CHAPTER XXXIII.
“REMEMBER YOUR VOW.”
“No,” replied Sir Ronald, in answer to his wife’s question, “I would rather that you did not go to London with me. I shall like to bid you farewell here, so that my last picture of you may be in our home, Hermione. I cannot fancy you on board a ship, or by a steamer’s side, or on a crowded platform. I like to picture you here under the rich, rippling shade of the green trees I love so well.”
“It shall be as you wish,” she replied. “I wanted to be with you as long as I could, Ronald, but if it pleases you, we will part here at home.”
“Yes; where I shall find you on my return. I can keep the picture with me then while we cross warm seas and torrid climes. So cool, so sweet, so beautiful—the picture of my beloved wife, among the trees at home.” The September day came at last. It dawned bright and beautiful, as some of the most unhappy days of our lives do at times, and there was a rich, mellow gleam of sunshine in the air, a rich fragrance from the autumn leaves and flowers, a sweet sound of clear, birdlike music in the air, a day when Aldenmere looked its fairest, and he was about to leave it. He rose early and went through the grounds that he might bid them farewell in all their early, dewy beauty. Every preparation was made, his luggage all packed and sent on before him. He had bidden farewell to his friends—only Kenelm Eyrle remained.
When Hermione, his wife, came out to walk with him through the pleasant home scenes they had so often enjoyed together, he saw the gleam of her dress in the trees and hastened to her.
“You may find taller and more beautiful flowers in Africa,” she said, smilingly, “but you will never enjoy such mornings as these.”
“Nor shall I ever see such a face as yours. Oh, Hermione, I am just asking myself whether I am not foolish to leave home and you in pursuit of science and fame. What is all the science on earth compared to one look at your dear face, one loving word from your sweet lips?”
“Ah, you forget,” she said, gently. “Love is very grand and noble, but when it weakens a man’s purpose in life, instead of strengthening it, then it is not the love it should be. You remember the grand old lines,
I shall have blessed your lips, Ronald, if I have helped to crown it with a noble purpose.”
“As you have done, I can fancy other women, with a weaker love than yours, clinging to a husband, praying him not to go—not to leave them. So few would say as you do, my darling, ‘God speed you,’ with a smile. Hermione, I have something to ask of you.” They were standing then under the shade of a large oak tree, the smiling landscape around them, the smiling skies above. “I cannot tell when I shall return. They say the expedition is to be absent for two years—it may be longer, it may not be as long. Hermione, promise me that you will be here to meet me as though I had been only a few hours away. See, love, if the day of the return be bright and sunny like to-day, come to this tree and await me here. Do you promise?”
She raised her eyes to his. “I promise you, love,” she replied, and they little dreamed then what that coming home would be like.
He laid his hand caressingly on the golden head.
“Hermione,” he said, “you once made a vow to me—do you remember it? When I went to you in my sorrow and desolation, and asked you to be my wife.”
“I remember my vow, Ronald. It was to love you and you only until I died. It was to stand between you and all sorrow, to give my life for you if needful.”
“Yes,” he said, kissing her sweet face, “and you have nobly kept that vow. You have been the good angel of my life.”
“I shall keep it even better,” she replied, mechanically, and then began to wonder at her own words. So often, Heaven help us! our idle words, our careless words, spoken without thought, without meaning, are prophecies. This was one. Then Kenelm Eyrle came out, bringing with him the little children—Harry, the heir, and Clare, who had her mother’s beautiful face. He was going to London with Sir Ronald, and the hour of starting had arrived. They all remembered that scene long after other and more terrible scenes had darkened their lives. How the little ones clung around him and played around him. How Harry asked in baby language, where papa was going, and why did mamma look so unhappy? Then Ronald took the children by the hand and led them up to Kenelm Eyrle.
“When great warriors go out to battle,” he said, “they leave their most precious jewels in safe hands. Kenelm, these are my jewels, more precious to me a thousand times than all the jewels that ever came from Golconda’s mines. When I return, my friend and brother, I shall ask what you have done with my jewels, which I leave in your hands.”
“I will render you just account,” said Mr. Eyrle.
Then Sir Ronald took Lady Hermione’s hand.
“This, my dearest and most beloved wife, I leave also in your charge. You shall answer for her as you will answer for your own soul to God.”
“That will I do,” said Mr. Eyrle, cheerfully.
“You will help her, Kenelm, with all the business of the estate. She will not hear of any steward, or I would have appointed one. Stand between her and all trouble, Kenelm.”
“I will,” he replied, cheerfully.
Until the last moment of his life, Ronald remembered parting with Lady Hermione. How, when the final moment came, her womanly tenderness overcame everything else and she said such words to him as he never forgot! For the first time she told him how deeply, how truly, how passionately she loved him, for the first time he saw and understood the adoration she lavished upon him, and then, with those words still ringing in his ears, he kissed her lips. The next moment he was gone and Lady Alden lay in the long grass, sobbing alone!