Chapter XXXVII--Golden Silence

by Bram Stoker

　　Each day that passed seemed to add to the trouble in the heart ofthese young people; to widen the difficulty of expressing themselves.To Stephen, who had accepted the new condition of things and whosewhole nature had bloomed again under the sunshine of hope, it was theless intolerable. She had set herself to wait, as had countlessthousands of women before her; and as due proportion will, till thefinal cataclysm abolishes earthly unions. But Harold felt thegrowth, both positive and negative, as a new torture; and he began tofeel that he would be unable to go through with it. In his heart wasthe constant struggle of hope; and in opposition to it the seemingrealisation of every new fancy of evil. That bitter hour, when thewhole of creation was for him turned upside down, was having its sadeffect at last. Had it not been for that horrid remembrance he wouldhave come to believe enough in himself to put his future to the test.He would have made an opportunity at which Stephen and himself wouldhave with the fires of their mutual love burned away the encirclingmist. There are times when a single minute of commonsense would turnsorrow into joy; and yet that minute, our own natures being theopposing forces, will be allowed to pass.Those who loved these young people were much concerned about them.Mrs. Stonehouse took their trouble so much to heart that she spoke toher husband about it, seriously advising that one or other of themshould make an effort to bring things in the right way for theirhappiness. The woman was sure of the woman's feeling. It is frommen, not women, that women hide their love. By side-glances andunthinking moments women note and learn. The man knew already, fromhis own lips, of the man's passion. But his lips were sealed by hisloyalty; and he said earnestly:'My dear, we must not interfere. Not now, at any rate; we mightcause them great trouble. I am as sure as you are that they reallylove each other. But they must win happiness by themselves andthrough themselves alone. Otherwise it would never be to them whatit ought to be; what it might be; what it will be!'So these friends were silent, and the little tragedy developed.Harold's patience began to give way under the constant strain ofself-suppression. Stephen tried to hide her love and fear, under themask of a gracious calm. This the other took for indifference.At last there came an hour which was full of new, hopeless agony toStephen. She heard Harold, in a fragment of conversation, speak toMr. Stonehouse of the need of returning to Alaska. That sounded likea word of doom. In her inmost heart she knew that Harold loved her;and had she been free she would have herself spoken the words whichwould have drawn the full truth to them both. But how could she doso, having the remembrance of that other episode; when, without thereality of love, she had declared herself? . . . Oh! the shame of it. . . The folly! . . . And Harold knew it all! How could he everbelieve that it was real this time! . . .By the exercise of that self-restraint which long suffering hadtaught her, Stephen so managed to control herself that none of herguests realised what a blow she had received from a casual word. Shebore herself gallantly till the last moment. After the old fashionof her youth, she had from the Castle steps seen their departure.Then she took her way to her own room, and locked herself in. Shedid not often, in these days, give way to tears; when she did cry itwas as a luxury, and not from poignant cause. Her deep emotion wasdry-eyed as of old. Now, she did not cry, she sat still, her handsclasped below her knees, with set white face gazing out on the far-off sea. For hours she sat there lonely; staring fixedly all thetime, though her thoughts were whirling wildly. At first she hadsome vague purpose, which she hoped might eventually work out into aplan. But thought would not come. Everywhere there was the samebeginning: a wild, burning desire to let Harold understand herfeeling towards him; to blot out, with the conviction of trust andlove, those bitter moments when in the madness of her overstrungpassion she had heaped such insult upon him. Everywhere the sameend: an impasse. He seemingly could not, would not, understand.She knew now that the man had diffidences, forbearances, self-judgments and self-denials which made for the suppression, in what heconsidered to be her interest, of his own desires. This was tragedyindeed! Again and again came back the remembrance of that bitterregret of her Aunt Laetitia, which no happiness and no pain of herown had ever been able to efface:'To love; and be helpless! To wait, and wait, and wait; with heartall aflame! To hope, and hope; till time seemed to have passed away,and all the world to stand still on your hopeless misery! To knowthat a word might open up Heaven; and yet to have to remain mute! Tokeep back the glances that could enlighten, to modulate the tonesthat might betray! To see all you hoped for passing away . . . !'At last she seemed to understand the true force of pride; which hasin it a thousand forces of its own, positive, negative, restrainful.Oh! how blind she had been! How little she had learned from themiseries that the other woman