin, her eyes hang heavily, she helps me prepare my wedding clothes, and is gay, to hide what she cannot. She often says:
"How slow you are! Hurry up, my solemn bride, or we shall never be ready."
"Ready enough," say I.
To-day I went to Mrs. Rayner, and begged her to approach her solicitor on the question of obtaining Constance's divorce. My ignorance of these matters is absolute, yet surely this is possible.
Gabriel once led me to believe she could obtain her divorce without difficulty.
"But a divorce is so scandalous," said Mrs. Rayner.
"Not so scandalous," I replied, "as what it may prevent."
I believe my words were entirely thrown away, for her blindness is phenomenal. She is, besides, much too self-absorbed at present to properly watch Constance; her horizon is obscured by Uncle George's whiskers. It gives me, even in these days, a grim satisfaction to see those two preparing millstones for each other's necks.
I shall write to Marianna, telling her to expect me in Florence shortly. How calm I am! Have I learned my lesson so well? Or is this calm mere self-deceit? When I have truly learned the lesson, realise that what I am about to do separates me from both forever, surely I shall not be alive to go to Florence.
_July 10th._--To-day Constance would not come to the Cottage with me, although Jane Norton had most particularly wished it. I think she avoids Gabriel,--it may be my fancy, or perhaps mere chance; otherwise it still seems to me that she does not know she loves him.
She came up to me in the morning, to help me pack my papers; we idled, we wandered restlessly about my disordered room. Suddenly she came to me as I leaned over my strong-box, and, clasping me round the shoulders, laid her head down on the back of my neck.
"Dear," she said, "do you remember your birthday at Florence, when I helped you with your books?"
I stood up and took her to me.
"Yes," said I; "and I would that day were back again."