The Lady of the Shroud by Bram Stoker (book series for 10 year olds .txt) 📕
"Sorry. But, of course, you don't understand such things." Then he went on talking before father had time to say a word.
"Let us get back to business. As you do not seem to follow me, let me explain that it is BECAUSE I do not forget that I wish to do this. I remember my dear mother's wish to make Aunt Janet happy, and would like to do as she did."
"AUNT Janet?" said father, very properly sneering at his ignorance. "She is not your aunt. Why, even her sister, who was married to your uncle, was only your aunt by courtesy." I could not help feeling that Rupert meant to be rude to my father, though his words were quite polite. If I had been as much bigger than him as he was than me, I should have flown at him; but he was a very big boy for his age. I am myself rather thin. Mother says thinness is an "appanage of birth."
"My Aunt Janet, sir, is an aunt by love. Courtesy is a small word to use in connection with such devoti
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very soul; and to keep away from your dear side is more bitter for me
than even it can be for you! Think, my dear one, I am not as other
women are, as some day you shall clearly understand. I am at the
present, and shall be for a little longer, constrained by duties and
obligations put upon me by others, and for others, and to which I am
pledged by the most sacred promises—given not only by myself, but by
others—and which I must not forgo. These forbid me to do as I wish.
Oh, trust me, my beloved—my husband!”
She held out her hands appealingly. The moonlight, falling through
the thinning forest, showed her white cerements. Then the
recollection of all she must have suffered—the awful loneliness in
that grim tomb in the Crypt, the despairing agony of one who is
helpless against the unknown—swept over me in a wave of pity. What
could I do but save her from further pain? And this could only be by
showing her my faith and trust. If she was to go back to that
dreadful charnel-house, she would at least take with her the
remembrance that one who loved her and whom she loved—to whom she
had been lately bound in the mystery of marriage—trusted her to the
full. I loved her more than myself—more than my own soul; and I was
moved by pity so great that all possible selfishness was merged in
its depths. I bowed my head before her—my Lady and my Wife—as I
said:
“So be it, my beloved. I trust you to the full, even as you trust
me. And that has been proven this night, even to my own doubting
heart. I shall wait; and as I know you wish it, I shall wait as
patiently as I can. But till you come to me for good and all, let me
see you or hear from you when you can. The time, dear wife, must go
heavily with me as I think of you suffering and lonely. So be good
to me, and let not too long a time elapse between my glimpses of
hope. And, sweetheart, when you DO come to me, it shall be for
ever!” There was something in the intonation of the last sentence—I
felt its sincerity myself—some implied yearning for a promise, that
made her beautiful eyes swim. The glorious stars in them were
blurred as she answered with a fervour which seemed to me as more
than earthly:
“For ever! I swear it!”
With one long kiss, and a straining in each others arms, which left
me tingling for long after we had lost sight of each other, we
parted. I stood and watched her as her white figure, gliding through
the deepening gloom, faded as the forest thickened. It surely was no
optical delusion or a phantom of the mind that her shrouded arm was
raised as though in blessing or farewell before the darkness
swallowed her up.
BOOK VI: THE PURSUIT IN THE FOREST
RUPERT’S JOURNAL—Continued.
July 3, 1907.
There is no anodyne but work to pain of the heart; and my pain is all
of the heart. I sometimes feel that it is rather hard that with so
much to make me happy I cannot know happiness. How can I be happy
when my wife, whom I fondly love, and who I know loves me, is
suffering in horror and loneliness of a kind which is almost beyond
human belief? However, what is my loss is my country’s gain, for the
Land of the Blue Mountains is my country now, despite the fact that I
am still a loyal subject of good King Edward. Uncle Roger took care
of that when he said I should have the consent of the Privy Council
before I might be naturalized anywhere else.
When I got home yesterday morning I naturally could not sleep. The
events of the night and the bitter disappointment that followed my
exciting joy made such a thing impossible. When I drew the curtain
over the window, the reflection of the sunrise was just beginning to
tinge the high-sailing clouds in front of me. I laid down and tried
to rest, but without avail. However, I schooled myself to lie still,
and at last, if I did not sleep, was at least quiescent.
Disturbed by a gentle tap at the door, I sprang up at once and threw
on a dressing gown. Outside, when I opened the door, was Aunt Janet.
She was holding a lighted candle in her hand, for though it was
getting light in the open, the passages were still dark. When she
saw me she seemed to breathe more freely, and asked if she might come
in.
Whilst she sat on the edge of my bed, in her old-time way, she said
in a hushed voice:
“Oh, laddie, laddie, I trust yer burden is no too heavy to bear.”
“My burden! What on earth do you mean, Aunt Janet?” I said in reply.