whom she loved had suffered! Howunsympathetic she had been; how self-engrossed; how callous to thesensibilities of others! And now to her, in her turn, had come thesame suffering; the same galling of the iron fetters of pride, and ofconvention which is its original expression! Must it be that thevery salt of youth must lose its savour, before the joys of youthcould be won! What, after all, was youth if out of its own inherentpower it must work its own destruction! If youth was so, why notthen trust the wisdom of age? If youth could not act for its ownredemption . . .Here the rudiment of a thought struck her and changed the current ofher reason. A thought so winged with hope that she dared not eventry to complete it! . . . She thought, and thought till the longautumn shadows fell around her. But the misty purpose had becomereal.After dinner she went up alone to the mill. It was late for a visit,for the Silver Lady kept early hours. But she found her friend asusual in her room, whose windows swept the course of the sun. Seeingthat her visitor was in a state of mental disturbance such as she hadonce before exhibited, she blew out the candles and took the sameseat in the eastern window she had occupied on the night which theyboth so well remembered.Stephen understood both acts, and was grateful afresh. The darknesswould be a help to her in what she had to say; and the resumption ofthe old seat and attitude did away with the awkwardness of newconfidence. During the weeks that had passed Stephen had kept herfriend informed of the rescue and progress of the injured man. Sincethe discovery of Harold's identity she had allowed her to infer herfeeling towards him.Shyly she had conveyed her hopes that all the bitter part of the pastmight be wiped out. To the woman who already knew of the love thathad always been, but had only awakened to consciousness in theabsence of its object, a hint was sufficient to build upon. She hadnoticed the gloom that had of late been creeping over the girl'shappiness; and she had been much troubled about it. But she hadthought it wiser to be silent; she well knew that should unhappilythe time for comfort come, it must be precluded by new and moreexplicit confidence. So she too had been anxiously waiting theprogress of events. Now; as she put her arms round the girl she saidsoftly; not in the whisper which implies doubt of some kind, but inthe soft voices which conveys sympathy and trust:'Tell me, dear child!'And then in broken words shyly spoken, and spoken in such a way thatthe silences were more eloquent than the words, the girl conveyedwhat was in her heart. The other listened, now and again strokingthe beautiful hair. When all was said, there was a brief pause. TheSilver Lady spoke no word; but the pressure of her delicate handconveyed sympathy.In but a half-conscious way, in words that came so shrinkinglythrough the darkness that they hardly reached the ear bent low tocatch them, came Stephen's murmured thought:'Oh, if he only knew! And I can't tell him; I can't! dare not! Imust not. How could I dishonour him by bearing myself towards him asto that other . . . worthless . . . ! Oh! the happy, happy girls,who have mothers . . . !' All the muscles of her body seemed toshrink and collapse, till she was like an inert mass at the SilverLady's feet.But the other understood!After a long, long pause; when Stephen's sobbing had died away; wheneach muscle of her body had become rigid on its return to normalcalm; the Silver Lady began to talk of other matters, andconversation became normal. Stephen's courage seemed somehow to berestored, and she talked brightly.Before they parted the Silver Lady made a request. She said in hernatural voice:'Couldst thou bring that gallant man who saved so many lives, and towhom the Lord was so good in the restoration of his sight, to see me?Thou knowest I have made a resolution not to go forth from this calmplace whilst I may remain. But I should like to see him before hereturns to that far North where he has done such wonders. He isevidently a man of kind heart; perhaps he will not mind coming to seea lonely woman who is no longer young. There is much I should liketo ask him of that land of which nothing was known in my own youth.Perhaps he will not mind seeing me alone.' Stephen's heart beatfuriously. She felt suffocating with new hope, for what could be butgood from Harold's meeting with that sweet woman who had alreadybrought so much comfort into her own life? She was abashed, and yetradiant; she seemed to tread on air as she stood beside her friendsaying farewell. She did not wish to speak. So the two women kissedand parted.It had been arranged that two days hence the Stonehouse party were tospend the day at Lannoy, coming before lunch and staying the night,as they wanted in the afternoon to return a visit at some distance tothe north of Lannoy. Harold was to ride over with them.When the Varilands party arrived, Stephen told them of Sister Ruth'swish to see Harold. Pearl at once proffered a request that she alsoshould be taken at some other time to see the Silver Lady. Haroldacquiesced heartily; and it was agreed that some time in the lateafternoon he should pay the visit. Stephen would bring him.Strangely enough, she felt no