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By Passion Driven: A Story of a Wasted Life

Chapter II

page 13

Chapter II.

She never told her love;
But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud,
Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought;
And with a green and yellow melancholy,
She sat, like Patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief.

When Flora arrived home she went at once to her own room, and casting herself upon her bed sobbed for fully ten minutes without once looking up; then she rose, and, standing before the mirror, exclaimed vehemently—

“No! she shall not! she must not! It has always been so. Lizzie has always come between me and everything that I wished for. She has always been the favoured one; but in this I mean to win. She shall not have Harry's love! He shall belong to me only. Do I not love him most? Have I not a mind fit to mate with his? Lizzie's a wild and frivolous girl, and shall not be his wife! Is it that she is taller and fairer than I that she must take away from me my love? No! I may not be her equal in stature, but I have that within me which says I'm fitter than she to be Harry's wife.”

Then she cast herself again upon the bed, and burst out into a fresh fit of tears. Tears, the welling eloquence of a woman's soul, soon had a soothing effect on her mind. After a few minutes her sobbing ceased, and, rising calmly from the bed, she murmured, “Why should I give way thus? Is it by crying and passion that I shall win him? page 14 For he must be mine! I must prove myself a woman, and not a silly, passionate girl. No! I must not show my feelings and allow Lizzie to gloat over my misery. Rather let me be up and doing to take advantage of every chance that comes to me. I must devise some plan to make him love me, and not let him fall a victim to the allurements Lizzie is throwing out for him.”

Then she sat absorbed in thought, gazing intently at her image in the glass, and was found in that position some minutes later when the housemaid knocked at the door asking her to come to the evening meal.

Flora knew that she must not arouse curiosity by sending an excuse, and therefore lost no time in joining the family in the dining room, where she found them already seated at the table. Lizzie and Harry were sitting together, the latter occupying the place to which Flora was accustomed. Her first impulse was to ask her cousin to give up the seat, and thus enable her possibly to separate him and her sister, but it instantly occurred to her that this would be a noticeable exhibition of feeling, so she contented herself with the chair opposite Harry, but made no effort to join in the talk. The meal was particularly uninteresting to Flora, though her parents kept up a continual conversation, and even questioned Harry as to the afternoon at the beach. Lizzie was moderately talkative, and she and Harry seemed to be in the best of spirits, which only tended to increase Flora's annoyance, and make her if possible more morose. As soon as she could do so without attracting attention, she left the table and went at once to her room, where she sat communing with her own thoughts far into the night, even her book being for once entirely neglected.

After dinner Lizzie and Harry were left alone in the dining room, and for the first hour they spent the time at page 15 the piano, Lizzie playing to her cousin such pieces as he cared to choose. She played her best, and did the utmost to please her cousin, for she felt instinctively that there were on his mind at that time thoughts of more than ordinary interest to her. We must not blame her, therefore, if at that critical moment she determined that anything she could do to avoid stemming the current of Harry's feelings and intentions with regard to herself should not be left undone. The usages of society as at present constituted prevent a young girl from openly avowing her affection for one of the opposite sex, and drive her to avail herself of every art that will cause the object of her attachment to reveal his mind. She is thus compelled to resort to many not overworthy devices in order to make it apparent to her lover that his advances will not be regarded as disagreeable. When it is not looked upon as unwomanly or improper for the sex whose interest in a good marriage is certainly equal to, if not greater than, that of the man's, and whose future life and happiness are more intimately bound up in the union, to make known the state of her feelings towards the object of her love; when the privileges now monopolised by the sterner sex shall be universally conceded to both; and when the years of youth and love shall be something more than one long season of leap years; then indeed will the marriage union be more often what it should be, “Two souls with but a single thought, two hearts that beat as one;” and the experience of mankind will excite feelings of wonder that men and women should so long have married and been given in marriage under a system which forbade one of the parties to proclaim her own wishes.

After Harry and Lizzie had spent some time as already indicated, it became inevitable that the thoughts upon their minds should seek an outlet. Lizzie was the first to page 16 speak. Turning on the music stool, after playing an arrangements of airs from “Maritana,” she said—

“Well, have you not had enough music?”

“Enough music!” he echoed. “Can we ever have enough? You remember the words of the Duke in the opening scene of ‘Twelfth Night’? ‘If music be the food of love, play on; give me excess of it, that surfeiting the appetite may sicken and so die.’”

“Yes, I remember,” she rejoined, continuing the quotation, “‘that strain again, it hath a dying fall.’ But is music the food of love?” she enquired, archly.

“Undoubtedly it is. Do you not find that those who are passionately fond of music are always the fondest lovers? Why is the lover in history made to sigh out his soul through the harp or the guitar? Do we not see the same principle pervading all literature where the lover is almost invariably represented as bringing music to aid him in his pursuit of happiness?”

“Lovers are always in pursuit of happiness: you are quite right there. It is not happiness so long as the lover's desire is not gratified.”

“True,” Harry said; “hope is generally said to be more pleasant than realisation, but this seems to be a striking exception.”

“Yes, but is the realisation of lovers' hopes not often less of happiness than their cherished expectations? But come, surely we are getting beyond our depth in this question.” And Lizzie descended to the practical by enquiring bluntly, “What are you going to do to-morrow?”

