CHAPTER LVIII

A sharp breath of air had passed along the dews, and all the young green

of the fresh season shone in white jewels. The sky, set with very dim

distant stars, was in grey light round a small brilliant moon. Every

space of earth lifted clear to her; the woodland listened; and in the

bright silence the nightingales sang loud.

Emilia and Tracy Runningbrook were threading their way toward a lane over

which great oak branches intervolved; thence under larches all with

glittering sleeves, and among spiky brambles, with the purple leaf and

the crimson frosted. The frost on the edges of the brown-leaved bracken

gave a faint colour. Here and there, intense silver dazzled their eyes.

As they advanced amid the icy hush, so hard and instant was the ring of

the earth under them, their steps sounded as if expected.

"This night seems made for me!" said Emilia.

Tracy had no knowledge of the object of the expedition. He was her squire

simply; had pitched on a sudden into an enamoured condition, and walked

beside her, caring little whither he was led, so that she left him not.

They came upon a clearing in the wood where a tournament of knights might

have been held. Ranged on two sides were rows of larches, and forward,

fit to plume a dais, a clump of tall firs stood with a flowing silver fir

to right and left, and the white stems of the birch-tree shining from

among them. This fair woodland court had three broad oaks, as for

gateways; and the moon was above it. Moss and the frosted brown fern were

its flooring.

Emilia said eagerly, "This way," and ran under one of the oaks. She

turned to Tracy following: "There is no doubt of it." Her hand was lying

softly on her throat.

"Your voice?" Tracy divined her.

She nodded, but frowned lovingly at the shout he raised, and he

understood that there was haply some plot to be worked out. The open

space was quite luminous in the middle of those three deep walls of

shadow. Emilia enjoined him to rest where he was, and wait for her on

that spot like a faithful sentinel, whatsoever ensued. Coaxing his

promise, she entered the square of white light alone. Presently she stood

upon a low mound, so that her whole figure was distinct, while the moon

made her features visible.

Expectancy sharpened the stillness to Tracy's ears. A nightingale began

the charm. He was answered by another. Many were soon in song, till even

the pauses were sweet with them. Tracy had the thought that they were

calling for Emilia to commence; that it was nature preluding the divine

human voice, weaving her spell for it. He was seized by a thirst to hear

the adorable girl, who stood there patiently, with her face lifted soft

in moonlight. And then the blood thrilled along his veins, as if one more

than mortal had touched him. It seemed to him long before he knew that

Emilia's voice was in the air.

In such a place, at such a time, there is no wizardry like a woman's

voice. Emilia had gained in force and fulness. She sang with a stately

fervour, letting the notes flow from her breast, while both her arms hung

loose, and not a gesture escaped her. Tracy's fiery imagination set him

throbbing, as to the voice of the verified spirit of the place. He heard

nothing but Emilia, and scarce felt that it was she, or that tears were

on his eyelids, till her voice sank richly, deep into the bosom of the

woods. Then the stillness, like one folding up a precious jewel, seemed

to pant audibly.

"She's not alone!" This was human speech at his elbow, uttered in some

stupefied amazement. In an extremity of wrath, Tracy turned about to

curse the intruder, and discerned Wilfrid, eagerly bent forward on the

other side of the oak by which he leaned. Advancing toward Emilia, two

figures were seen. Mr. Pericles in his bearskin was easily to be

distinguished. His companion was Laura Tinley. The Greek moved at rapid

strides, and coming near upon Emilia, raised his hands as in exclamation.

At once he disencumbered his shoulders of the enormous wrapper, held it

aloft imperiously, and by main force extinguished Emilia. Laura's shrill

laugh resounded.

"Oh! beastly bathos!" Tracy groaned in his heart. "Here we are down in

Avernus in a twinkling!"

There was evidently quick talk going on among the three, after which

Emilia, heavily weighted, walked a little apart with Mr. Pericles, who

looked lean and lank beside her, and gesticulated in his wildest manner.

Tracy glanced about for Wilfrid. The latter was not visible, but,

stepping up the bank of sand and moss, appeared a lady in shawl and hat,

in whom he recognized Lady Charlotte. He went up to her and saluted.

"Ah! Tracy," she said. "I saw you leave the drawing room, and expected to

find you here. So, the little woman has got her voice again; but why on

earth couldn't she make the display at Richford? It's very pretty, and I

dare say you highly approve of this kind of romantic interlude, Signor

Poet, but it strikes me as being rather senseless."

"But, are you alone? What on earth brings you here?" asked Tracy.

"Oh!" the lady shrugged. "I've a guard to the rear. I told her I would

come. She said I should hear something to-night, if I did. I fancied

naturally the appointment had to do with her voice, and wished to please

her. It's only five minutes from the west-postern of the park. Is she

going to sing any more? There's company apparently. Shall we go and

declare ourselves?"

"I'm on duty, and can't," replied Tracy, and twisting his body in an

ecstasy, added: "Did you hear her?"

Lady Charlotte laughed softly. "You speak as if you had taken a hurt, my

dear boy. This sort of scene is dangerous to poets. But, I thought you

slighted music."