awkwardness, no trepidation, as theyrode up the steep road to the Mill.When the introduction had been effected, and half an hour had beenconsumed in conventional small talk, Stephen, obedience to a lookfrom the Silver Lady, rose. She said in they most natural way shecould:'Now Sister Ruth, I will leave you two alone, if you do not mind.Harold can tell you all you want to know about Alaska; and perhaps,if you are very good, he will tell some of his adventures! Goodafternoon, dear. I wish you were to be with us to-night; but I knowyour rule. I go for my ride. Sultan has had no exercise for fivedays; and he looked at me quite reproachfully when we met thismorning. Au revoir, Harold. We shall meet at dinner!'When she had gone Harold came back from the door, and stood in thewindow looking east. The Silver Lady came and stood beside him. Shedid not seem to notice his face, but in the mysterious way of womenshe watched him keenly. She wished to satisfy her own mind beforeshe undertook her self-appointed task.Her eyes were turned towards the headland towards which Stephen onher white Arab was galloping at breakneck speed. He was too good ahorseman himself, and he knew her prowess on horseback too well tohave any anxiety regarding such a rider at Stephen. It was not fear,then, that made his face so white, and his eyes to have such anillimitable sadness.The Silver Lady made up her mind. All her instincts were to trusthim. She recognised a noble nature, with which truth would be hersurest force.'Come,' she said, 'sit here, friend; where another friend has oftensat with me. From this you can see all the coastline, and all thatthou wilt!' Harold put a chair beside the one she pointed out; andwhen she was seated he sat also. She began at once with a desperatecourage:'I have wanted much to see thee. I have heard much of thee, beforethy coming.' There was something in the tone of her voice whicharrested his attention, and he looked keenly at her. Here, in thefull light, her face looked sadly white and he noticed that her lipstrembled. He said with all the kindliness of his nature, for fromthe first moment he had seen her he had taken to her, her purity andearnestness and sweetness appealing to some aspiration within him:'You are pale! I fear you are not well! May I call your maid? CanI do anything for you?' She waved her hand gently:'Nay! It is nothing. It is but the result of a sleepless night andmuch thought.''Oh! I wish I had known! I could have put off my visit; and I couldhave come any other time to suit you.' She smiled gently:'I fear that would have availed but little. It was of thy comingthat I was concerned.' Seeing his look of amazement' she went onquickly, her voice becoming more steady as she lost sight of herselfin her task:'Be patient a little with me. I am an old woman; and until recentlyit has been many and many years since the calm which I sought herehas been ruffled. I had come to believe that for me earthly troubleswere no more. But there has come into my life a new concern. I haveheard so much of thee, and before thy coming.' The recurrence of thephrase struck him. He would have asked how such could be, but hedeemed it better to wait. She went on:'I have been wishful to ask thy advice. But why should not I tellthee outright that which troubles me? I am not used, at least forthese many years, to dissemble. I can but trust thee in all; andlean on thy man's mercy to understand, and to aid me!''I shall do all in my power, believe me!' said Harold simply. 'Speakfreely!' She pointed out of the window, where Stephen's white horseseemed on the mighty sweep of green sward like a little dot.'It is of her that I would speak to thee!' Harold's heart began tobeat hard; he felt that something was coming. The Silver Lady wenton:'Why thinkest thou that she rideth at such speed? It is her habit!'He waited. She continued:'Doth it not seem to thee that such reckless movement is the resultof much trouble; that she seeketh forgetfulness?' He knew that shewas speaking truly; and somehow the conviction was borne upon himthat she knew his secret heart, and was appealing to it. If it wasabout Stephen! If her disquiet was about her; then God bless her!He would be patient and grateful. The Quaker's voice seemed to comethrough his thought, as though she had continued speaking whilst hehad paused:'We have all our own secrets. I have had mine; and I doubt not thatthou hast had, may still have, thine own. Stephen hath hers! May Ispeak to thee of her?''I shall be proud! Oh! madam, I thank you with all my heart for yoursweet kindness to her. I cannot say what I feel; for she has alwaysbeen very dear to me!' In the pause before she spoke again thebeating of his own heart seemed to re-echo the quick sounds ofStephen's galloping horse. He was surprised at the method of herspeech when it did come; for she forgot her Quaker idiom, and spokein the phrasing of her youth:'Do you love her still?''With all my soul! More than ever!''Then, God be thanked; for it is in your power to do much good. Torescue a poor, human, grieving soul from despair!' Her wordsconveyed joy greater than she knew. Harold did not himself know whythe air seemed filled with sounds that seemed to answer every doubtof his life. He felt, understood, with