Leonore Stubbs Part 38

Yes, Leo remembered. Remembered also how she tried every means to get rid of the kindly, patient intruder, who tortured her by her presence and anxiety. "I never thought I should be able to tell you the truth, Sue. And oh, I was so miserable, I was in h.e.l.l----"

"Darling Leo, don't; don't say that. It is not quite right, you know."

"Yet we talk of being in heaven, why is the other place worse?"

Sue however could not tell why, and only shook her head gently.

"Well, then, I was, you know where," resumed Leo, with a nod; "and what's more, I had been there for ages. I was wicked for quite a long time before that, you know;" and she leaned her elbows on Sue's lap, and looked up into her face. "It began soon after I came home. I did so hate being a widow--oh, poor G.o.dfrey! Sue, it had nothing to do with G.o.dfrey; it was the awful clothes, and the being shut up in dark corners----"

"Dark corners, Leo?"

"That was what it seemed like to me. I was hustled out of the way when people came, and whatever happened, it didn't happen for _me_. Sometimes I could hardly believe it _was_ me; I used to pinch myself and say 'You horrid little black thing, who are you? Are you "Leonore," or "Leonore Stubbs"?--because they are two quite different people. Leonore is a harmless little tom-fool--but Leonore Stubbs is an odious, artificial creature, a sham all round.' And then, Sue, something, never mind what, started a new idea, I felt that I had never really been _in love_, nor had any one really been _in love_ with me. G.o.dfrey and I had just been fond of each other, and I couldn't help--yes, I could have helped, but I didn't--trying to get up the real thing. I longed for it, I craved for it--and I made several shots for it. Oh, I am ashamed,"--and she hid her face.

"My poor little Leo!"

"Your poor little Leo is a mighty bad lot. However, it wasn't till Paul came that she was--no, I don't think that she really was to blame, I don't _indeed_;" said Leo, earnestly. "Because directly she suspected--I mean directly she began to feel--_it_, she was frightened to death. She was in a vile temper all the time, but she kept her secret, and Paul does not know it yet. Oh, Sue, do you think, do you think he does?" she broke off suddenly.

"No, dear, how should he?"

"I hoped perhaps he might. Of course I don't want him to, but still if he did----"

"You yourself said he never gave you to understand he had any feeling for you."

"But I didn't say he might not have--understood that I had any feeling for him."

"Would you wish it, Leo?"

"No."

But after a long pause the face was turned up again. "Yes."

Still nothing was heard of Paul, and the sisters grew to talk of him less and less. They laid plans for their future irrespective of his existence, they visited Sybil, who had now a home on the south coast, her husband having become a County Court judge; and they flitted quietly up and down the various highways and byeways of rural England.

One April they found themselves in a land of hills, and lakes, and green, leafy foregrounds.

"Let us stay here for a while," said Sue.

Beautiful scenery always appealed to Sue, and a good hotel was not to be despised. The lapping of the waters of the lake beneath her window was pleasant, even when the wind sent tiny wavelets running along the sh.o.r.e in a sort of mock animosity--and when the surface was calm as a mirror, she thought it was Paradise.

"It really is very nice," said Leo. "I have been out exploring. There is a lovely glen about a mile off, with woods and a stream--a little splas.h.i.+ng stream--and the banks are simply covered with blue-bells. I should have picked some, but the path looked suspiciously well cared for, and there were little gates, as if it belonged to some big place; to tell the truth, I had an inkling I was trespa.s.sing, though there were no boards up. It would have been awkward to have been met by the owner, with my hands full of blue-bells. However, I mean to go again to-morrow, and spy out the land. If it's safe, you shall come."

"Could I walk so far?"

"You can have a little carriage, and leave it at the gate. You could not get it up the valley, as there is only a footpath, but I think you could walk that part. I can't tell you how delightful it was,--the sunlight speckling through the trees, and the cuckoos answering each other across the brook;--I could have stayed forever, but I remembered you and flew home."

