CHAPTER XVI
THE PARTING
“Oh, Earle, what can he mean? For the first time in my life I am actually afraid of my own father,” Editha said, sinking back upon the sofa from which she had so recently arisen, and bursting into nervous weeping.
Earle knelt upon the floor beside her, and, lifting her head to his breast, folded his strong arms around her.
“My darling, I think he is so beside himself with anger at some fancied injury that he scarcely knows what he means himself. Do not allow his words to distress you, Editha, and time, I feel, will bring everything right,” he said, soothingly.
“Papa has changed so during the last two or three years—I cannot understand it at all. He used to pet and indulge me as a child, and only laughed at my whims and fancies, as he termed my childish wilfulness; but, since Mamma’s and Uncle Richard’s deaths, he has seemed entirely indifferent. He will not bear the least opposition from me upon any subject. We have had more than one controversy regarding you, Earle—I will stand up for what I know to be right and honorable, and if it happens to conflict with his ideas, he is so angry. Besides—”
She stopped suddenly, blushing vividly.
“Well, my ‘happiness?’” Earle said, encouragingly.
“I had occasion to offend him deeply not long ago, and I suppose he cannot recover from his disappointment.”
Then she went on to tell him of Mr. Tressalia’s proposals, and her repeated rejection of the same.
“I should not feel it right to speak of this to anyone else,” she said, in conclusion, “for I think it is very wrong for any woman to boast of having given pain in any such way; but henceforth I am to have no secrets from you, and it is but proper that you should know of this.”
“I thought perhaps Mr. Tressalia would win you, Editha, at one time, and such was the report,” Earle said, wondering if she had read of that gentleman’s succession to a marquisate and great possessions.
But she knew nothing of it as yet, and only nestled nearer to him as she returned:
“Did you hear of that, Earle, and did you believe it?”
“I cannot say that I really believed it, for I cherished a little hope myself all the time; and yet I do not know but that it is a wonder he did not carry off my treasure after all,” he returned, as he folded her closer.
“No, it is not a wonder; if there had been no Earle Wayne in existence, I might have learned to love him, but there was an Earle Wayne in the world, consequently it was an impossibility,” Editha answered, with a twinkling little smile in her deep blue eyes.
Earle bent and touched her red lips with fond thanks for the sweet words they had uttered, but there was an expression of thoughtfulness mingled with anxiety on his brow.
“Mr. Tressalia is a noble man if he is all you represent him, and it is a sad thing to have all his hopes blighted thus,” he said, in tones of regret.
“Yes; I cannot tell you how sorry I was for him, and I hope I may never see such a look on another face as long as I live as I saw on his when I left him that night,” Editha replied, her eyes filling with tears at the remembrance.
“Editha,” Earle said, suddenly, after a short silence, “you do not believe that I care for your fortune—that I give it even a thought?”
“My sensitive Earle, no,” she answered, with a skeptical smile.
“Then I am going to propose a bold measure. I dread—I almost fear to go away and leave you. I know you will be unhappy with your father’s displeasure constantly following you, and I have a strange presentiment—something tells me that I must not leave you behind. Editha, will you marry me and go with me to Europe tomorrow as my wife?”
“Earle!”
She started from his unfolding arms, sitting suddenly erect, her face as white as a snowflake at the proposition.
“Does the idea startle you so, my own? It is so sudden, I know; but would it not be best for our mutual happiness?”
“And Papa—would be left behind entirely alone,” she said, thoughtfully.
“Only for a short time, dearest. I shall return as soon as I can arrange my business there to do so, even if I have to go back afterward. Perhaps by that time, Mr. Dalton will look at matters in a different light from what he does now,” Earle urged.
Editha heaved a long sigh that meant a good many things.
“Earle, I would like it so much,” she said, sorrowfully, after a long and thoughtful pause, “both the going to Europe, where I have always longed to go, and—being your wife; but—”
His arms clasped her more tightly at that word of doubt.
“Must there be a ‘but?’” he whispered.
“I am afraid there must,” and her hand went up to his face with a caressing motion. “Perhaps if I stay and wait I may be able to win Papa over to our way of thinking. At any rate, I must strive for peace with him. It will not be so very long, will it, Earle?”
“I cannot tell, dear, exactly how long. I may have to be gone six months; I do not think it can possibly take any longer than that to decide my case.”
