Complete Works of Bram Stoker (139 page)

When they sat again in their old place on the sofa, Betty said, as she held his hand and pressed it to her side in the sweet old fashion of her childhood  — 

“Rafe dear, I have a confession to make; you must forgive me, for I could not help what I did.”

“Granted, my dear one, whatever it may be,” said Rafe, and it need hardly be said he took advantage of the occasion for another kiss.

“I was in Cousin Fenton’s study last afternoon!” She paused, for Rafe instinctively stood up. “Nay, you must sit again and be my prisoner!” She held out her hands, and as he extended his to take them his scarred wrists became exposed beneath the ruffles. With a low cry, almost a sob, Betty drew them to her and bent down and kissed them. “Oh! Rafe,” she said, “the word is a pang to me, for it wrought these cruel wounds!” Then she smiled through her tears as she went on: “‘Tis I who am the prisoner now, but oh how different! for my chains are of light, and music, and flowers and love, whilst these ” and she bent over, despite Rafe’s protest, and kissed the scars again.

For an instant Rafe said nothing; then he spoke with a grave solemnity that Betty never forgot all her life long  — 

“I grieve beyond measure that I must come to you with such a scar. Therefore, oh! my dear one, be most kind to me and turn not against me the arrows of my own conscience. Though it be true that these scars come about from no shameful cause at man’s hands, yet I may not forget that they are justly given at the hands of God. I have come to realise, Betty, something of the wonder of His ways; the sowing and the reaping is all in just measure though men know not or care not at the seed-time what grain it is that they scatter. ‘ Be not deceived, God is not mocked; for whatsoever a man soweth that shall he also reap.’ These scars shall be warnings to me for all my life; till at the last, if it may be in God’s good time, the. hands that bear them shall lie folded over a peaceful heart.”

Betty took the two maimed hands in hers and held them to her heart as she answered  — 

“You are right, Rafe: they must be guides to us both. I must share in all things; and then you will truly feel that you have won something for me too out of that bitter time!” Then she went on:

“I had come into the house in Finsbury Square through the garden, and no one saw me. I had fallen asleep in Cousin Fenton’s own chair, and I was only awakened by his coming  —  and yours. I listened to all, Rafe. I could not help it; for at the first I was spellbound, and then afraid to stir. And then  —  then, oh! Rafe, when I heard your brave words and knew of the noble doubt that was in your hetrt, I did not want to go, for I feared that then any movement might have turned things awry, and I hoped  —  oh! Rafe, how I hoped!  —  that your trust in my love would win in that struggle, and that you would come to me as one knowing.”

Here she faltered, and her voice broke. With a silent gush of tears she laid her head on her lover’s breast, and her arms went instinctively round his neck. Rafe soothed her and stroked her sunny hair, and when he thought she was not aware of it, kissed the tresses. But this did not pass unknown, though Betty said nothing, in sweet hope that the transgression might be repeated. The years that had passed had changed Betty from a girl into a woman, and though her heart and mind retained all their bashfulness, there was a new yielding to the sweet impulses which came to her, as to all the daughters of Eve. The years had made a new hunger of the heart, and when she felt her lover in her arms, and heard his heart beat close to hers, she wanted something more than the simple assurance that he would not leave her again.

And so the two sat silent till even Abigail at the stair-foot was satisfied that the reconciliation, if there were need of one, was com- plete, and hurried to the kitchen and the still-room to see that a worthy supper was provided. By and by she went to the drawing-room to learn her mistress’s commands; and though she was delayed by a distressing cough of sudden oncoming, which took her in the hall, and lasted with increasing violence till her hand was on the door, she made her entrance at last When she saw Rafe and Betty sitting as of old on the sofa  —  for the sound of her coughing had driven them apart  —  the tears of gladness rushed unbidden to her eyes; which seeing, Betty flew to her, and, putting her arms round her, kissed them away. Rafe came over to her, and, taking her hand, said in hi’s old, boyish way  — 

“Abigail, I must have a kiss too. For all your loving care of Betty when I was away who should have been at her side; for all your hope and cheer and belief; for the tenderness and love and care, you must count me your friend and servant so long as we both shall live!” and stooping over her he kissed the old wrinkled cheek which blushed like a maiden’s under his caress.

