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

husband than he would otherwise; have been. We cannot tell;
are sometimes sown on unpromising Mill which bear un-
expected fruits. I'erhaps Artemon Uiclu T derived sonic faint
notion of the sanctity and beauty of wedded love from tlie
glimpse he had of it that day.
CHAPTER XXI.
A STROLL THROUGH THE WOODS.
THEJJE are hours, even on earth, of nearly perfect happiness.
Such were those during which George de Vedelles and his wife
rode ami walked across the beautiful hills and through the woods
which separated La Pinecle from Belbousquet: their hearts bad
Iheir sorrow at old Vincent's death, and were
ij, en softened by
prcpired to welcome happiuess in a spirit not of wild excitement,
but of humble and peaceful joy. Every moment they became
more and more at ease with each other.
Tin; deep solitude of those shady groves; the perfume which
the thyme, trodden uuder the doukey's feet exhaled; the fitful
play of the sunshine on the greeu sward, the hum of the wild
Deemed to chime in with the glad thoughts which both
were dwelling on during moments of silence which seemed to
unite their souls even more closely than conversation. They
often thus remained without speaking, and it was not till they
made their mid day halt by the side of the well George had described,
that they talked much to one another. There, sitting on
the moss, he told Rose the whole history of his past life. He
that recover-
described to her all he had suffered from the day
ing from what had appeared a hopeless illness he had begun to
regain physical strength by slow degrees, and at the same time
felt a deadly weight oppressing his mental faculties and his
moral energies to a degree which made exertion impossible, but
at tlif same time left him in full possession of his imaginative
, which seemed to thrive like wild flowers in a fallow soil.
"Like those wild flowers," he said, "which run over the waste
grounds of La Pinede, and which for that reason I loved and
pitied when"
" When I said they onght to be rooted out. Oh, George, I
hive learnt so much since then. But go on, tell me all about
n ; us. How many evenings, too, I spent gazing at the stars through
t!ie quivering branches above my head; the sights and sounds of
nut are in those wild solitudes filled me with new thoughts, new
emotions, new perceptions, and, 1 may say, new powers, for
though
I had lost the use of faculties which had been over-
strained before my illness, God seemed mercifully to make up for
it by turning my mind in another direction. I discovered that I
possessed a talent I had, till then, been unconscious of. I felt
that I was meant to be a poet. But I could not speak to others
of this gift. A sort of strange, wayward reserve took possession
of my soul and made me averse to disclose what sometimes I
feared was only a self-deception, a childish illusion. I dreaded
my mother's questions, my father's scorn, my brother's ridicule.
.Meanwhile, my devotion to poetry became so absorbing that it
made me silent, absent, and unsocial. I cared for nothing but
to be alone, to hold converse with nature, and drink and express
in verse the strange new thoughts that filled my mind. When
we left Valsec and came to live at La Pinede, I beheld the sea
for the first time. You cannot understand, Rose, you who have
always lived on this coast, the emotion I felt at the sight of that
boundless expanse of deep blue, and the sparkling silvered waves
breaking on the soft sand, or dashing against the rocks they
me as if they were singing hymns of joy and praise,
u"times whispering wailing complaints, and I longed to
give words to that wild ;m seem nons
"No. (rcor ;| very new lo me but l!
ure to listen to what you say Oh, I uini
!v in I hi: inoniinLT u
upand down the sea.-;:'
"That I was out of my mind; 1 know they did !
used to see children ana women too. running uway as if they
had seen a ghost: but I dm not care about it, I was si
with my own dreams. Oh, how it used to vex me when my
father complained of the odious shingles on the beach, my
mother of the wind and Jacques ol the sameness of the sea view.
It was as if people had attacked a dear friend of mine. I found
It more and more diilicu.t to converse with those who seemed lo
think everything I said more or less foolish. Even my dear
dear mother, tender and kind as she always was, spoke to me
and of me as if I had been a weak and fanciful child,
struggled to obtain for her wayward son full liberty to lead, on
account of his health, the life he pleased, but which she sup-
posed to be. an utterly aimless one They little knew how hard,
in one sense, I worked during those hours of solitude IP
student over his books, but as a. gardener who must have for Ins
helpers the spring showers, the summer sunshine It was a
strange, lonely existence, but not quite an unhappy one till
''
George stopped, and Rose pressed his
voice :
hand and said in a low
"Go on, let me hear what you felt, what you hoped, and what
you suffered from the Pinede.
day you first saw Mademoiselle de la
"
"" Do you really wish me to open my heart to you entirely?"
" Every corner and recess of it," Rose answered.
Then he related to her the whole history of Denise's first visit
to La Pinede, of the love at first sight which had taken |>
sion of his heart, of his hopes against hope that it would meet
with a return; of the days she had spent in his mother's sick room,
of the admiration and reverence with which he had watched her
life of heroic perfection, and the enthusiasm which had made
his love of her a worship; the despair he had felt at her retirement
from the world, and the consequent despondency which
had rendered him indifferent and listless to everything regarding
his future fate. Here he paused, and another pressure of Rose's
hand made him again exclaim
" Oh, I never understood how wrong it was to marry as I did ,
how hard it was upon you; how easily we might both have
tiiat lime of your life."
'
"
Well, I got iuto the habit of taking long solitary walks; I
never felt happy except when alone in the woods and the narrow been wretched for life! No thanks to me, Rose,
valleys round Valsec. I liked to remain whole days lying down
on a mossy bank, listening to the noise of the wind amongst the
iir trees, and gazing on the magnificent outline of the Jura mount-
if we are, on the
contrary, so much "
happier than I deserve!
"No thanks to either of us, George. Thanks to God's great
goodness to us. But tell mo, when did you change? When did
you begin, to feel that you could care about me? I have told you,
sir, how I surprised your secrets, how I read what you \\
how 1 heard from Toinette and Benoite that you were good and
"
clever, and then began
" "
To love me? Ge-orge said, in a low voice.
Rose did not repeat the words, but she hid her face with her
hands and tears trickled down through her slender fingers, which
he tenderly kissed away.
And then he told her of the promise he had made to Denfse in
a thoughtless hour and the use she made of it. He related to
her the way in which she had stopped his departure, and pointed
out to him the fault he had been on the point of committing.
He said that even during the days of Belbousquet, he had
sometimes touched by Rose's patient endurance of his hateful
conduct, which, he now saw in its true light, but that he had
hardened his heart by a sort of perverse obstinacy, and per
in his rash resolution.
"But, "he continued, "when she told me you must forgive
her for it, Rose, that you were beginning to love your un-
worthy and ungracious husband. I, too, began, my little dnrlinir,
to see what a madman I was to run away from one whom d
had given me for my own ; and when I found you at La Pinede,
when- you had been a ministering angel to my poor old Vincent,
when I saw you in that room where I had suffered so much ;