Chapter XI--The Meeting

by Bram Stoker

　　Had Stephen been better acquainted with men and women, she would havebeen more satisfied with herself for being the first at the tryst.The conventional idea, in the minds of most women and of all men, isthat a woman should never be the first. But real women, those inwhom the heart beats strong, and whose blood can leap, know better.These are the commanders of men. In them sex calls to sex, allunconsciously at first; and men answer to their call, as they tomen's.Two opposite feelings strove for dominance as Stephen found herselfon the hilltop, alone. One a feeling natural enough to any one, andespecially to a girl, of relief that a dreaded hour had beenpostponed; the other of chagrin that she was the first.After a few moments, however, one of the two militant thoughts becamedominant: the feeling of chagrin. With a pang she thought if shehad been a man and summoned for such a purpose, how she would havehurried to the trysting-place; how the flying of her feet would havevied with the quick rapturous beating of her heart! With a littlesigh and a blush, she remembered that Leonard did not know thepurpose of the meeting; that he was a friend almost brought up withher since boy and girl times; that he had often been summoned insimilar terms and for the most trivial of social purposes.For nearly half an hour Stephen sat on the rustic seat under theshadow of the great oak, looking, half unconscious of its beauty andyet influenced by it, over the wide landscape stretched at her feet.In spite of her disregard of conventions, she was no fool; theinstinct of wisdom was strong within her, so strong that in many waysit ruled her conscious efforts. Had any one told her that herpreparations for this interview were made deliberately with some ofthe astuteness that dominated the Devil when he took Jesus to the topof a high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the earth atHis feet, she would have, and with truth, denied it with indignation.Nevertheless it was a fact that she had, in all unconsciousness,chosen for the meeting a spot which would evidence to a man,consciously or unconsciously, the desirability for his own sake ofacquiescence in her views and wishes. For all this spreadinglandscape was her possession, which her husband would share. As faras the eye could reach was within the estate which she had inheritedfrom her father and her uncle.The half-hour passed in waiting had in one way its advantages to thegirl: though she was still as high strung as ever, she acquired alarger measure of control over herself. The nervous tension,however, was so complete physically that all her faculties wereacutely awake; very early she became conscious of a distant footstep.To Stephen's straining ears the footsteps seemed wondrous slow, andmore wondrous regular; she felt instinctively that she would haveliked to have listened to a more hurried succession of less evenly-marked sounds. But notwithstanding these thoughts, and the qualmswhich came in their turn, the sound of the coming feet brought greatjoy. For, after all, they were coming; and coming just in time toprevent the sense of disappointment at their delay gaining firmfoothold. It was only when the coming was assured that she felt howstrong had been the undercurrent of her apprehension lest they shouldnot come at all.Very sweet and tender and beautiful Stephen looked at this moment.The strong lines of her face were softened by the dark fire in hereyes and the feeling which glowed in the deep blushes which mantledher cheeks. The proudness of her bearing was no less marked thanever, but in the willowy sway of her body there was a yielding ofmere sorry pride. In all the many moods which the gods allow to goodwomen there is none so dear or so alluring, consciously as well asinstinctively, to true men as this self-surrender. As Leonard drewnear, Stephen sank softly into a seat, doing so with a guilty feelingof acting a part. When he actually came into the grove he found herseemingly lost in a reverie as she gazed out over the wide expanse infront of her. He was hot after his walk, and with something verylike petulance threw himself into a cane armchair, exclaiming as hedid so with the easy insolence of old familiarity:'What a girl you are, Stephen! dragging a fellow all the way up here.Couldn't you have fixed it down below somewhere if you wanted to seeme?'Strangely enough, as it seemed to her, Stephen did not dislike histone of mastery. There was something in it which satisfied her. Theunconscious recognition of his manhood, as opposed to her womanhood,soothed her in a peaceful way. It was easy to yield to a dominantman. She was never more womanly than when she answered him softly:'It was rather unfair; but I thought you would not mind coming sofar. It is so cool and delightful here; and we can talk withoutbeing disturbed.' Leonard was lying back in his chair fanninghimself with his wide-brimmed straw hat, with outstretched legs wideapart and resting on the back of his heels. He replied with grudgingcondescension:'Yes, it's