In order to put herself at ease again, Abigail said, in as natural a way as she could manage  — 

“What are your commands for supper, Miss Betty?”

“All! all! everything!” said Betty, dancing round the room like a happy child. “Kill the fatted calf, Abigail! Kill the whole herd of them. Rafe is come home! Rafe is come home!”

“Dear heart!” said Abigail, looking at her with glad eyes, and taking Rafe into her confidence with a look. Betty suddenly stopped and said  — 

“And oh! Abigail, lay another cover, for I should not be surprised if Cousin Fenton were to join us at supper.”

“La, Miss Betty, surely his lordship wouldn’t come out here at this hour all by himself; and him not knowing whether you are at home.”

“Perhaps not, Abigail; but I should make ready for him anyway, lest by chance he should come.”

So Abigail went off to add to her preparations; for a gentleman who had once been Lord Mayor of London was to her of no small importance. From the day of Mayoralty he had never been to her anything but “His Lordship” or “My Lord.”

It was not long before there was another knock at the door, hesitating and unobtrusive, and Abigail herself flew to open it. Visitors at such an hour were rare enough, and to-night, when there was every reason for keeping strangers at their distance, the faithful guardian would not trust to any less responsible person the answering of queries. Her first thought was that Miss. Betty’s prophecy was true, and that Alderman Fenton had arrived; but that could not be, for there was no sound of wheels, not even of hoof-strokes, as would have been had he ridden. So it was with a certain curiosity that she opened the door. Her wonder was in no wise lessened when she saw that the guest was none other than the Alderman himself  —  the late Lord Mayor  —  His Lordship  —  all alone and on foot, and looking no more than an ordinary and unofficial man! Abigail’s wonder grew, as with admonitory finger on lip he stepped into the hall, and himself closed the door softly behind him. She waited in respectful silence for him to speak, yet not without a secret bridling, which would have manifested itself to any one unsheltered by the memory of Lord Mayoral state. The Alderman asked  — 

“Has your mistress had any visitors today?”

Abigail, under ordinary circumstances, would have blurted out the whole matter; but since there was a mystery, she felt that she should best help herself to some clue by being as uncommunicative as might be. Out of the very questions put to her she might be able to construe something, so she swiftly answered  — 

“Yes, my lord!”

Then the Alderman got even more vague.

“Ladies?”

“No, my lord.”

“At what time was the visit paid?”

“After dinner, my lord.”

“At what time did they go?”

“Not yet, my lord.”

“Good! How many gentlemen were there in the party?” Abigail began to see daylight.

“Only one, my lord!”

“Good! Do you know him?”

The old man was manifestly perturbed in his mind as he asked this question. So Abigail’s eagerness to tell and her respect for his dignity combined with her liking for him  —  for he was very dear to Miss Betty and had always been kind to herself  —  all worked in the direction he wished; putting her mouth close to his ear she whispered exultingly  — 

“‘Tis Master Rafe come home; and oh! my dear lord, this is a joyful house this night!”

The old Alderman sank down on the high-backed settle in the hall and covered his face with his hands.

“Now God be thanked!” he said, and when he took his hands away Abigail saw that his eyes were wet. She too was moved, and as she raised the corner of her apron to her eyes, he bent over, took both her hands, and said  —  “Good Mistress Abigail, the faithful friend of that dear child, we old folks, methinks, are those that have the youngest hearts still. Only that we cry with joy when the time has gone by that we can cry at sorrow. I have been so anxious  —  in such suspense  —  that I was afraid almost to know the truth I sought. How did she receive him?”

The old woman shook her head:

“That I don’t know, my lord, but I take it that there wasn’t any great quarrel between them, for when I was up there awhile gone they was sitting together on the sofy as they used to sit.”

The Alderman paused, and then with some diffidence he said  — 

“Do you think now, Mistress Abigail, that I might go up just for a little while?”

