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DAWN
The beautiful face hid itself in the ungloved hands. No answer came, only the great diamond sparkled and blazed in the
soft light like a hard and cruel eye.
"Do not, Mildred, for pity's sake, involve us all in shame
and ruin, but let us part now. If I could have foreseen how
this would end! But I have been a blind and selfi sh fool. I have
been to blame."
She was quite calm now, and spoke in her usual singularly
clear voice.
"Arthur dear, I do not blame you. Loving her, how was it
likely that you should think of love from me? I only blame
myself. I have loved you, God help me, ever since we met –
loved you with a despairing, desperate love such as I hope
that you may never know. Was I to allow your phantom Angela to snatch the cup from my lips without a struggle, the
only happy cup I ever knew? For, Arthur, at the best of times,
I have not been a happy woman; I have always wanted love,
and it has not come to me. Perhaps I should be, but I am not –
a high ideal being. I am as Nature made me, Arthur, a poor
creature, unable to stand alone against such a current as has
lately swept me with it. But you are quite right, you must leave
me, we must separate, you must go; but oh God! when I think
of the future, the hard, loveless future"
She paused awhile, and then went on –
"I did not think to harm you or involve you in trouble,
though I hoped to win some small portion of your love, and
I had something to give you in exchange, if beauty and great
wealth are really worth anything. But you must go, dear, now,
whilst I am brave. I hope that you will be happy with your
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H. RIDER HAGGARD
Angela. When I see your marriage in the paper, I shall send
her this tiara as a wedding present. I shall never wear it again.
Go, dear; go quick."
He turned to leave, not trusting himself to speak, for the
big tears stood in his eyes, and his throat was choked. When
he had reached the steps, she called him back.
"Kiss me once before you go, and I see your dear face no
more. I used to be a proud woman, and to think that I can
stoop to rob a kiss from Angela. Thank you; you are very kind.
And now one word; you know a woman always loves a last
word. Sometimes it happens that we put up idols, and a stronger hand than ours shatters them to dust before our eyes.
I trust this may not be your lot. I love you so well that I can
say that honestly; but, Arthur, if it should be, remember that
in all the changes of this cold world there is one heart which
will never forget you, and never set up a rival to your memory, one place where you will always fi nd a home. If anything
should ever happen to break your life, come back to me for
comfort, Arthur. I can talk no more; I have played for high
stakes – and lost. Good-bye."
He went without a word.
CHAPTER XLVIII
Reader, have you ever, in the winter or early spring, come
from a hot- house where you have admired some rich tropical
bloom, and then, in walking by the hedgerows, suddenly seen
a pure primrose opening its sweet eye, and looking bravely
into bitter weather's face? If so, you will, if it is your habit to
notice fl owers, have experienced some such sensation as takes
possession of my mind when I pass from the story of Mildred
as she was then, storm-tossed and loving, to Angela, as loving
indeed, and yet more anxious, but simple-minded as a child,
and not doubtful for the end. They were both fl owers indeed,
and both beautiful, but between them there was a wide difference. The one, in the richness of her splendour, gazed upon
the close place where she queened it, and was satisfi ed with
the beauty round her, or, if not satisfi ed, she could imagine
none different. The limits of that little spot formed the horizon of her mind – she knew no world beyond. The other, full
of possibilities, shed sweetness even on the blast which cut
her, and looked up for shelter towards the blue sky she knew
endured eternally above the driving clouds.
Whilst Sir John Bellamy's health was being recruited at
Madeira, Angela's daily life pursued an even and, compara-
483
H. RIDER HAGGARD
tively speaking, a happy course. She missed Pigott much, but
then she often went to see her, and by way of compensation, if
she had gone, so had George Caresfoot and Lady Bellamy.
Mr. Fraser, too, had come back to fi ll a space in the void of her
loneliness, and for his presence she was very grateful. Indeed
none but herself could know the comfort and strength she
gathered from his friendship, none but himself could know
what it cost him to comfort her. But he did not shrink from
the duty; indeed, it gave him a melancholy satisfaction. He
loved her quite as dearly, and with as deep a longing as Mildred Carr did Arthur; but how different were his ends! Of ultimately supplanting his rival he never dreamt; his aim was to
assist him, to bring the full cup of joy, untainted, to his lips.
And so he read with her and talked with her, and was sick at
heart; and she thanked him, and consecrating all her most sacred thoughts to the memory of her absent lover, and all her
quick energies to self-preparation for his coming, possessed
her soul in patience.