“Six months!” with another sigh and a slight quiver of her lips. “I feel that it is best to wait, Earle. I must be patient, and try to do what is right. Papa may be angry with me, but I cannot think he is wholly devoid of affection for me, and he is so alone in the world, he might miss me.”
“It shall be just as you wish or say,” Earle replied, but looking disappointed nevertheless. It really seemed to him as if something told him he must not leave her behind. “I would rather come to you with my hands full,” he added; “and Editha, if I am successful in my business abroad, I feel that even your father, with all his prejudice against me, will be proud to give you to me.”
“That settles it, then Earle; we shall wait; for it is better to win than to displease him. But I shall miss you; it is hard to let you go,” she said, with a quiver in her voice.
“My darling, do you not think it is hard also for me to go away and leave you—particularly as I fear you are not going to be very happy? And, dearest, for fear that something may happen to our letters, in the same way that there did your flowers, I will secure a lockbox at the office for you before I go, and send you the key.”
“That will be a good plan,” she answered, flushing.
It was hard to feel that her father would be guilty of anything so underhanded as to intercept her letters, but she had discovered, by questioning his servant, that he had intercepted and destroyed her flowers, and the distrust now would naturally arise.
“Every mail, dear,” Earle went on, “I shall expect to hear from you, and I will write as often to you. Now, my darling, I must say farewell. I shall not have time to come again, as I have much to do, and the steamer sails tomorrow at noon.”
“So soon? Can I let you go so soon?” Editha sighed; then, looking up with an effort to smile, she added: “I ought not to murmur, for, of course, the sooner you go the sooner you will return.”
“That is my brave little comforter. I could not bear to leave you sorrowing. Now put your hands in mine and tell me once for all that you love me, then I can go quite content,” Earle pleaded; but his lips trembled slightly, nevertheless, as they sought hers in a mute caress, for this parting was not an easy thing for him, strong man though he was.
Editha folded her white hands together and laid them upon his palm.
“I love you, Earle; I never have loved anyone but you; and I shall love only you as long as my life shall last,” she said, solemnly, her grave, sweet eyes lifted with a beautiful trust to his face.
“Bless you, my ‘happiness;’ I cannot help calling you that, it is so fitting; those words will ring sweetly in my ears all the long months I am separated from you.”
He bent and touched her white forehead with his lips, then, with a long, fond embrace, he bade her farewell and went away.
At half-past eleven the next morning Editha Dalton’s carriage might have been seen drawn close to the wharf near where the great steamer which was to bear her lover across the ocean lay panting like a thing of life in mortal agony.
Earle had said he could not come to see her again, but she had resolved to go to see him off instead.
She must look once more into his face, and hear him speak again in the tones that had grown so dear to her.
Her fair face looked forth from the carriage window, her eager eyes anxiously searching the countenance of each newcomer as he hurried toward the boat anxious to secure his state-room and get settled for the voyage.
Perhaps, after all, she thinks, as she looks in vain for the beloved face, she was foolish to come and will miss him in the throng and confusion.
But her heart longs inexpressibly for one last look, and word, and hand-clasp, and she resolves to linger until the last moment.
But suddenly her face lights and flushes, and a glad, tender gleam beams from her beautiful eyes. She sees a manly form coming with quick, firm tread toward the wharf.
He also is evidently musing upon something pleasant for a smile of rare sweetness curls his handsome lips, and lights his noble face.
All at once he lifts his head, and, as if drawn by some magnetic influence, his eyes meet those of his betrothed, and, with a bound, he is beside her carriage in an instant.
“My darling! I did not expect this,” he said, with a warm clasp of her hand, his face all aglow.
“I could not help it, Earle; it was foolish in me, I suppose after you had once said ‘goodbye,’” she said, with a lovely color rising in her cheeks.
“A very agreeable kind of foolishness to me, dear; and I shall take it as a good omen for my journey, that I have had such a pleasant surprise,” he answered, smiling tenderly down upon that lovely face, with its shining golden crown.
It was the most beautiful thing in all the world to him.
“I was not sure of seeing you, but I thought at least I should see the vessel that was to take you away from me, and that would be something,” she returned, with an answering smile, though it bade fair to be rather a dewy one, judging from the tears in her eyes.