cool enough after the hot tramp over the fields andthrough the wood. It's not so good as the house, though, in one way:a man can't get a drink here. I say, Stephen, it wouldn't be halfbad if there were a shanty put up here like those at the GrandsMulets or on the Matterhorn. There could be a tap laid on where afellow could quench his thirst on a day like this!'Before Stephen's eyes floated a momentary vision of a romantic chaletwith wide verandah and big windows looking over the landscape; agreat wide stone hearth; quaint furniture made from the gnarledbranches of trees; skins on the floor; and the walls adorned withantlers, great horns, and various trophies of the chase. And amongstthem Leonard, in a picturesque suit, lolling back just as at presentand smiling with a loving look in his eyes as she handed him a greatblue-and-white Munich beer mug topped with cool foam. There was asoft mystery in her voice as she answered:'Perhaps, Leonard, there will some day be such a place here!' Heseemed to grumble as he replied:'I wish it was here now. Some day seems a long way off!'This seemed a good opening for Stephen; for the fear of the situationwas again beginning to assail her, and she felt that if she did notenter on her task at once, its difficulty might overwhelm her. Shefelt angry with herself that there was a change in her voice as shesaid:'Some day may mean--can mean everything. Things needn't be a longerway off than we choose ourselves, sometimes!''I say, that's a good one! Do you mean to say that because I am someday to own Brindehow I can do as I like with it at once, whilst thegovernor's all there, and a better life than I am any day? Unlessyou want me to shoot the old man by accident when we go out on theFirst.' He laughed a short, unmeaning masculine laugh which jarredsomewhat on her. She did not, however, mean to be diverted from hermain purpose, so she went on quickly:'You know quite well, Leonard, that I don't mean anything of thekind. But there was something I wanted to say to you, and I wishedthat we should be alone. Can you not guess what it is?''No, I'll be hanged if I can!' was his response, lazily given.Despite her resolution she turned her head; she could not meet hiseyes. It cut her with a sharp pain to notice when she turned againthat he was not looking at her. He continued fanning himself withhis hat as he gazed out at the view. She felt that the criticalmoment of her life had come, that it was now or never as to herfulfilling her settled intention. So with a rush she went on herway:'Leonard, you and I have been friends a long time. You know my viewson some points, and that I think a woman should be as free to act asa man!' She paused; words and ideas did not seem to flow with thereadiness she expected. Leonard's arrogant assurance completed thedragging her back to earth which her own self-consciousness began:'Drive on, old girl! I know you're a crank from Crankville on somesubjects. Let us have it for all you're worth. I'm on the grass andlistening.'Stephen paused. 'A crank from Crankville!'--this after her nights ofsleepless anxiety; after the making of the resolution which had costher so much, and which was now actually in process of realisation.Was it all worth so much? why not abandon it now? . . . Abandon it!Abandon a resolution! All the obstinacy of her nature--she classedit herself as firmness--rose in revolt. She shook her head angrily,pulled herself together, and went on:'That may be! though it's not what I call myself, or what I amusually called, so far as I know. At any rate my convictions arehonest, and I am sure you will respect them as such, even if you donot share them.' She did not see the ready response in his facewhich she expected, and so hurried on:'It has always seemed to me that a--when a woman has to speak to aman she should do so as frankly as she would like him to speak toher, and as freely. Leonard, I--I,' as she halted, a sudden idea,winged with possibilities of rescuing procrastination came to her.She went on more easily:'I know you are in trouble about money matters. Why not let me helpyou?' He sat up and looked at her and said genially:'Well, Stephen, you are a good old sort! No mistake about it. Doyou mean to say you would help me to pay my debts, when the governorhas refused to do so any more?''It would be a great pleasure to me, Leonard, to do anything for yourgood or your pleasure.'There was a long pause; they both sat looking down at the ground.The woman's heart beat loud; she feared that the man must hear it.She was consumed with anxiety, and with a desolating wish to berelieved from the strain of saying more. Surely, surely Leonardcould not be so blind as not to see the state of things! . . . Hewould surely seize the occasion; throw aside his diffidence andrelieve her! . . . His words made a momentary music in her ears as hespoke:'And is this what you asked me to come here for?'The words filled her with a great shame. She felt herself a dilemma.It had been no part of her purpose to allude his debts. Viewed inthe light of what was to