The drops of agony stood on my forehead as I repeated after her that fearful message:
“‘This, this is the warning,’ I continued, still following her, word for word. ‘Beware of idols, of earthly idols, Alfred! For her great love for you she forfeited her hopes of life on earth and peace in heaven. She loved you too much for her peace; too much to live without you; and when she heard your resolution had given way, that you had proved faithless, her brain reeled, and in a moment of madness she destroyed the life she no longer valued. Now she knows how terrible it is to have an earthly idol between the soul and heaven. Now she knows to what it may lead: now that she sees you about to fall into the same error—about to set up for yourself an idol in the shape of the son as she did of the father—she comes to warn you ere it be too late; to tell you that is a sin; to remind you if we have idols, we shall suffer through them.’”
“Frank, for Heaven’s sake, compose yourself: you will go mad!” exclaimed Alfred, as I paused, almost exhausted with the impetuosity with which I had repeated her words. She was calm enough, Heaven knows!
“Hush! she speaks again,” I replied, an irresistible power again impelling me to be the interpreter of the, to him, voiceless warning. “She leaves this picture to keep this in your mind; to remind you, not in love, but in warning of one who lost her soul through idolatry. Heavens! Standish, she is crying in despair. Alfred! Alfred! do you neither hear nor see her!”
“Dear Heavens, I shall go mad!” exclaimed Alfred, pressing his hands on his eyes, then staggering forwards as I would have dragged him towards her, with his hands out.
“Touch her; feel her; it is no illusion!” I almost screamed, as I tore him on. Then the figure I gazed on seemed to fade before my eyes; the colours grew dim; the outlines blurred. There was a passionate wail of “Alfred!” and the whole vanished into mist.
And with an exclamation of horror all my senses gave way; and when, after tossing in delirium for weeks after, I at last rose from the bed which had almost been my death-bed, I smiled to myself to hear them say, too much work and exertion and an over-excited brain, had brought on brain fever.
I knew what it was, and Alfred.
THE SECRET THAT CAN’T BE KEPT.
Time—Christmas, 1660.
Scene—terrace walk of an old english manor house.
Lady Alice and Lord Halford.
Lord H. Its dreariness had grown into a proverb.
Who knew old Lovel Manor House last year,
Might now suppose a spell had been removed
That bound the spirits of the place in sleep.
All things are altered to their opposites.
And then the change has come so suddenly,
Like bursts of music and the wild hurrah
Of revellers, startling the solemn air
Of some lone sanctuary.
Lady A.What cheerful lives
They must have passed! what moping in the dark!
Lord H. ’Tis the true phrase.
Your visit has brought light
To the dark house.
Lady A.Be careful what you say;
There was a dangerous light in’t ere I came.
Lord H. But silent as the stars.
Lady A.And yet the stars
Are worshipp’d in their silence! Had they tongues
To fill the heavens with noise, think you would man
Be more enamour’d of their beauty? Silence!
Why ’tis a language in itself—some say
Most eloquent of all—that hits its meaning
Quicker than thought; no sooner thought than spoken;
And spoken sometimes ere the thought is ripe,
Or, ripe, before it should seek utterance.
’Tis not in tongues this language finds expression.
Lord H. No organ else hath like intelligence
Of speech. What is’t, pray?
Lady A.Guess.
Lord H.I cannot guess.
Lady A. What say you to the eyes? Nay, ’twas just now
You quoted me the stars—the eyes of Heaven;
And there be men, right noble, too! who swear
Edith’s eyes are finer far!
Lord H.I do protest—
Lady A. That’s right; but not to me. If you protest
To me, I’ll tell my cousin.
Lord H.No—no—I—
Lady A. Why do you turn away? Why don’t you look
At me? Are you afraid I’ll tell my cousin?
Lord H. Why should I fear?
Lady A.Now, for the life of me,
I can’t divine. But sure I am, that were
You not afraid, you’d find a voice to speak
To her yourself.
Lord H.What should I say to her?
Lady A. Oh! thou perfection of a reasoning ostrich!
You shut your eyes upon yourself, and think
You’ve drawn a doom of blindness on the world.
Why, love is writ as plainly in your face,
As an inscription on a tomb: “Hic jacet!”
With a pierced heart below. I never saw
A man so woe-begone in love before;
And I have seen them of all casts and ages,
Although I never was in love myself,
And hope I never may! Look at your sword—
Is that the way to wear a sword, with th’ hilt
Thrust out before? Your collar twitched aside;
Ruffles that ne’er were meant for matches; boots
That show their frills at different altitudes:
From head to foot such pensive negligence,
That he who runs may read thou art in love.
Lord H. In love?
Lady A.Ten thousand fathoms deep. You love
My cousin.
Lord H.Pray, let’s change the theme. Your uncle
Throws wide his hospitable doors to-night
To the whole country side. The motley crowd
Will yield you ample mirth: squires, knights o’ the shire,
Lean clerks, fat justices—
Lady A.The clerk may hang,
And the fat justice gutter in his chair.
You shan’t evade me thus—you shan’t escape.
Confess you love my cousin. Well, deny
It then. You won’t commit yourself? You play
At love as gamblers make their books, and hedge
Upon the chance to win, but nothing risk.
Lord H. You do me wrong. I never utter’d word
Of love to her; but, with reserve o’erstrain’d,
Have kept most modest bearing in her sight.
