Fabiola : or, The church of the catacombs - Digital Repository Services

!y ranrried pair, and bury herself in that solitude. Having
before It.'se s im-th. she fell lied
i' )KT llns proof cf attai hment.
n liy George ami |:
TUL TV? VACGUTUH.
Led inn: or two
to tin; environs of the villa, and remarked on the
of the country. She had spoken of the liueness of the
and mentioned the names of some of the villages they
1 tliniun'h
\Yheu they arrived at Belbousquet, she went into the little
drawing room, and he followed her. She seated herself at the
window, and looked at the flower beds. lie stood for a moment
n-e the chimney filled with evergreens, and then going up to
Hose, '_':ive her a letter, addressed to Madame la Baroune George
ile Vedi'Iles. and then went out of the house, and walked up the
little path skirl inn the brook.
felt strangely surprised at his writing her letter. What
could be its contents, its purport? She looked at the handwriting.
It was firm and distinct: nothing childish or uncertain about
il. She was almost afraid of opening it, though she longed to
(i. Perhaps it was a bit of nonsense, a hoax, or perhaps it
\\;:> not from him. His mother had, may be, written to her
.us advice or some kind words, and intrusted him with the let-
ter At last she unsealed the envelope, and read as follows:
We have been united by the will of our parents. It is not our
bu liness to question the wisdom of their acts. I fancy that on
i sides the object in view has been attained: my brother will
!>: a deputy, and you are Madame la Baroune de Vedelles, with
all the advantages, whatever they may bo, that this title secures.
Two days ago I expected that our lives would be spent much
in Ihe samp way that many other people spend theirs whose desia-5
not been left to their own choice. I was prepared to
fie. I in you all the good and amiable qualities which you are
sai.l lo possess, and which I am convinced you do possess, and
I fully intend to try to make you as happy as under the circum-
Js it was possible for you lo be My own faults and deficiencies,
which I am but too conscious of, I hoped to make up
for by kindness and constant attention to your wishes. These
wen- my thoughts and ideas when I left the Mairie, where we
had been irrevocably united in the eyes of the law, and such they
remained until a moment which you must remember, one which
l.jd our whole future. You had left the drawing-room at Les
-.;-ins in tears, and I saw you sitting alone on the terrace in
an attitude of great despondency After some hesitation I fol
lowed von Your preocupation was so great that you did not
ce my approach till I came n:nr you. You turned round,
nu;l then in your young face I perceived such unmistakable tokens
of fear, aversion, and of contempt, th:it I saw at once that
you loathed the very sight of me. I can never forget that look.
From that moment my mind was irrevocably made up. As
irrevocable as our apparent union, is my determination never
to oblige you nay, never to suffer you to consider me as your
bewilderment, II iff held tl, is letter in her
h .id her o'.v;i feeling.., :iiitl iu d 'line them.
.
Could the person who had written it be the weak-headed
man whom people had described as deficient in onlinan
ity, and unable to take care of himself t What tinnu
of his determination? Was it a right or a wrong in
she to feel glad or sorry? Was it a great relief or not?
true that she had shown him the aversion she felt for him .
questioned her conscience antl her memory, and both reminded
her of the inward feeling \vlni b had. it seemed, iiiiinife.-ted it
self so visibly and so offensively, and, as he said, decided the
whole of their future exist i
Had this announcement been made to her the day before, she
would have felt indeed startled at the idea of all that was involved
m it, but relief would have been her chief sensation. But
since her conversation that morning with Aunt Mede, a change
had come over her spirit. She had enthusiastically accepted the
idea of sacrifice and self-devotion presented to her. She had
dwelt on the thought of being a guardian angel, and it was a
somewhat abrupt transition to be discarded as a worldly crealr.ve,
who had married for the sake of position and fortune, to 1><
doned by the person to whom she hadmcant to devote herself.
The situation was altogether changed; Aunt Mede's advice and
exhortations no longer applied, and Rose sat with her head lean-
ing on her hand, feeling as if she was in a dream, and longing ,o
awaken.
" Of course," she thought, " I cannot write and tell him to go
away at once, and have Thereson sending for papa and mamma
and throwing every one into an agitation.
to change his mind as to this resolution, he speaks so determin
I never can ask luni
ately, and after all it is not my fault, and in some ways I shall
be much happier if he does go away and leave me, strange, ex
traordiuary being that he is. I suppose I did look at him in a
way that must have made a man very angry; somehow 1 never
thought he would perceive or feel it. And then mamma talk-
ing in that way to him! One thing I know, I will not have any
of his money, and I wish I could give up being called Madame
la Barouue. Perhaps I shall write to-morrow to Aunt .Mede,
nnd ask her to advise me, or perhaps I shall put it off for two or
three days and see what happens."
Nothing happened, George went out with his gun early m
the morning, and followed by his dog Wasp, wandered about the
hills and woods as he used to do at La Pinedc. Rose sat in the
drawing-room with some work in her hands, or strolled in the
garden gathering flowers which she afterwards threw away.
They met for meals, and then said a few words lo each other in
a cold and constrained manner, and Rose wondered how long
this sort of life was to last, and whether he would go away without
giving her any further notice of his departure. Every morn-
husband, save in exterior .appearance, and that only for a short
time. I own that it was almost a relief to me when your mother
more than hinted, at a subsequent period of the day, that my
title and my father's liberality compensated for my own demerits.
1 felt that I could leave you for ever to enjoy those advanta
'*, unbjrlhened with the presence and the society of one
whom you hate and despise.
I suppose you will agree with me that in order to spare the
feelings of our respective families and save them annoyance,
which I think we should both wish to do, however mistaken
lias been their line of conduct m our it regard, will be desirable
for both of us to inhabit this house for a short time, but I Solemnly
promi -e that I shall inflict as little of my society as possim,
and (hat very soon I shaW take .my departure for
r. The blame of the, separation will rest with me. Once
ted, I shall communicate my decision to my father, and
make an to settle on you two-thirds of my income
: live; your jointure is secured by our marriage
ment.
Should you wish me to go away at once I am ready to do so.
i have only to write to mo a note to that effect. If you do
not write I shall conclude that you assent to my remaining here a
: t lima on as distant a fooling as the most perfect stra;;
I earnestly wish 1 could restore to you your liberty, but as that
is not in my power, I earnestly hope that you may find happiiety
of your family and friends and the innocent
of the world, which your position will enable you to
ing
: GEORGE me VKHKI.I.I-.S
she took up her pen to write to Aunt Mede, but a strange
nervousness made her put it off from day to day.
One evening she met George coming into the hall with his
game-bag in his hand, which seemed quite full.
" You liave been successful to-day," she said, glancing at his
bag.
"No," he answered, " I have not killed anything to-day;" and
then went up the stairs.
"Not killed anything," she thought to herself; "and what
then, I wonder, does he carry in that bag," and glancing around
her to see that she was alone, she peeped into it, and to her surprise
saw that, instead of birds and rabbits, it contained books.
Hearing footsteps in the passage, she hastily went into the drawing-room,
but not b-fore she had ascertained that one of those
books was a volume of Shakespeare's plays, and another the life
of St. Dominic, by Laeordaire.
" "
" What did it mean? she asked herself; docs lie read during
those long hours he spends in the woods? Shall I ask him if he
is fund of books? He never seems inclined to talk to me of anyt
)lin ,, j, . I fee! so like n fool when we are sitting opposite
to each other at dinner. If it was only out of curiosity I
: like VI.TV much to converse a little with him; but I run
aid of seeming to wih to detain him hereafter that strange
-id Ins Irrevocable resolution, that I am the first to leave
the room when our meals are ended."