She flew back, however, the following evening. It was an equally calm, bright evening, after a day of heat and growth,--and buds that had been fast closed at dawn, had burst on every side. Ta.s.sels hung from the larches, giving forth their resinous fragrance; and the pink buds of young oaks, and sprays of waving yellow broom mingled with the many shades of green above and beneath.

"What a heavenly spot!" sighed Leonore, enraptured. She could not resist wandering on and on; the woods at Boldero were nothing to this fairy dell, and at every tinkling waterfall, she was down the thymy bank overhanging it.

But she noted anew that she was neither preceded nor followed by other invaders. She also experienced a little thrill of dismay at seeing through a vista--a long vista, it is true--a country house towards which a byepath led direct. Oh, well, she must risk it; if met--? She started and the courage of a moment before began to ebb, for something certainly moved behind the trees, and now she distinctly saw a figure on the path in front.

To put a bold face upon it when no one challenged the face was easy, but it was another matter to--her pulses beat a little faster.

Conning an apology, and prepared to offer it with the best grace she could muster, she walked slowly forward, with downcast eyes,--then, oh, what?--oh, who was this? She stood face to face with--Paul.

Often and often afterwards she wondered how she felt, how she looked and what she did at that supreme moment? In the retrospect it was all a mist--a blurred canvas--a confused phantasm.

"_Paul!_"

"_Leonore!_"

An outcry--then a terrible silence; agitation on his part, trepidation on hers--each alike stupefied, breathless.

And Leonore's heart sank, and her eyelids fell.

Was this _all_? Was this the end? Oh, misery, misery.

Was it amazement alone which had first forced her name from his lips, and then shut them fast? Was he shocked, perhaps sore that a thing had happened which he had resolved should never happen? Was it pain, disgust, horror, she heard in that single involuntary utterance?

Ah, then, she knew what she must do.

Sick disappointment sent a s.h.i.+ver through her frame, and all at once she felt her limbs totter.

But to fall? To betray emotions which were not _his_ emotions? To be weak where he was bold and strong? No, a thousand times, no; she drew herself upright and made a pa.s.sionate effort.

"Paul, I am--so sorry. I did not know, I never dreamt--of this. Indeed, indeed I never did. Believe me, oh, do believe me, Paul."

"Believe you, Leo? I do not understand?" He gazed at her, bewildered, then took a step forward, and she felt him trying to take her hand. She drew it back hurriedly.

"Wait. Wait a moment. Let me speak. We did not know you were here, we did not indeed. We have not known anything of you, for a long, long time. It was only yesterday we, Sue and I, came to this place; and we can go away again to-morrow--or to-night. We would not trouble you, Paul."

"Trouble me?" He laughed, a curious laugh, bitter and sweet, scornful and surpa.s.singly tender. It might have enlightened her, but she was past listening.

"You will believe, Paul, that we--that to annoy you, to distress you,--oh, not for worlds, not for worlds. We will go to-night." And she turned as though to fly on the spot, but he caught her arm.

"Leo?"

She was faintly trying to free herself. The arm went further and held her fast.

"Can you think," said a voice in her ear, "can you suppose that the sight of _you_, you who have been with me night and day in dreams, and thoughts, and hopes, and fears, that this could--what did you call it?--'annoy' me? Leo, my own, my beloved, don't you, can't you see--_now_?"

"Paul!"

"You whom I might not love, and yet could not but love? Listen. You say you had lost sight of me--that was because I dared not come to you. I dared not trust myself--perhaps, may I say it?--I could not trust either of us. We had once--and that must never happen again. You are listening?

My darling, how you tremble, why do you tremble so, Leo? There is nothing to fear now. Let me go on, and you will see. It was only the other day I learned the tidings that set me free. You see I had no means of knowing; and then when I did hear, I could not--it would have been horrible to be in haste to take advantage of it. So, though life opened anew, I meant to wait quietly till the time came when perhaps I might hope to prevail--but, oh, to think of _this_!"