follow, it would seem to him that she wastrying to foreclose his affection. That could not be allowed topass; the error must be rectified. And yet! . . . And yet this veryerror must be cleared up before she could make her full wishapparent. She seemed to find herself compelled by inexorablecircumstances into an unlooked-for bluntness. In any case she mustface the situation. Her pluck did not fail her; it was with a verynoble and graceful simplicity that she turned to her companion andsaid:'Leonard, I did not quite mean that. It would be a pleasure to me tobe of that or any other service to you, if I might be so happy! ButI never meant to allude to your debts. Oh! Leonard, can't youunderstand! If you were my husband--or--or going to be, all suchlittle troubles would fall away from you. But I would not for theworld have you think . . . 'Her very voice failed her. She could not speak what was in her mind;she turned away, hiding in her hands her face which fairly seemed toburn. This, she thought, was the time for a true lover'sopportunity! Oh, if she had been a man, and a woman had so appealed,how he would have sprung to her side and taken her in his arms, andin a wild rapture of declared affection have swept away all the painof her shame!But she remained alone. There was no springing to her side; norapture of declared affection; no obliteration of her shame. She hadto bear it all alone. There, in the open; under the eyes that shewould fain have seen any other phase of her distress. Her heart beatloud and fast; she waited to gain her self-control.Leonard Everard had his faults, plenty of them, and he was in truthcomposed of an amalgam of far baser metals than Stephen thought; buthe had been born of gentle blood and reared amongst gentlefolk. Hedid not quite understand the cause or the amount of his companion'sconcern; but he could not but recognise her distress. He realisedthat it had followed hard upon her most generous intention towardshimself. He could not, therefore, do less than try to comfort her,and he began his task in a conventional way, but with a blunderingawkwardness which was all manlike. He took her hand and held it inhis; this much at any rate he had learned in sitting on stairs or inconservatories after extra dances. He said as tenderly as he could,but with an impatient gesture unseen by her:'Forgive me, Stephen! I suppose I have said or done something whichI shouldn't. But I don't know what it is; upon my honour I don't.Anyhow, I am truly sorry for it. Cheer up, old girl! I'm not yourhusband, you know; so you needn't be distressed.'Stephen took her courage a deux mains. If Leonard would not speakshe must. It was manifestly impossible that the matter could be leftin its present state.'Leonard,' she said softly and solemnly, 'might not that some daybe?'Leonard, in addition to being an egotist and the very incarnation ofselfishness, was a prig of the first water. He had been rearedaltogether in convention. Home life and Eton and Christchurch hadtaught him many things, wise as well as foolish; but had tended tofix his conviction that affairs of the heart should proceed onadamantine lines of conventional decorum. It never even occurred tohim that a lady could so far step from the confines of convention asto take the initiative in a matter of affection. In his blindignorance he blundered brutally. He struck better than he knew, as,meaning only to pass safely by an awkward conversational corner, hereplied:'No jolly fear of that! You're too much of a boss for me!' Thewords and the levity with which they were spoken struck the girl aswith a whip. She turned for an instant as pale as ashes; then thered blood rushed from her heart, and face and neck were dyed crimson.It was not a blush, it was a suffusion. In his ignorance Leonardthought it was the former, and went on with what he considered histeasing.'Oh yes! You know you always want to engineer a chap your own wayand make him do just as you wish. The man who has the happiness ofmarrying you, Stephen, will have a hard row to hoe!' His 'chaff'with its utter want of refinement seemed to her, in her high-strungearnest condition, nothing short of brutal, and for a few secondsproduced a feeling of repellence. But it is in the nature of thingsthat opposition of any kind arouses the fighting instinct of anaturally dominant nature. She lost sight of her femininity in thepursuit of her purpose; and as this was to win the man to her way ofthinking, she took the logical course of answering his argument. IfLeonard Everard had purposely set himself to stimulate her efforts inthis direction he could hardly have chosen a better way. It camesomewhat as a surprise to Stephen, when she heard her own words:'I would make a good wife, Leonard! A husband whom I loved andhonoured would, I think, not be unhappy!' The sound of her own voicespeaking these words, though the tone was low and tender and moreself-suppressing by far than was her wont, seemed to peal likethunder in her own ears. Her last bolt seemed to have sped. Theblood rushed to her head, and she had to hold