“Do you so dread to have me go, Editha? I wish I might have taken you with me,” he said, wistfully, as he noted the tears “something unaccountably impresses me that you will not be safe until I have you within my sheltering care.”
“I shall not express another regret if it is going to trouble you so; but, Earle, I shall be glad to have you safely back again,” she returned, leaning toward him with a yearning on her fair face that thrilled him through and through.
“My darling, do you know how very lovely you are?” he asked, with eager fondness, as his eyes lingered upon the sweet picture before him.
She flashed a brilliant glance at him and colored beautifully at this involuntary tribute.
“You should not say such things to me, Earle. You will make me vain,” she said, with playful chiding, yet her lips wore a smile of tremulous tenderness as if she was glad to be lovely in his eyes.
He laughed softly.
“I am to tell you just what I like, my own, all the rest of your life. Do you know it? And I am not in the least afraid of the result of which you speak. Do you know, beloved,” dropping his voice and speaking with an intensity that moved her whole being, “that all the world has changed for me since yesterday?”
A quick, luminous glance up into the eyes bent so fondly upon her, a rare, sweet smile, and a deepening flush, told him that this change had not touched him alone.
The ringing of a bell now startled them.
“I must not detain you,” Editha said, with a sigh and an anxious glance at the steamer, where all was bustle and confusion.
“Not long, I fear. But you will take good care of my ‘happiness’ for me while I am away?” he returned, tenderly.
“I will do the best that I can, Earle; but how I shall wish the time away. See, I have brought you these, and,” with a sly look and smile, “if you can read this mute language, you will know all I would like to tell you and cannot,” and she put into his hands an elegant and carefully selected bouquet of flowers.
He took them with fond thanks and involuntarily laid the bright blossoms, weighted with their fragrance, against his lips. Then, with a sudden start and a brilliant smile, he said, eagerly:
“Ah! strange I did not think before; but now I can give you something that I purchased this morning, hoping to have time to drop it in the office for you, but did not after all.”
He took a little case from his pocket, opened it, and drew forth a lovely ring, set with one large, rare, pure pearl.
“Hold out the finger I want, Editha,” he commanded, softly.
And, with downcast eyes and a deeper, richer surging of color, she held out the forefinger of her left hand, while, with a look of reverence and solemn joy, he slipped the ring to its place.
“I am glad that I can put it on myself, instead of sending it, as I thought I must. Do you like it, Editha?” he asked, regarding the shyly downcast face with exceeding tenderness.
“I cannot tell you how much, Earle.”
“I am glad. I suppose, however, that a diamond would have been the proper thing, since, being the most precious stone, it perhaps more fitly represents the most precious gift a man can receive; but to me, this pure-hearted pearl is a more appropriate symbol of the love I have won than the cold glitter of diamonds. My darling, this small hand belongs to me now.”
“Yes, Earle, it is all your own,” Editha answered, now raising her eyes, which were full of tender tears, to his.
Then, with a movement graceful as it was involuntary, she lifted her hand and touched her lips to the pure, gleaming pearl.
Earle’s look spoke volumes as he noted the act, and brought the ever-ready blushes quickly to the fair face again.
Editha smiled, and, to cover her confusion, said, archly:
“It is well, is it not, to yield gracefully to the bonds that bind one?”
“My love—my love!” Earle answered, with a look of tender affection, “you never can know how precious you are to me. I wish—oh, how I wish I could take you with me; but I must go now.”
With no other farewell than one long, long hand-clasp, one fond, lingering glance—for other eyes were upon them—he was gone, mingling with the crowd, and so passed from her sight.
That night, when Sumner Dalton saw the pale gleam of that pure pearl upon Editha’s finger, a sinister look crept into his eyes and curved the corners of his mouth, though he gave no other sign that he had seen it.
“Do they think to defy me thus?” he muttered to himself when he was alone again. “Let them beware, both of them. I will not brook such opposition to my will. If it were not for the very convenient purse of little Miss Independence, I would crush her now, before this thing goes any further. What can the youngster have gone to Europe for? It cannot be that—”
Sumner Dalton seemed to be smitten with some sudden and startling thought that made him grow very pale and troubled.
“No, no,” he went on, after thinking awhile, “it is as utterly impossible as that the sun should cease to shine.”
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