that understanding which isquicker than thought. The Silver Lady went on now with a rush:'See, I have trusted you indeed! I have given away another woman'ssecret; but I do it without fear. I can see that you also aretroubled; and when I look back on my own life and remember thetrouble that sent me out of the world; a lonely recluse here in thisspot far from the stress of life, I rejoice that any act of mine cansave such another tragedy as my own. I see that I need not go intodetail. You know that I am speaking truth. It was before you cameso heroically on this new scene that she told me her secret. At atime when nothing was known of you except that you had disappeared.When she laid bare her poor bleeding heart to me, she did it in suchwise that for an instant I feared that it was a murder which she hadcommitted. Indeed, she called it so! You understand that I know allyour secret; all her part in it at least. And I know that youunderstand what loving duty lies before you. I see it in your eyes;your brave, true eyes! Go! and the Lord be with thee!' Heraccustomed idiom had returned with prayer. She turned her head away,and, standing up, leaned against the window. Bending over, he tookher hand and said simply:'God bless you! I shall come back to thank you either to-night orto-morrow; and I hope that she will be with me.'He went quickly out of the room. The woman stood for long lookingout of the window, and following with tear-dimmed eyes the movementof his great black horse as he swept across country straight as thecrow flies, towards the headland whither Stephen had gone.Stephen passed over the wide expanse without thought; certainlywithout memory of it. Never in her after-life could she recall anythought that had passed through her mind from the time she left theopen gate of the windmill yard till she pulled up her smoking,panting horse beside the ruin of the fisher's house.Stephen was not unhappy! She was not happy in any conscious form.She was satisfied rather than dissatisfied. She was a woman! Awoman who waited the coming of a man!For a while she stood at the edge of the cliff, and looked at theturmoil of the tide churning on the rocks below. Her heart went outin a great burst of thankfulness that it was her hand which had beenprivileged to aid in rescuing so dear a life. Then she looked aroundher. Ostensibly it was to survey the ruined house; but in reality tosearch, even then under her lashes, the whole green expanse slopingup to the windmill for some moving figure. She saw that which madeher throat swell and her ears to hear celestial music. But she wouldnot allow herself to think, of that at all events. She was all womannow; all-patient, and all-submissive. She waited the man; and theman was coming!For a few minutes she walked round the house as though looking at itcritically for some after-purpose. After the wreck Stephen hadsuggested to Trinity House that there should be a lighthouse on thepoint; and offered to bear the expense of building it. She wasawaiting the answer of the Brethren; and of course nothing would bedone in clearing the ground for any purpose till the answer had come.She felt now that if that reply was negative, she would herself buildthere a pleasure-house of her own.Then she went to the edge of the cliff, and went down the zigzag bywhich the man and horse had gone to their gallant task. At the edgeof the flat rock she sat and thought.And through all her thoughts passed the rider who even now wasthundering over the green sward on his way to her. In her fancy atfirst, and later in her ears, she could hear the sound of hissweeping gallop.It was thus that a man should come to a woman!She had no doubts now. Her quietude was a hymn of grateful praise!The sound stopped. With all her ears she listened, her heart nowbeginning to beat furiously. The sea before her, all lines andfurrows with the passing tide, was dark under the shadow of thecliff; and the edge of the shadow was marked with the golden hue ofsunset.And then she saw suddenly a pillar of shadow beyond the line of thecliff. It rested but a moment, moved swiftly along the edge, andthen was lost to her eyes.But to another sense there was greater comfort: she heard theclatter of rolling pebbles and the scramble of eager feet. Haroldwas hastening down the zigzag.Oh! the music of that sound! It woke all the finer instincts of thewoman. All the dross and thought of self passed away. Nature, sweetand simple and true, reigned alone. Instinctively she rose and cametowards him. In the simple nobility of her self-surrender and herpurpose, which were at one with the grandeur of nature around her, tobe negative was to be false.Since he had spoken with the Silver Lady Harold had swept through theair; the rush of his foaming horse over the sward had been but a slowphysical progress, which mocked the on-sweep of his mind. In israpid ride he too had been finding himself. By the reading of hisown soul he knew now that love needs a voice; that a man's love, tobe welcomed to the full, should be dominant and self-believing.When the two saw each other's eyes there was no need for words.Harold came close, opening wide his arms, Stephen flew to them.In that divine moment, when their mouths met, both knew that theirsouls were one.