I did not wish to commit myself by a definite answer, for it was
evident that she had been dreaming or Second Sighting again. She
replied with the grim seriousness usual to her when she touched on
occult matters:
“I saw your hairt bleeding, laddie. I kent it was yours, though how
I kent it I don’t know. It lay on a stone floor in the dark, save
for a dim blue light such as corpse-lights are. On it was placed a
great book, and close around were scattered many strange things,
amongst them two crowns o’ flowers—the one bound wi’ silver, the
other wi’ gold. There was also a golden cup, like a chalice,
o’erturned. The red wine trickled from it an’ mingled wi’ yer
hairt’s bluid; for on the great book was some vast dim weight wrapped
up in black, and on it stepped in turn many men all swathed in black.
An’ as the weight of each came on it the bluid gushed out afresh.
And oh, yer puir hairt, my laddie, was quick and leaping, so that at
every beat it raised the black-clad weight! An’ yet that was not
all, for hard by stood a tall imperial shape o’ a woman, all arrayed
in white, wi’ a great veil o’ finest lace worn o’er a shrood. An’
she was whiter than the snow, an’ fairer than the morn for beauty;
though a dark woman she was, wi’ hair like the raven, an’ eyes black
as the sea at nicht, an’ there was stars in them. An’ at each beat
o’ yer puir bleeding hairt she wrung her white hands, an’ the manin’
o’ her sweet voice rent my hairt in twain. Oh, laddie, laddie! what
does it mean?”
I managed to murmur: “I’m sure I don’t know, Aunt Janet. I suppose
it was all a dream!”
“A dream it was, my dear. A dream or a veesion, whilka matters nane,
for a’ such are warnin’s sent frae God … ” Suddenly she said in
a different voice:
“Laddie, hae ye been fause to any lassie? I’m no blamin’ ye. For ye
men are different frae us women, an’ yer regard on recht and wrang
differs from oors. But oh, laddie, a woman’s tears fa’ heavy when
her hairt is for sair wi’ the yieldin’ to fause words. ‘Tis a heavy
burden for ony man to carry wi’ him as he goes, an’ may well cause
pain to ithers that he fain would spare.” She stopped, and in dead
silence waited for me to speak. I thought it would be best to set
her poor loving heart at rest, and as I could not divulge my special
secret, spoke in general terms:
“Aunt Janet, I am a man, and have led a man’s life, such as it is.
But I can tell you, who have always loved me and taught me to be
true, that in all the world there is no woman who must weep for any
falsity of mine. If close there be any who, sleeping or waking, in
dreams or visions or in reality, weeps because of me, it is surely
not for my doing, but because of something outside me. It may be
that her heart is sore because I must suffer, as all men must in some
degree; but she does not weep for or through any act of mine.”
She sighed happily at my assurance, and looked up through her tears,
for she was much moved; and after tenderly kissing my forehead and
blessing me, stole away. She was more sweet and tender than I have
words to say, and the only regret that I have in all that is gone is
that I have not been able to bring my wife to her, and let her share
in the love she has for me. But that, too, will come, please God!
In the morning I sent a message to Rooke at Otranto, instructing him
by code to bring the yacht to Vissarion in the coming night.
All day I spent in going about amongst the mountaineers, drilling
them and looking after their arms. I COULD not stay still. My only
chance of peace was to work, my only chance of sleep to tire myself
out. Unhappily, I am very strong, so even when I came home at dark I
was quite fresh. However, I found a cable message from Rooke that
the yacht would arrive at midnight.
There was no need to summon the mountaineers, as the men in the
Castle would be sufficient to make preparations for the yacht’s
coming.
LATER.
The yacht has come. At half-past eleven the lookout signalled that a
steamer without lights was creeping in towards the Creek. I ran out
to the Flagstaff, and saw her steal in like a ghost. She is painted
a steely blue-grey, and it is almost impossible to see her at any
distance. She certainly goes wonderfully. Although there was not
enough throb from the engines to mar the absolute stillness, she came
on at a fine speed, and within a few minutes was close to the boom.
I had only time to run down to give orders to draw back the boom when
she glided in and stopped dead at the harbour wall. Rooke steered
her himself, and he says he never was on a boat that so well or so
quickly answered her helm. She is certainly a beauty, and so far as
I can see at night perfect in every detail. I promise myself a few
pleasant hours over her in the daylight. The men seem a splendid
lot.
But I do not feel sleepy; I despair of sleep to-night. But work
demands that I be fit for whatever may come, and so I shall try to
sleep—to rest, at any rate.
RUPERT’S JOURNAL.—Continued.
July 4, 1907.
I was up with the first ray of sunrise, so by the time I had my bath
and was dressed there was ample light. I went down to the dock at
once, and spent the morning looking over the vessel, which fully
justifies Rooke’s enthusiasm about her. She is built on lovely
lines, and I can quite understand that she is enormously fast. Her
armour I can only take on the specifications, but her armament is
really wonderful. And there are not only all the very newest devices
of aggressive warfare—indeed, she has the newest up-to-date
torpedoes and torpedo-guns—but also the old-fashioned rocket-tubes,
which in certain occasions are so useful. She has electric guns and
the latest Massillon water-guns, and Reinhardt electro-pneumatic
“deliverers” for pyroxiline shells. She is even equipped with war-balloons easy of expansion,
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