on to the arms of therustic chair or she would have fallen forward.The time seemed long before Leonard spoke again; every second seemedan age. She seemed to have grown tired of waiting for the sound ofhis voice; it was with a kind of surprise that she heard him say:'You limit yourself wisely, Stephen!''How do you mean?' she asked, making a great effort to speak.'You would promise to love and honour; but there isn't anything aboutobeying.'As he spoke Leonard stretched himself again luxuriously, and laughedwith the intellectual arrogance of a man who is satisfied with ajoke, however inferior, of his own manufacture. Stephen looked athim with a long look which began in anger--that anger which comesfrom an unwonted sense of impotence, and ends in tolerance, theintermediate step being admiration. It is the primeval curse that awoman's choice is to her husband; and it is an important part of theteaching of a British gentlewoman, knit in the very fibres of herbeing by the remorseless etiquette of a thousand years, that she betrue to him. The man who has in his person the necessary powers orgraces to evoke admiration in his wife, even for a passing moment,has a stronghold unconquerable as a rule by all the deadliest arts ofmankind.Leonard Everard was certainly good to look upon as he lolled at hisease on that summer morning. Tall, straight, supple; a typicalBritish gentleman of the educated class, with all parts of the bodyproperly developed and held in some kind of suitable poise.As Stephen looked, the anxiety and chagrin which tormented her seemedto pass. She realised that here was a nature different from her own,and which should be dealt with in a way unsuitable to herself; andthe conviction seemed to make the action which it necessitated moreeasy as well as more natural to her. Perhaps for the first time inher life Stephen understood that it may be necessary to apply toindividuals a standard of criticism unsuitable to self-judgment. Herrecognition might have been summed up in the thought which ranthrough her mind:'One must be a little lenient with a man one loves!'Stephen, when once she had allowed the spirit of toleration to workwithin her, felt immediately its calming influence. It was withbrighter thoughts and better humour that she went on with her task.A task only, it seemed now; a means to an end which she desired.'Leonard, tell me seriously, why do you think I gave you the troubleof coming out here?''Upon my soul, Stephen, I don't know.''You don't seem to care either, lolling like that when I am serious!'The words were acid, but the tone was soft and friendly, familiar andgenuine, putting quite a meaning of its own on them. Leonard lookedat her indolently:'I like to loll.''But can't you even guess, or try to guess, what I ask you?''I can't guess. The day's too hot, and that shanty with the drinksis not built yet.''Or may never be!' Again he looked at her sleepily.'Never be! Why not?''Because, Leonard, it may depend on you.''All right then. Drive on! Hurry up the architect and the jerry-builder!'A quick blush leaped to Stephen's cheeks. The words were full ofmeaning, though the tone lacked something; but the news was too good.She could not accept it at once; she decided to herself to wait ashort time. Ere many seconds had passed she rejoiced that she haddone so as he went on:'I hope you'll give me a say before that husband of yours comesalong. He might be a blue-ribbonite; and it wouldn't do to startsuch a shanty for rot-gut!'Again a cold wave swept over her. The absolute difference of feelingbetween the man and herself; his levity against her earnestness, hiscallous blindness to her purpose, even the commonness of his wordschilled her. For a few seconds she wavered again in her intention;but once again his comeliness and her own obstinacy joined hands andtook her back to her path. With chagrin she felt that her wordsalmost stuck in her throat, as summoning up all her resolution shewent on:'It would be for you I would have it built, Leonard!' The man sat upquickly.'For me?' he asked in a sort of wonderment.'Yes, Leonard, for you and me!' She turned away; her blushes soovercame her that she could not look at him. When she faced roundagain he was standing up, his back towards her.She stood up also. He was silent for a while; so long that thesilence became intolerable, and she spoke:'Leonard, I am waiting!' He turned round and said slowly, theabsence of all emotion from his face chilling her till her faceblanched:'I don't think I would worry about it!'Stephen Norman was plucky, and when she was face to face with anydifficulty she was all herself. Leonard did not look pleasant; hisface was hard and there was just a suspicion of anger. Strangelyenough, this last made the next step easier to the girl; she saidslowly:'All right! I think I understand!'He turned from her and stood looking out on the distant prospect.Then she felt that the blow which she had all along secretly fearedhad fallen on her. But her pride as well as her obstinacy nowrebelled. She would not accept a silent answer. There must be