The Laughing Mill and Other Stories Part 23

It was really too bad, thought Eros, and he turned his face away and looked down the avenue, leaving Psyche unanswered.

It would have been quite dark now but for the whiteness of the snow. The wind was rising, and the window-seat was getting chilly, and Psyche's hand, which still lay in his own, was cold as ice, and she herself seemed to s.h.i.+ver. The blinds must be closed, and they would go back to the fire, for Mortimer might not come till midnight, for all they knew.

Stay!--what was that shadow moving this way up the avenue? Was it----

"Psyche! Psyche! look!" cried Eros, starting to his feet in joyous excitement. "That must be--isn't it? Yes, it must be Mortimer--it is our dear old Mort!"

"Oh Eros, I believe it is!" she answered, peering tremulously through the darkness. "I can't see clearly; I had a vision of Death--that Death was coming instead of him!"

"Death, indeed!" exclaimed Eros, with a laugh. "Let this be a lesson to you, my dear, not to indulge in silly fancies again. But come on! We must receive the dear fellow at the door."

He ran into the hall, Psyche following, and flung wide the heavy portal.

A gust of icy wind burst in, as though it had been lying in wait for them on the threshold; and Psyche seemed to shrink away before it, and Eros himself could scarce repress a s.h.i.+ver. But they pressed forward again, and gazed out earnestly on the night. Yes, there could be no doubt about it now. There came their friend--he who was most honoured and trusted by them both, yet who, for nearly half their lives, had been a stranger to them--there he came, striding swiftly towards them across the snow. Only a dark, lofty shape he seemed; but the step, the bearing, were unmistakable; they were Mortimer's own. By a simultaneous impulse the two young lovers threw one arm round each other, and extended the other to the advancing form. They could not cry out in welcome. Was it their great joy that silenced them? for joy will sometimes bind the faculties like awe. It was very dark, and neither had remembered to bring a light. Almost before they were aware of it their strange friend was standing close in front of them. How icy cold was the wind!

In moments of high feeling and excitement we do and say things as in a dream, and afterwards hardly remember how we acted. So was it now with Eros and Psyche. Did Mortimer take Eros's hand in a grasp as soft and cold as snow? Did he kiss Psyche's forehead with lips that sent a happy shudder to her heart? Did he speak to them in mellow, loving tones that sounded at once strange and familiar? And did they answer him? Or was it all a dream? Be that as it may, the spell soon pa.s.sed off, and they found themselves in clear possession of their several senses once more.

The long-expected guest had crossed their threshold, thrown aside his heavy cloak, and removed the soft fur cap from his black hair, and, Eros leading the way, the three friends had entered the warm, firelit parlour.

"Sit down, all of us!" cried the host, rubbing his hands together.

"Draw up to the fire, and get warm, if you can. My stars, what a night!

Psyche, you look as if you'd been kissed by an icicle; and you, Mort, you are as cold as death!"

They sat down round the broad hearth, the guest between the lovers; and as the firelight flickered over them, so flickered and fell and rose again their conversation. It often happens that, when we antic.i.p.ate saying most, we find the least to say; and somewhat thus did it fall out in the present instance: or, perhaps, because in a meeting like this, however thoroughly foreshadowed and antic.i.p.ated, there is apt to be a good deal of strangeness and unexpected diffidence to be overcome,--perhaps it was for this reason that speech flowed but intermittently for a while. Nevertheless, the lovers could feel that they were every moment growing more and more into sympathy and understanding with their new old friend, and doing so even more speedily and completely than might have been possible through the uncertain medium of words. He diffused around him, without effort, and apparently without being conscious of it, a gentle and winning influence which was fairly irresistible; so that by-and-by Psyche and Eros fancied that never before had they known him so well as now. At the same time, however, Psyche was inwardly aware of a great, yet indescribable, change from that Mortimer who had bidden her farewell nine years before. The principle, the genius of the man remained; but it existed now within the sphere of such a mighty and grand personality as transcended all she had previously known or conceived. It was as if some beneficent angel had stooped from heaven to visit them, and, lest his celestial splendour should overwhelm them, had a.s.sumed the guise and tone of that human being in whom they felt the most affectionate trust. Through his manner and aspect, and the low resounding melody of his utterance, she seemed to catch glimpses of a power and wisdom almost superhuman; but blended with a deep kindliness and charity, and a sublimity of nature that were more human than humanity itself. She looked up to him, not in fear, but with a loving, familiar kind of reverence; and would have confided to him the choicest secrets of her heart.

