THE GATES OF LIFE. Брэм СтокерЧитать онлайн книгу.
and as she did not wish to pain her unduly, was willing to divert the immediate channel of her fear. She took the hand which lay in her lap and held it firmly whilst she smiled in the loving old eyes.
‘Of course, Auntie dear, it is theory. But still it is a theory which I hold very strongly!’ . . . Here a thought struck her and she said suddenly:
‘Did you ever . . . How many proposals did you have, Auntie?. The old lady smiled; her thoughts were already diverted.
‘Several, my dear. It is so long ago that I don’t remember!’
‘Oh yes, you do, Auntie. No woman ever forgets that, no matter what else she may or may not remember. Tell me, won’t you?. The old lady blushed slightly as she answered:
‘There is no need to specify, my dear. Let it be at this, that there were more than you could count on your right hand!’
‘And why did you refuse them?. The tone was wheedling, and the elder woman loved to hear it. Wheedling is the courtship, by the young of the old.
‘Because, my dear, I didn’t love them.’
‘But tell me, Auntie, was there never any one that you did love?’
‘Ah! my dear, that is a different matter. That is the real tragedy of a woman’s life.. In flooding reminiscent thought she forgot her remonstrating; her voice became full of natural pathos:
‘To love; and be helpless. To wait, and wait, and wait; with your heart all aflame. To hope, and hope; till time seems to have passed away, and all the world to stand still on your hopeless misery. To know that a word might open up Heaven; and yet to have to remain mute. To keep back the glances that could enlighten; to modulate the tones that might betray. To see all you hoped for passing away . . . to another! . . . ’
Stephen bent over and kissed her, then standing up said:
‘I understand. Isn’t it wrong, Auntie, that there should be such tragedies. Should not that glance be given. Why should that tone be checked. Why should one be mute when a single word might, would, avert the tragedy. Is it not possible, Auntie, that there is something wrong in our social system when such things can happen; and can happen so often?’
She looked remorseless as well as irresistible in the pride of her youthful strength as with eyes that blazed, not flashing as in passion but with a steady light that seemed to burn, she continued:
‘Some day women must learn their own strength, as well as they have learned their own weakness. They are taught this latter from their cradles up; but no one ever seems to teach them wherein their power lies. They have to learn this for themselves; and the process and the result of the self-teaching are not good. In the University Settlement I learned much that made my heart ache; but out of it there seemed some lesson for good.. She paused; and her aunt, wishing to keep the subject towards higher things, asked:
‘And that lesson, Stephen dear?. The blazing eyes turned to her so that she was stirred by them as the answer came:
‘It is bad women who seem to know men best, and to be able to influence them most. They can make men come and go at will. They can turn and twist and mould them as they choose. And they never hesitate to speak their own wishes; to ask for what they want. There are no tragedies, of the negative kind, in their lives. Their tragedies have come and gone already; and their power remains. Why should good women leave power to such as they. Why should good women’s lives be wrecked for a convention. Why in the blind following of some society fetish should life lose its charm, its possibilities. Why should love eat its heart out, in vain. The time will come when women will not be afraid to speak to men, as they should speak, as free and equal. Surely if a woman is to be the equal and lifelong companion of a man, the closest to him—nay, the only one really close to him: the mother of his children—she should be free at the very outset to show her inclination to him just as he would to her. Don’t be frightened, Auntie dear; your eyes are paining me! . . . There! perhaps I said too much. But after all it is only theory. Take for your comfort, Auntie dear, that I am free an heart-whole. You need not fear for me; I can see what your dear eyes tell me. Yes. I am very young; perhaps too young to think such things. But I have thought of them. Thought them all over in every way and phase I can imagine.’
She stopped suddenly; bending over, she took the old lady in her arms and kissed her fondly several times, holding her tight. Then, as suddenly releasing her, she ran away before she could say a word.
CHAPTER VIII—The T-Cart
When Harold took his degree, Stephen’s father took her to Cambridge. She enjoyed the trip very much; indeed, it seemed under conditions that were absolutely happy.
When they had returned to Normanstand, the Squire took an early opportunity of bringing Harold alone into his study. He spoke to him with what in a very young man would have seemed diffidence:
‘I have been thinking, Harold, that the time has come when you should be altogether your own master. I am more than pleased, my boy, with the way you have gone through college; it is, I am sure, just as your dear father would have wished it, and as it would have pleased him best.. He paused, and Harold said in a low voice:
‘I tried hard, sir, to do what I thought he would like; and what you would.. The Squire went on more cheerfully:
‘I know that, my boy. I know that well. And I can tell you that it is not the least of the pleasures we have all had in your success, how you have justified yourself. You have won many honours in the schools, and you have kept the reputation as an athlete which your father was so proud of. Well, I suppose in the natural order of things you would go into a profession; and of course if you so desire you can do that. But if you can see your way to it I would rather that you stayed here. My house is your home as long as I live; but I don’t wish you to feel in any way dependent. I want you to stay here if you will; but to do it just because you wish to. To this end I have made over to you the estate at Camp which was my father’s gift to me when I came of age. It is not a very large one; but it will give you a nice position of your own, and a comfortable income. And with it goes my blessing, my dear boy. Take it as a gift from your father and myself!’
Harold was much moved, not only by the act itself but by the gracious way of doing it. There were tears in his eyes as he wrung the Squire’s hand; his voice thrilled with feeling as he said:
‘Your many goodnesses to my father’s son, sir, will, I hope, be justified by his love and loyalty. If I don’t say much it is because I do not feel quite master of myself. I shall try to show in time, as I cannot say it all at once, all that I feel.’
Harold continued to live at Normanstand. The house at Camp was in reality a charming cottage. A couple of servants were installed, and now and again he stayed there for a few days as he wished to get accustomed to the place. In a couple of months every one accepted the order of things; and life at Normanstand went on much as it had done before Harold had gone to college. There was a man in the house now instead of a boy: that was all. Stephen too was beginning to be a young woman, but the relative positions were the same as they had been. Her growth did not seem to make an ostensible difference to any one. The one who might have noticed it most, Mrs. Jarrold, had died during the last year of Harold’s life at college.
When the day came for the quarterly meeting of the magistrates of the county of Norcester, Squire Rowly arranged as usual to drive Squire Norman. This had been their habit for good many years. The two men usually liked to talk over the meeting as they returned home together. It was a beautiful morning for a drive, and when Rowly came flying up the avenue in his T-cart with three magnificent bays, Stephen ran out on the top of the steps to see him draw up. Rowly was a fine whip, and his horses felt it. Squire Norman was ready, and, after a kiss from Stephen, climbed into the high cart. The men raised their hats and waved good-bye. A word from Rowly; with a bound the horses were off. Stephen stood looking at them delighted; all was so sunny, so bright, so happy. The world was