"I don't know whether I'm breathing yet," Tracy rejoined. She's a Goddess

to me from this moment. Not like music? Am I a dolt? She would raise me

from the dead, if she sang over me. Put me in a boat, and let her sing

on, and all may end! I could die into colour, hearing her! That's the

voice they hear in heaven."

"When they are good, I suppose," the irreverent lady appended. "What's

that?" And she held her head to listen.

Emilia's mortal tones were calling Wilfrid's name. The lady became grave,

as with keen eyes she watched the open space, and to a second call

Wilfrid presented himself in a leisurely way from under cover of the

trees; stepping into the square towards the three, as one equal to all

occasions, and specially prepared for this. He was observed to bow to Mr.

Pericles, and the two men extended hands, Laura Tinley standing decently

away from them.

Lady Charlotte could not contain her mystification. "What does it mean?"

she said. "Wilfrid was to be in town at the Ambassador's to-night! He

wrote to me at five o'clock from his Club! Is he insane? Has he lost

every sense of self-interest? He can't have made up his mind to miss his

opportunity, when all the introductions are there! Run, like a good

creature, Tracy, and see if that is Wilfrid, and come back and tell me;

but don't sag I am here."

"Desert my post?" Tracy hugged his arms tight together. "Not if I freeze

here!"

The doubt in Lady Charlotte's eyes was transient. She dropped her glass.

Visible adieux were being waved between Mr. Pericles and Laura Tinley on

the one hand, and Wilfrid and Emilia, on the other. After which, and at a

quick pace, manifestly shivering, Mr. Pericles drew Laura into the

shadows, and Emilia, clad in the immense bearskin, as with a trailing

black barbaric robe, walked toward the oaks. Wilfrid's head was stooped

to a level with Emilia's, into whose face he was looking obliviously,

while the hot words sprang from his lips. They neared the oak, and Emilia

slanted her direction, so as to avoid the neighbourhood of the tree.

Tracy felt a sudden grasp of his arm. It was momentary, coming

simultaneously with a burst of Wilfrid's voice.

"Do I know what I love, you ask? I love your footprints! Everything you

have touched is like fire to me. Emilia! Emilia!"

"Then," came the clear reply, "you do not love Lady Charlotte?"

"Love her!" he shouted scornfully, and subdued his voice to add: "she has

a good heart, and whatever scandal is talked of her and Lord Eltham, she

is a well-meaning friend. But, love her! You, you I love!"

"Theatrical business," Lady Charlotte murmured, and imagined she had

expected it when she promised Emilia she would step out into the night

air, as possibly she had.

The lady walked straight up to them.

"Well, little one!" she addressed Emilia; "I am glad you have recovered

your voice. You play the game of tit-for-tat remarkably well. We will now

sheath our battledores. There is my hand."

The unconquerable aplomb in Lady Charlotte, which Wilfrid always

artistically admired, and which always mastered him; the sight of her

pale face and courageous eyes; and her choice of the moment to come

forward and declare her presence;--all fell upon the furnace of Wilfrid's

heart like a quenching flood. In a stupefaction, he confessed to himself

that he could say actually nothing. He could hardly look up.

Emilia turned her eyes from the outstretched hand, to the lady's face.

"What will it mean?" she said.

"That we are quits, I presume; and that we bear no malice. At any rate,

that I relinquish the field. I like a hand that can deal a good stroke. I

conceived you to be a mere little romantic person, and correct my

mistake. You win the prize, you see."

"You would have made him an Austrian, and he is now safe from that. I win

nothing more," said Emilia.

When Tracy and Emilia stood alone, he cried out in a rapture of praise,

"Now I know what a power you have. You may bid me live or die."

The recent scene concerned chiefly the actors who had moved onward: it

had touched Emilia but lightly, and him not at all. But, while he

magnified the glory of her singing, the imperishable note she had sounded

this night, and the power and the triumph that would be hers, Emilia's

bosom began to heave, and she checked him with a storm of tears.

"Triumph! yes! what is this I have done? Oh, Merthyr, my, true hero! He

praises me and knows nothing of how false I have been to you. I am a

slave! I have sold myself--sold myself!" She dropped her face in her

hands, broken with grief. "He fights," she pursued; "he fights for my

country. I feel his blood--it seems to run from my body as it runs from

his. Not if he is dying--I dare not go to him if he is dying! I am in

chains. I have sworn it for money. See what a different man Merthyr is

from any on earth! Would he shoot himself for a woman? Would he grow

meaner the more he loved her? My hero! my hero! and Tracy, my friend!

what is my grief now? Merthyr is my hero, but I hear him--I hear him

speaking it into my ears with his own lips, that I do not love him. And

it is true. I never should have sold myself for three weary years away

from him, if I had loved him. I know it now it is done. I thought more of

my poor friends and Wilfrid, than of Merthyr, who bleeds for my country!

And he will not spurn me when we meet. Yes, if he lives, he will come to

me gentle as a ghost that has seen God!"

She abandoned herself to weeping. Tracy, in a tender reverence for one

who could speak such solemn matter spontaneously, supported her, and felt

her tears as a rain of flame on his heart.

The nightingales were mute. Not a sound was heard from bough or brake.