The influence that he exercised was not of that kind which belongs to superior age. There was in him all the fire and vigour of unquenchable youth. His lofty figure was as alert and lightsome as it was majestic.

His manner was instinct with gentle sprightliness and playfulness, and it was impossible not to feel cheery and hopeful in his company. The curve of his lips, and ever and anon the sudden kindling in his eyes, betrayed the fiery soul within; yet in everything that he said or did were visible the traces of a serene and absolute self-control.

"We are glad you came in time," observed Eros at last. "We should never have got married, I believe, if you had not been here to tie the knot."

"At least," added Psyche, in her clear, subdued voice, "you will make it seem more beautiful and indissoluble, and give it a deeper significance, than anyone else could have done. Yes, I am glad you came in time. Do you know, Eros, I did not think Mortimer would come at all? That pa.s.sage in the letter that I did not read you spoke of a strange pestilence, and immediately it came into my mind that Mortimer was dead. And even now,"

she continued, turning to the guest, and half-timidly meeting his strong, unfathomable eyes with her own, "even now, though I see you here between us, I cannot feel as if our Mortimer were in this world. Are you really he? or a messenger come to tell us that he is gone?"

"I am alive--am I not?" answered the guest, with a particularly radiant smile; "and if I am, then your Mortimer is also. As to my getting here at the right time, I am always sure to do that; it would be a sad business, indeed, if I were not. But are you both certain that you are glad to have me here?"

"It would not be merry Christmas if you were not!" exclaimed Eros, heartily.

"I am not always so well received," the other resumed. "I have been in all sorts of places, and have met all sorts of people, and almost all have called me abrupt and unceremonious. But then, not many know me for what I really am."

"I think I know you," said Psyche, after a pause; "and I cannot imagine myself so happy that your coming would not make me happier."

"You need not fear to know me, Psyche," returned the guest, with grave gentleness; "and really I am not so unsympathetic as I must often seem.

But I have a task in the world which brings me less credit in the performance than in the after result. Mankind, you know, Eros, are not always wise and far-sighted enough to recognise at the moment what is most for their good in the long run."

"Yes, I know that; but for my part I think I can tell what I need more quickly and surely than most people. For instance--that Psyche must be my wife, and that you must make her so."

"You rate my powers too high," rejoined their friend, smiling again.

"G.o.d only can make a man and woman one."

"Oh, I don't trouble myself with such fine-drawn distinctions. If you p.r.o.nounce the service over us, I will take the rest for granted. As I was telling Psyche the other day, it's not worth while looking beyond this world. If she is mine here, I'll risk our getting separated hereafter."

"Hereafter may not be far off," said the guest, more gravely than he had yet spoken. "You were best not to leave it out of the account."

"Death is my enemy--I can see no good in him!" declared Eros; "and I will do the best I can to have my happiness in spite of him."

"He doesn't mean it!" exclaimed Psyche to their friend, in a low, appealing tone. "He knows that only Death can make Love immortal."

"I must tell you," observed the guest, after a pause, "that I cannot stay here long; I shall be gone to-night. What I came to do, therefore, must be done soon."

"To-night!" cried Eros, in astonishment that was half incredulous.

Psyche said nothing, but hid her face in her hands and s.h.i.+vered a little.

"I wished to make you happy--happier than you have ever been--if you would let me," resumed the previous speaker. "Whoever has lofty beliefs will have a lofty fate. If your idea of marriage is high enough, you will not hesitate to come with me to my Paradise. How is it with you, Eros?"

"Not yet," replied Eros, laughing and shaking his head. "It's too far off, and the journey is too cold. If you are really determined to leave us, you must go without me. Surely you can't expect me to be ready to start at such short notice? No, no! I mean to stay by this comfortable fireside for a long time yet, and so shall Psyche."

"Death has summoned men on shorter notice than this," said the other.

"Think again before you decide."

"I have decided; and I never change my mind," said Eros, obstinately.

