A Fluttered Dovecote Part 6

MEMORY THE EIGHTH--ONE OF MY SINS.

A day had pa.s.sed--a long, long, dreary day, and a weary, weary night-- during which I kept on starting up from sleep to think that I heard a voice whispering the word "Come!"

Come, come, come--ah! the number of times I seemed to hear that word, and sat up in bed, pressing my hair from my ears to listen, to lie down again with a sigh--for it was only fancy. How could I go? What could I do? I dare not try to meet him, even though I had vowed that I would.

I kept calling myself coward, but that was of no use, for I only owned to it and made no reply; though towards morning, after I had been picturing to myself his weary form leaning watchingly against a tree for hours, and then seemed to see him slowly going disappointed away, I made another vow that, come another night, spite of cowardice and anything else, I would go.

And then, while I lay thinking of how shocking it would be, and all that sort of thing, I dropped off asleep to be awakened by a curious buzzing noise, which was Patty Smith humming a tune--like some horrible great bluebottle--as she was dressing, for the bell had rung some time before.

And now the next night had come. It was so hot that I could scarcely breathe, and the tiresome moon would s.h.i.+ne so dreadfully bright that it was like a great, round eye peering between the edge of the blind and the window-frame to watch my proceedings. Clara was soon in bed, and breathing hard; while as for Patty Smith, she snored to that degree that I quite s.h.i.+vered. It must have been her snoring that made me s.h.i.+ver, for as to what I was about to venture, now that I could feel my mind fully made up, I was quite bold, though my heart would beat so loudly that it went "thump, thump," under the heavy clothes. I had hurried upstairs first, and was lying in bed quite dressed, though I lay wondering whether those two would notice that my clothes were not there by the bedside. I thought it would never be twelve o'clock, and I tried to think what Achille would be doing. It was so romantic, now that I had pa.s.sed the first feeling of dread, and seemed so much nicer than sitting up in bed in the dark to have a supper of cakes, sweets, and apples, as we used to at the old school when I was young. Ah, yes, when I was young!--for I felt old now. In another hour I should be down in the side walk, where the wall skirted the road. But suppose I were heard upon the stairs, or opening the side door, or Clara should wake, or--

"Oh, you goose!" I exclaimed at last; "pray don't go if you are so much afraid."

But really it was enough to make any maiden's heart beat.

I had changed his note about from place to place, for I could not part with it, and I sighed at the very idea of locking it up in my box with the others; but I had it now, and I could feel the sharp corner p.r.i.c.k every time I moved. I knew it every word by heart, down even to where it said, "Thine for ever;" and as I whispered it over to myself, I grew more and more excited, and longed for the time to slip by faster.

At last, when it seemed as though it would never come, I heard the church clock faintly striking twelve; and then I s.h.i.+vered again horribly with that dreadful Patty's snoring, for it was not likely I should have any foolish fancies about witching hours of midnight, or anything of that kind; and then I softly glided out of bed, and stood quite still for nearly five minutes, when, all remaining quiet, and the breathing of Clara and Patty sounding regular, I stepped on one side of the bright pathway made by the moonbeams, made my way to the door, and gently turned the handle.

I never knew that door to be so noisy before, and I now really trembled; for, as the tiresome thing creaked, I could hear either Clara or Patty turn in bed, and I stopped quite short, expecting every moment to hear my name p.r.o.nounced. But no--all was silence and snore. I gently closed the door after me, and stood in the dark pa.s.sage, with my heart almost failing; for I hardly dared stir a step farther, knowing, as I did, that in the next room slept the Fraulein, while the other two Graces were only a few steps farther down the pa.s.sage. Somebody was breathing so hard that it was almost a snore, and it was not Patty Smith now; and more than once I was for going back, but I stole on at last, and reached the great staircase, where the moon was s.h.i.+ning right through the skylight, and making queer shadows upon the wall. But I glided down, and was nearly at the bottom, when, looking up, I felt almost ready to sink--for, in the full glare of the moonlight, there stood a tall figure gazing down at me.

I did not shriek, nor turn to run away, for I had self-command enough to govern the emotions struggling for exit; though I wonder that I did not go mad with fear from the terror which came upon me, as I saw the tall, white figure come slowly gliding down--nearer, nearer, nearer; now in the moonlight, now in the deep shade. Oh, it was fearful! And, after all, to be candid, I believe the reason I did not scream out was because I could not; for my mouth felt hot and parched, and at times my head seemed quite to swim.

As I stood on one of the landings, and backed away from the coming figure, I felt the door of the little room where we hung our garden hats and mantles give way behind me, when I backed slowly in, pushed the door softly to, and then crept tremblingly into a corner, drawing a large shawl before me, but not without knocking down a hat from one of the pegs, to fall with, oh! such a noise, seeing that it was only straw.

There I stood, almost without breathing, hoping that I had not been seen, and that the figure, whatever it was, would go by.

Every second seemed turned into a minute, and at last I began to revive; for I felt that, whatever the figure was, it had pa.s.sed on; and I drew a long breath of relief, thinking now that I must gain my own room at any cost, and the sooner the better, for of course any meeting was quite impossible. I was just going to sigh deeply for poor Achille, when I felt, as it were, frozen again; for the door began to glide slowly open, rustling softly over the carpet--for everything sounded so horribly distinct--and there at last stood the tall white figure, while, as I felt ready to die, I heard my name p.r.o.nounced, in a low whisper, twice,--

"Laura! Laura!"

For a moment or two I could not reply, when the call was repeated; and, irresistibly attracted, I went slowly forward from my hiding-place, to feel myself caught by the arm by Clara, who had been watching me.

"You cruel, wicked girl!" I exclaimed in a whisper. "How could you frighten me so?"