And thus her young life began to bloom again with a fresh
promise. The close of each departing day was the signal for
the lifting of a portion of her load, for it brought her a day
nearer to her lover's arms, subtracting something from the
long tale of barren hours; since to her all hours seemed most
barren that were not quickened by his presence. Indeed, no
Arctic winter could be colder and more devoid of light and
life than this time of absence was to her, and, had it not been
for the warm splendour of her hopes, shooting its beautiful
promise in unreal gleams across the blackness of her horizon,
she felt as though she must have frozen and died. For hope,
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DAWN
elusive as she is, often bears a fairer outward mien than the
realization to which she points, and, like a fond deceiver,
serves to keep the heart alive till the fi rst bitterness is overpast, and, schooled in trouble, it can know her false, and yet
remain unbroken.
But sometimes Angela's mood would change, and then, to
her strained and sensitive mind, this dead calm and cessation
of events would seem to resemble that ominous moment
when, in tropic seas, the fi erce outrider of the tempest has
passed howling away clothed in fl ying foam. Then comes
a calm, and for a space there is blue sky, and the sails fl ap drearily against the mast, and the vessel only rocks from the violence of her past plunging, while the scream of the sea-bird is
heard with unnatural clearness, for there is no sound nor motion in the air. Intenser still grows the silence, and the waters
almost cease from tossing; but the seaman knows that presently, with a sudden roar, the armies of the winds and waves will
leap upon him, and that a struggle for life is at hand.
Such fears, however, did not often take her, for, unlike Arthur, she was naturally of a hopeful mind, and, when they did,
Mr. Fraser would fi nd means to comfort her. But this was soon
to change.
One afternoon – it was Christmas Eve – Angela went
down the village to see Pigott, now comfortably established in
the house her long departed husband had left her. It was
a miserable December day, a damp, unpleasant ghost of a day,
and all the sky was packed with clouds, while the surface of
the earth was wrapped in mist. Rain and snow fell noiselessly
by turns; indeed, the only sound in the air was the loud drip-
485
H. RIDER HAGGARD
ping of water from the trees on the dead leaves beneath. The
whole outlook was melancholy in the extreme. While Angela
was in her old nurse's cottage, the snow fell in earnest for an
hour or so, and then held up again, and when she came out
the mist had recovered its supremacy, and now the snow was
melting.
"Come, miss, you must be getting home, or it will be dark.
Shall I come with you a bit?"
"No, thank you, Pigott. I am not afraid of the dark, and
I ought to know my way about these parts. Good-night, dear."
The prevailing dismalness of the scene oppressed her, and
she made up her mind to go and see Mr. Fraser, instead of returning at present to her lonely home. With this view, leaving
the main road that ran through Rewtham, Bratham, and Isleworth to Roxham, she turned up a little bye-lane which led to
the foot of the lake. Just as she did so, she heard the deadened
footfall of a fast-trotting horse, accompanied by the faint roll
of carriage-wheels over the snow. As she turned half involuntarily to see who it was that travelled so fast, the creeping mist
was driven aside by a puff of wind, and she saw a splendid
blood- horse drawing an open victoria trotting past her at, at
least, twelve miles an hour. But, quickly as it passed, it was not
too quick for her to recognize Lady Bellamy wrapped up in
furs, her dark, stern face looking on straight before her, as
though the mist had no power to dim her sight. Next second
the dark closed in, and the carriage had vanished like a dream
in the direction of Isleworth.
Angela shivered; the dark afternoon seemed to have
grown darker to her.
486
DAWN
"So she is back," she said to herself. "I felt that she was
back. She makes me feel afraid."
Going on her way, she came to a spot where the path
forked, one track leading to a plank with a hand-rail spanning the stream that fed the lake, and the other to some stepping-stones, by crossing which and following the path on the
other side a short cut could be made to the rectory. The bridge
and the stepping-stones were not more than twenty yards
apart, but so intent was Angela upon her own thoughts and
upon placing her feet accurately on the stones that she did
not notice a little man with a red comforter, who was leaning
on the hand-rail, engaged apparently in meditation. The little
man, however, noticed her, for he gave a violent start, and apparently was about to call out to her, when he changed his
mind. He was Sir John Bellamy.