“Much the same as I've done to-day,” replied Harry, smiling; “to-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, each day more pleasant than the other, until the hour comes for my return home.”

“Oh! surely you're not thinking of going home yet?”

page 17

“Well, my holiday is nearly over; but tell me, Lizzie, will you be sorry when I go?”

“Why, yes, of course I shall.”

“But will you miss me very much?” he said, coming closer to her on the sofa, an article of furniture which has been called one of the grandest aids to love-making that art has produced.

Lizzie did not reply at once, but when the answer came, a simple “Yes,” whispered with downcast eyes, and accompanied by the sweetest of blushes, it was not surprising that Harry came still closer to her, and took her hand in his before he spoke again.

“And would you long for my return?” he enquired, as if determined to push to the utmost the advantage he had gained.

“Yes, I think I should,” Lizzie said softly, seeking to withdraw the hand which her cousin held.

“Lizzie, do you think you could always look forward to my coming—that you could expect me to come some day after which we should always be together, that I should be the one to share your journey through life—the one for you to lean upon at all times? Tell me, Lizzie darling, may I be that one?”

The answer came softly, nothing more than a whisper inaudible to all but lovers' ears; but what it meant was not left long in doubt; for on the instant she was clasped in his arms, and one long lingering kiss told plainly that the electricity of love had shot a sympathetic current through two hearts beating in unison, and the two simple words “my darling” spoke an infinity of eloquence to Lizzie's ears; then came those moments of highest ecstasy when two human beings feel the pulsation of a happiness too great for words, and the silent delight of their newly-formed relation was a joy far beyond anything in their most pleasant experiences.

page 18

After the lovers had sat for some time wrapped as it were in the bliss of their own thoughts, and oblivious to all else but themselves and their new happiness, Lizzie started up with the exclamation—

“But oh! Harry, what will mamma say?”

“Well, darling, what can she say? Will she not be satisfied to entrust you to my keeping? She won't object to me, will she?”

“Oh no, Harry! I'm sure she likes you, but then we must speak to mamma and papa at once, you know.”

“Certainly we must, dearest. We must seek their consent and approval. I'll speak to uncle to-morrow morning before he goes to his office,” Harry said, with the seeming determination that there was no room for any possible objection. Then the lovers sat and talked long and earnestly, discussed the sweet and cheerful themes of young and trusting hearts, formed many plans of future joys, and dipped into the coming years with their fair and unclouded horizon undimmed by any feeling of doubt or misgiving as to the fate in store for them; doubly happy that the new-born love which was to enter so largely into each young life had come to them both unsought, and so mutually distinct and satisfactory.

Thus time wore on, and neither felt the parting hour was near when Mrs. Bruce sent for Lizzie and expressed surprise when she found that Flora had not been with them all the evening.

Lizzie, full of her new possession, quickly volunteered to seek her sister, and bursting into Flora's room found her sitting apparently lost in thought; nor did Flora look up on her sister's entrance, but seemed utterly unconscious of her presence. When Lizzie spoke, Flora only turned upon her with a gaze of the strongest disregard and scorn.

“Oh! ‘mother,’ I've such grand news for you. I'm page 19 sure you'll be glad to hear it. Harry and I are engaged; he asked me to-night. Why! ‘mother,’ what is the matter with you?” for Flora, on hearing her sister's words, had turned first white, then red, and cast upon her questioner such a look of dismay and hatred that it made Lizzie almost tremble with fear; then starting up, Flora advanced until close to where her sister stood, and facing her, burst out—

“Lizzie! listen to me—I hate you. You have come between me and my happiness; you have thwarted me in the one desire of my soul, and blighted the only hope of my life. You have, with your bold and forward manner, taken Harry from me. Don't tell me that Harry loves you; I'll not believe it! You have acted like a base, wicked girl, and thrown yourself in Harry's way, so that he could not help himself.”

“Oh! Flora, how can you say that? You know it is not true.”

But Flora, now thoroughly mad with passion, was deaf to all appeal.

“It is true,” she cried; “you had no right to take him from me. You knew that I loved him, and that he would have been mine, but you came between us with your false face and seductive manners, and cast a spell upon him. You have always done your best to ruin every hope and frustrate every desire of my life. Not content with taking our parents' love from me, you now step in between me and Harry. You are a bad, wicked, deceitful girl, and I hate you!”

Here Flora paused, but Lizzie, too much taken aback to speak, would fain have left the room. She could only, however, silently gaze upon the flushed face and flashing eyes of her sister, who broke out again—

“Curse your fair face and winning ways; you have page 20 always been my foe—always stepping before me in everything, but in this you shall not have your own way! No! Rather than see you Harry's wife would I strike him dead at your feet! If you persist in taking him from me, I have nothing to live for; I will kill you! so beware how you trifle with my love.”

Lizzie, seeing that it would be in vain to make any attempt to pacify her sister, turned and left her without saying a word, and closed the door as she went out. On rejoining her mother, she made sufficient excuses for Flora to prevent any further enquiries, and stole silently to her room.

Flora, left alone with her passion, fairly broke down and burst into a fit of sobbing, which soon became hysterical, and presently wore her out so completely that she fell asleep; but she was not to get the rest her mind and body so much needed.