"Serve you right, too, you wicked, deceitful thing," she said. "Why could you not trust me? But I don't care. I know. I can see through you. I know where you are going."

"That you do not," I said, boldly; for I felt cross now the fright was over, and I could have boxed the tiresome creature's ears.

"You'd better not talk so loudly," she said with a sneer; "that is, if you do not want Lady Blunt to hear your voice."

"There," I said, spitefully, "I thought you did not know."

"Under the tall elms by the garden wall," whispered Clara, laughing, and translating one of the sentences in the very note I had in my breast; and then I remembered that I had left it for about a quarter of an hour in my morning-dress pocket, before I ran up after changing and fetched it down; though I never should have thought she would have been so treacherous as to read it. But there, she had me in her power, and however much I might have felt disposed to resent her conduct, I could do nothing then, so--

"Hus.h.!.+" I said, imploringly. "Pray, do not tell, dear!"

"Ah," said the nasty, treacherous thing, "then you ought to have told me, and trusted me with your secret. But did you think that I was blind, Laura Bozerne, and couldn't see what was going on? And you never to respond to my confidence, when I always trusted you from the very first. I did think that we were friends."

"Oh, pray don't talk so," I exclaimed; "nor make so much noise, or we shall be heard." For it was not I who spoke loudly now.

"Well, and suppose we are," she said, coolly. "I can give a good account of my conduct, I think, Miss Bozerne."

"Oh, pray don't talk like that, dear," I said--"pray, don't." And then, feeling that all dissimulation was quite useless, I cast off the reserve, and exclaimed, catching her by both hands--"Oh, do help me, there's a darling; for he has been waiting for two nights."

"Yes, I dare say he has," said the deceitful creature; "but I don't mean to be mixed up with such goings on."

A nasty thing!--when I found out afterwards that she had more than once been guilty of the same trick; and all the while professing to have placed such confidence in me. If I had been free to act, I should have boxed the odious thing's ears; but what could I do then, but crave and pray and promise, and beg of her to be my friend, till she said she would, and forgave me, as she called it; and then I watched her go slowly upstairs till she was out of sight; for whatever she might do in the future, she declared that she would not help me that night.

And there I stood, in a state of trembling indecision, not knowing what to do--whether to go after her, or steal down to the side door; and at last I did the latter, if only out of pure pity for poor Achille, and began slowly to unfasten the bolts.

The nasty things went so hard that I broke my nails over them, while I turned all hot and damp in the face when the cross bar slipped from my fingers, and made such a bang that I felt sure it must have been heard upstairs. And there I stood listening and trembling, and expecting every moment to hear a door open and the sound of voices. It was only the romantic excitement, or else sheer pity, which kept me from hurrying back to my own room, to bury my sorrows in my soft pillow.

I waited quite five minutes, and then tied my handkerchief over my hat, and raised the latch. The next moment I stood outside in the deep shadow, with the water-b.u.t.t on my right and the wash-house door on my left; and then, with beating heart, I glided from shrub to shrub, till I reached the wall, beneath whose shadow I made my way to the path that runs under the tall elms, where the wall was covered with ivy.

In spite of my fluttering heart, and the knowledge I possessed of how I was committing myself, I could not help noticing how truly beautiful everything looked--the silvery sweet light, glancing through the trees; the deep shadows; and, again, the bright spots where the moon shone through the openings. And timid though I was, I could not help recalling Romeo and Juliet, thinking what a time this was for a love-tale, and regretting that there were no balconies at the Cedars.

Then I paused, in the shade of one of the deepest trees, holding my hand to my side to restrain the beating of my heart, as I listened for his footstep.

"I'll only stay with him one minute," I said to myself, "and then run in again, like the wind."

A minute pa.s.sed: no footstep. Two minutes, five, ten; and then I stole to the end of the walk. But there was no one; and I began to tremble with fear first, and then with excitement, and lastly with indignation; for it seemed to me that I was deceived.

"The poor fellow must have gone back in despair, believing that I should not come. Ah! he does not know me," I muttered at last.

"Perhaps I am too soon," I thought a few minutes later, "and he may yet come."

For I would not let the horrible feeling of disappointment get the upper hand. And then I crept closer to the wall, and waited, looking out from an opening between the trees at the moonlit house, and wondering whether Clara was yet awake.

All was still as possible. Not a sigh of the night wind, nor a footstep, nor even the rustle of a leaf; when all at once I nearly screamed, for there was a sharp cough just above my head. And as my heart began to beat more and more tumultously than ever, there was a rustling in the ivy on the top of the wall, and a dark figure leaped to the ground, where I should have fallen had it not caught me in its arms.

I shut my eyes, as I s.h.i.+vered, half in fear and half with pleasure; and then I let my forehead rest upon my hands against his manly breast--for even in those moments of bliss the big b.u.t.tons on his coat hurt my nose.

And thus we stood for some few moments, each waiting for the other to speak; when he said, in a whisper,--"Better now?"

"Oh, yes," I replied; "but I must leave thee now. Achille, _a demain_."

"Eh?" he said, with a huskiness of tone which I attributed to emotion.

"I must leave thee now," I said. "How did you get out?" he whispered.

"By the side door," I said, trembling; for an undefined feeling of dread was creeping over me.

"Any chance of a taste of anything?" he whispered.

"Good heavens!" I e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, opening my eyes to their widest extent, "who are you?"

And I should have turned and fled, but that he held me tightly by the wrist.

"Well, perhaps, it don't matter who I am, and never mind about my number," said the wretch. "I'm a pleeceman, that's what I am, county constabulary. Will that soot yer?"

"Oh, pray release me!" I said, "oh, let me go!" I gasped; for I thought he might not understand the first, these low men are so ignorant. "Pray go to Monsieur de Tiraille, and he will reward you."