"Better let her go perhaps, John," he said, addressing his
own effi gy in the water. "After all, it will be best for you to let
things to take their course, and not to burn your own fi ngers
or commit yourself in any way, John. You will trap them more
securely so. If you were to warn the girl now, you would only
expose them; if you wait till he has married her, you will altogether destroy them with the help of that young Heigham.
And perhaps by that time you will have touched those compromising letters, John, and made a few other little arrangements, and then you will be able to enjoy the sweets of revenge meted out with a quart measure, not in beggarly ones
or twos. But you are thinking of the girl – eh, John? Ah! you
always were a pitiful beggar; but tread down the inclination,
decline to gratify it. If you do, you will spoil your own hand.
487
H. RIDER HAGGARD
The girl must take her chance – oh! clearly the girl must take
her chance. But all the same, John, you are very sorry for
her – very. Come, come, you must be off, or her ladyship and
the gentle George will be kept waiting," and away he went at
a brisk pace, cheerfully singing a verse of a comic song. Sir
John was a merry little man.
In due course Angela reached the rectory, and found
Mr. Fraser seated in his study reading.
"Well, my dear, what brings you here? What a dreary
night!"
"Yes, it is dreadfully damp and lonesome; the people look
like ghosts in the mist, and their voices sound hollow. A proper day for evil things to creep home," and she laughed drearily.
"What do you mean," he answered, with a quick glance at
her face, which wore an expression of nervous anxiety.
"I mean that Lady Bellamy has come home; is she not an
evil thing?"
"Hush, Angela; you should not talk so. You are excited,
dear. Why should you call her evil?"
"I don't know; but have you ever noticed her? Have you
never seen her creep, creep, like a tiger on its prey? Watch her
dark face, and see the bad thoughts come and peep out of her
eyes as the great black pupils swell and then shrivel, till they
are no larger than the head of this black pin, and you will
know that she is evil, and does evil work."
"My dear, my dear, you are upset to talk so."
"Oh! no, I am not upset; but did you ever have a presentiment?"
"Plenty; but never one that came true."
488
DAWN
"Well, I have a presentiment now – yes, a presentiment –
it caught me in the mist."
"What is it? I am anxious to hear."
"I don't know – I cannot say; it is not clear in my mind.
I cannot see it, but it is evil, and it has to do with that evil
woman."
"Come, Angela, you must not give way to this sort of thing;
you will make yourself ill. Sit down, there is a good girl, and
have some tea."
She was standing by the window staring out into the mist,
her fi ngers alternately intertwining and unlacing themselves,
whilst an unusual – almost an unearthly expression, played
upon her face. Turning, she obeyed him.
"You need not fear for me. I am tough, and growing used to
troubles. What was it you said? Oh! tea. Thank you; that reminds
me. Will you come and have dinner with me to-morrow after
church? It is Christmas Day, you know. Pigott has given me
a turkey she has been fatting, and I made the mincemeat myself,
so there will be plenty to eat if we can fi nd the heart to eat it."
"But your father, my dear?"
"Oh! you need not be afraid. I have got permission to ask
you. What do you think? I actually talked to my father for ten
whole minutes yesterday; he wanted to avoid me when he saw
me, but I caught him in a corner. He took advantage of the
opportunity to try to prevent me from going to see Pigott, but
I would not listen to him, so he gave it up. What did he mean
by that? Why did he send her away? What does it all mean?
Oh! Arthur, when will you come back, Arthur?" and, to
Mr. Fraser's infi nite distress, she burst into tears.
CHAPTER XLIX
Presentiments are no doubt foolish things, and yet, at the
time that Angela was speaking of hers to Mr. Fraser, a consultation was going on in a back study at Isleworth that might
almost have justifi ed it. The fi re was the only light in the
room, and gathered round it, talking very low, their features
thrown alternately into strong light and dark shadow, were
George Caresfoot and Sir John and Lady Bellamy. It was evident from the strong expression of interest, almost of excitement, on their faces that they were talking of some matter of
great importance.
Sir John was, as usual, perched on the edge of his chair,
rubbing his dry hands and eliciting occasional sparks in the
shape of remarks, but he was no longer merry; indeed, he
looked ill at ease. George, his red hair all rumpled up, and his
long limbs thrust out towards the fi re, spoke scarcely at all,
but glued his little bloodshot eyes alternately on the faces of
his companions, and only contributed an occasional chuckle.
But the soul of this witches' gathering was evidently Lady Bellamy. She was standing up, and energetically detailing some
scheme, the great pupils of her eyes expanding and contracting as the unholy fl ame within them rose and fell.
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