“Dear heart, now! but you came that quiet that I quite forgot. Miss Betty told me herself to lay a cover for you for supper, for that she wouldn’t be surprised if you looked in this evening. To think of it! She must be a witch!”

“Then go and ask her, if you please, Mistress Abigail, if she will care to receive me this evening?”

Abigail departed at once on her errand. A moment later Betty came flying down the stairs, calling out  — 

“Where is he? He must have come very quietly, for I never heard him!” and she threw her arms round him and kissed him. “Come upstairs,” she said. “I was hoping you would come, for I have something to tell you.” Arm in arm they came back to the drawingroom where Rafe was standing at the door. As they drew close, each man extended a hand. Betty, taking them, placed them together and put both her own hands over the clasped ones. The Alderman was about to speak when Betty began, so he waited.

“Cousin Fenton I have a confession to make, and you must let me make it now. I was sitting in your own chair in your study last evening when you talked with Rafe.”

His surprise overmastered him. “God bless my soul! I hope you didn’t hear  —  ”

“Oh yes, I did! thank God! I did. For I wouldn’t for anything miss out of my life that conversation of two men whom I love and honour. Rafe knows what I think of him; or perhaps he knows a little  —  it will take a longer time to let him know it all!” and she looked at him lovingly. “But you know up to now only that I am an eavesdropper. How am I to thank you? You know what I mean! I know your kindness and your sympathy already  —  I  —  I shall try to show you some day,” and once again the sweet eyes were filled with tears, but this time they were of pure joy. “My dear old friend, your wish has come true; the good God is giving me my heart’s desire.”

They all three went and sat on the sofa, Betty being between the two men and holding a hand of each; and the time seemed to have flown by too quickly when Abigail came and announced that supper was served. Betty took her cousin’s arm and smiled at Rafe as she did so, saying to the Alderman but so that Rafe could hear  — 

“A hostess must not be taken down by her liusband; and Rafe is not far from that now!” The blush on her face as she spoke was a poem in itself.

That was a happy meal; and if there was any of the three who sat at meat, or any of those who waited on them, who was not content no sign of the feeling was evidenced. It was not late when Rafe and the Alderman went away together; for in Cheyne Walk they kept early hours, and the road to London was one which had its own anxieties. Rafe took a little longer to say goodbye than his elder, who did not, however, seem impatient as he stood chatting in the hall with Abigail; but when he came running down the stairs Betty’s sweet “goodbye” followed his footsteps like a blessing.

The Alderman had left his carriage at the inn at Chelsea, and they drove to town together. On the way Mr. Fenton learned where Rafe was staying, and drove straight to the place and took away his belongings. Rafe remonstrated, he feared he might give trouble; but the Alderman would hear no denial. Willy-nilly he must stay in his house till the happy time came when he would be with Betty.

“Tut man!” he said; “d’ye think that I would let Betty’s husband lie at an inn? The dear lass! When she told me to take her to supper and gave her reason I seemed to see the time come already that please God will come. She and you going through life hand in hand, trusting each other and taking light to guide yourselves and others out of the troubles that are behind. I hope to see you with your children at your knees, teaching them how to grow into good men and women, and making the world the more like what God would have it because you both have lived in it!” Rafe reverently lifted his hat, and as he raised his hands the back flash of the carriage lamps showed his scarred wrists, and he said  —  “God helping us, your vision will be true.”

It must be taken that God did help them; for the record of all their lives showed that the old man’s insight had not deceived him.

THE END.

THE MYSTERY OF THE SEA

This novel was first published in 1902 by Doubleday, Page and Company of New York.  The first two chapters were later republished as the short story
The Seer
.  The novel tells the story of Archie Hunter, who is on vacation on Cruden Bay, Aberdeenshire, when he begins to see strange visions of death. An old local woman, Gormala, possesses the same gift  —  the ‘second sight’  —  and informs Archie of an ancient legend of “the mystery of the sea.”  According to this legend, when a “golden man” with “death as his bride” should die at Lammas-tide, the mystery will be revealed.