nodoubt left to torture her afterwards. She would take care that therewas no mistake. Schooling herself to her task, and pressing one handfor a moment to her side as though to repress the beating of herheart, she came behind him and touched him tenderly on the arm.'Leonard,' she said softly, 'are you sure there is no mistake? Doyou not see that I am asking you,' she intended to say 'to be myhusband,' but she could not utter the words, they seemed to stick inher mouth, so she finished the sentence: 'that I be your wife?'The moment the words were spoken--the bare, hard, naked, shamelesswords--the revulsion came. As a lightning flash shows up theblackness of the night the appalling truth of what she had done wasforced upon her. The blood rushed to her head till cheeks andshoulders and neck seemed to burn. Covering her face with her handsshe sank back on the seat crying silently bitter tears that seemed toscald her eyes and her cheeks as they ran.Leonard was angry. When it began to dawn upon him what was thepurpose of Stephen's speech, he had been shocked. Young men are soeasily shocked by breaches of convention made by women they respect!And his pride was hurt. Why should he have been placed in such aridiculous position! He did not love Stephen in that way; and sheshould have known it. He liked her and all that sort of thing; butwhat right had she to assume that he loved her? All the weakness ofhis moral nature came out in his petulance. It was boyish that hiseyes filled with tears. He knew it, and that made him more angrythan ever. Stephen might well have been at a loss to understand hisanger, as, with manifest intention to wound, he answered her:'What a girl you are, Stephen. You are always doing something orother to put a chap in the wrong and make him ridiculous. I thoughtyou were joking--not a good joke either! Upon my soul, I don't knowwhat I've done that you should fix on me! I wish to goodness--'If Stephen had suffered the red terror before, she suffered the whiteterror now. It was not injured pride, it was not humiliation, it wasnot fear; it was something vague and terrible that lay far deeperthan any of these. Under ordinary circumstances she would have likedto have spoken out her mind and given back as good as she got; andeven as the thoughts whirled through her brain they came in a torrentof vague vituperative eloquence. But now her tongue was tied.Instinctively she knew that she had put it out of her power torevenge, or even to defend herself. She was tied to the stake, andmust suffer without effort and in silence.Most humiliating of all was the thought that she must propitiate theman who had so wounded her. All love for him had in the instantpassed from her; or rather she realised fully the blank, bare truththat she had never really loved him at all. Had she really lovedhim, even a blow at his hands would have been acceptable; but now . ..She shook the feelings and thoughts from her as a bird does the waterfrom its wings; and, with the courage and strength and adaptabilityof her nature, addressed herself to the hard task which faced her inthe immediate present. With eloquent, womanly gesture she arrestedthe torrent of Leonard's indignation; and, as he paused in surprisedobedience, she said:'That will do, Leonard! It is not necessary to say any more; and Iam sure you will see, later on, that at least there was no cause foryour indignation! I have done an unconventional thing, I know; and Idare say I shall have to pay for it in humiliating bitterness ofthought later on! But please remember we are all alone! This is asecret between us; no one else need ever know or suspect it!'She rose as she concluded. The quiet dignity of her speech andbearing brought back Leonard in some way to his sense of duty as agentleman. He began, in a sheepish way, to make an apology:'I'm sure I beg your pardon, Stephen.' But again she held thewarning hand:'There is no need for pardon; the fault, if there were any, was minealone. It was I, remember, who asked you to come here and whointroduced and conducted this melancholy business. I have asked youseveral things, Leonard, and one more I will add--'tis only one:that you will forget!'As she moved away, her dismissal of the subject was that of anempress to a serf. Leonard would have liked to answer her; to havegiven vent to his indignation that, even when he had refused heroffer, she should have the power to treat him if he was the onerefused, and to make him feel small and ridiculous in his own eyes.But somehow he felt constrained to silence; her simple dignityoutclassed him.There was another factor too, in his forming his conclusion ofsilence. He had never seen Stephen look so well, or so attractive.He had never respected her so much as when her playfulness had turnedto majestic gravity. All the boy and girl strife of the years thathad gone seemed to have passed away. The girl whom he had playedwith, and bullied, and treated as frankly as though she had been aboy, had in an instant become a woman--and such a woman as demandedrespect and admiration even from such a man.