And truly his preference was not an unnatural one. The old parlour presented a most attractive aspect. The great log which had been burning on the broad hearth had now fallen into glowing fragments, over which small yellow and bluish flames danced intermittently. Everything was warm, home-like, and familiar. Out of doors the stars shone crisp and white, and the snow glistened pure as a maiden's soul. But ah! it was so terribly cold; the beauty of the prospect could be enjoyed much better from the genial vantage-ground of the hearthstone.

"If that is your decision, you must abide by it," said the guest, and something in the words, and in the manner they were uttered, awed Eros for the moment. Then, turning to Psyche, he continued: "But even your Eros cannot choose for you. What is your preference? Are you, too, willing to postpone Paradise for the fireside?"

Psyche was naturally more imaginative than most young girls, and possibly there was something in the shadowy mystery of the hour, and in her own physical and mental condition, that wrought upon her mood. A creeping languor and a chill which the heat of the embers could not counteract were gaining possession of her, and filling her brain with weird fancies. Insensibly, he who sat beside her, and whose icy lips she had felt upon her brow, had become clothed to her apprehension with an unearthly, superhuman personality. No man was he, but an angel of tender and mighty sway, stooping from heaven on the eve of Christmas, to hold high argument with two mortal lovers on those questions which most nearly concern their welfare. As she spoke her voice sounded faint and ethereal, while her eyes sought to penetrate the shadow which had fallen over the face of Eros.

"It is pleasant here," she said; "yet if, in Paradise, our union may be eternal and secure, it is surely better to be there."

"You will meet Eros where we are going," returned the strange friend, gently, taking her hand in his own. "If not this Eros whom you have known here, then another and a worthier one than he."

"Oh, not another," whispered Psyche, entreatingly; "it must be this Eros--my own dear Eros whom I have always loved. I have lived with him, and our hearts are grown together. He is better and n.o.bler than he seems."

"It is not for me to decide," was the answer. "But do you speak to him, Psyche. If he loves you, he will lay your words to heart."

Psyche rose from her chair, and, stepping somewhat feebly, crossed to where Eros sat, and stood before him, her hands clasped. The room had become more dusky, so that the three figures appeared rather like shadows than beings of flesh and blood. For a moment or two there was silence, and only Psyche's beseeching att.i.tude seemed to speak.

"Eros," she said at length, "I feel that I must go--I must go with this friend of ours. Do you know him, Eros? He is your friend as well as mine. You might have gone with us; but that was not to be. We shall not know marriage here, and we shall seem to be separated for a time. But if your love for me has been as great as mine for you, the memory of it, and the faith in what is to come, will heal the worst of the parting.

Oh, my love, say it shall be so!"

"You are crazy--both of you!" cried Eros, wrestling with the fear that beset him, and striving to speak in an a.s.sured and masterful tone. "What has Mortimer to do with you, Psyche? You are mine, and whoever pretends to take you from me is my enemy!"

"Eros--Eros!" exclaimed the girl, with pa.s.sionate earnestness, "it is you who are crazy, my poor darling. Mortimer is dead; and the letter which he wrote--the letter that I alone read and touched--had in it the contagion of the pestilence. It was the message of my death; and now my death has come."

"Death shall not have you!" cried Eros, starting to his feet; and such was the vehemence of his rebellious anger that he felt ready to defy even Omnipotence. "What have I done that I should lose you? I have loved you truly and faithfully--why should not my love have its rightful fulfilment? It shall not go for naught and end in dust and ashes! As for this future you talk about, what is it? a misty possibility--an indefinite surmise--nothing! I say it is unjust and tyrannical, and I will not submit! Come to me, Psyche!"

He reached towards her through the dusk, but she seemed to falter backwards from him, and when he would have followed, the tall form of the mysterious guest rose between, and beneath that mighty and majestic gaze the eyes of Eros wavered, though the rebellion in him was unconquered still.

"You must yield her to me," said those deep, reverberating tones; "yet it is not I that parts you. True lovers can be parted only through want of faith. Upon yourself alone, therefore, does it depend whether she leaves you for a time or for ever."

Eros pressed his hands to his head. Every good and evil impulse of his soul was in deadly struggle for the mastery. Was his love greater than Death? or had the past been a delusion? Was the future to be a blank? He was but a man, with a man's weaknesses. He must rise to higher levels through bitter trial, if at all; and except there were in him some elements of generous n.o.bleness, to turn his stubborn self-will at the crisis of the conflict, the demon of mistrust would gain the victory.

Had he such allies?