Bram Stoker - Bram Stoker - The Complete Novels

He was, and would be till the end of her life, a true and faithful friend, whose memory was set in a frame of romantic picturesqueness, as a miniature is set round with diamonds; but he did not belong to the living present at all. And, strangely enough, when he had come to occupy this place in Esse’s mind, all the pleasant things began to cluster round him again. His individuality was a centre round which crystallized all the pleasant lesser memories of the summer on Shasta. Once or twice in the night time, when something kept her awake, Esse thought, with burning blushes, of her confiding to Peter Blyth the one secret of her life. She wondered how she could have done such a thing, and was angry with herself for what she now considered her mistaken idea as to her own feelings, as well as for her unmaidenly confidence. With a gush of thankfulness she remembered Peter’s sudden call to the East, and determined that on his return, and before any harm could be done, she would set that matter right in a few words. Mrs. Elstree saw what Esse herself did not see, that she was herself becoming, nay, had already become, in love with the young painter; and as she in every way approved of him as a possible son-in-law, she allowed matters to freely run their course. Esse’s romantic feeling for Dick belonged to the school-girl phase of her existence; but the new affection was the expression of her woman’s life, and it differed as much from the former in its strength as in its consciousness. The episode of Shasta was, in a sort of way, the “preliminary canter” of her affections, and had all the consciousness of its limited purpose; whereas the later and truer love had all the unconscious, serious earnestness of the race itself, where means are forgotten and only the end is held in view. There was no thought of Dick in her mind, no regret, no remorse, even no pity of his wasted and ruined life, as a few months ago she would have considered it. There was, in fact, no thought or recollection of Dick at all, when, in answer to Reginald Hampden’s passionate appeal, she put her two hands in his, and their lips met in love’s first long kiss.

That evening, as they sat hand-in-hand in the little drawing-room, where there was no one else, in that early darkness which is the nearest thing to twilight which California can produce, Esse, with a manifest purpose, and with many flutterings of the heart, told Reginald that she had a confession to make. He, with the amused, superior tolerance of a successful lover, encouraged her by gentle words and manifold tender caresses to proceed. As a man of the world he knew that, as a rule, the sins which well-bred young ladies have to confess to their fiancés are merely self-distrustful exaggerations of minor indiscretions, or breaches of temper. With a sinking heart Esse began, for now that she had to speak of Dick again to a third person, his figure loomed up uncommonly large into the foreground of her thoughts.

“It is about Shasta!” she said, in an almost inaudible voice.

“About Shasta, dear, that is lovely! I like to hear you speak of that sweet spot! I think I am in love with it myself from what I have heard you and your mother say of it. I am thinking already, Esse” — here he drew her closer to him — “how you and I shall go there some summer and have a fresh honeymoon!”

Esse was silent; there were conflicting thoughts in her mind, and she listened as he went on:

“You shall show me all over the place; the seat on the rocks on the edge of the plateau, where we shall see together the sunset over the sea; the sun-dial of the trees by which we shall reckon the hours of our happiness — for, my dear, we shall not be able to keep any other reckoning, they shall go so quickly; the spot where you killed the bear; and then we shall come up the way you carried Dick. You see, dear, I know them all!”

“It is about Dick I want to speak!”

“Speak on, Esse dear; I like to hear about him! What a splendid fellow he must be! I want to shake him by the hand; he saved the life of my little girl, and she saved his! Why, we must be like brother and sister to Dick!”

“But, Reginald, I must tell you about him before you say —”

Here Reginald interrupted her.

“Isn’t Dick the splendid, brave fellow that I think him; the manly, upright gentleman of nature, with the freshness and splendour of the wood and mountain upon him!”

“Oh yes! he is all that; there is nobody in the world braver or nobler than Dick! You can’t say anything too good of him. But that’s just it! You may not like it that I — one time — before I met you — thought all the world of him!”

Reginald laughed, and caught her again to him; he was glad of these excuses for demonstrative affection.

“Oh you dear little high-minded goose!” he said. “Why, of course you thought all the world of him! So would any girl! If I were a girl I would go my boots on a splendid fellow like that.”

Esse began to breathe more freely, though the worst was yet to come; she had to finish her confession. She bravely went on:

“That would be bad enough if only you knew it, but I told it to Peter Blyth!”

“And who may Peter Blyth be?” asked Reginald, with a tinge of jealousy in his voice.

“He is an old friend of my mother’s. He was my dead father’s greatest friend, and he is a sort of guardian to us both.”

“Oh!” said Reginald, pardy satisfied, so Esse went on.

“I don’t know why I told him — that I — I — wanted to see Dick — but I did; and he said he would see Dick some time and that he would come and see me!”

Here she covered her face with her hands, and in the dusk Reginald could see that she was crying. He took it that it was pardy from regret and partly from vexation, so he asked another question in order to distract her mind:

“And did he come?”

“Oh no!” Esse started up and looked at him with wet eyes. “Oh no! and I hope he never will! Peter Blyth was called away to New York the very next day, and from there had to go on to London, so I am in hopes that he will never tell Dick. When he comes I shall ask him never to say another word about it again as long as he lives, or never even to think of it!”

Reginald thought for a moment and then spoke.

“Would it not be well to send Mr. Blyth a cable?”

“Why so?”

“Because he might go up to Shasta on his way back. And, my dearest, that would never do. In addition to making you uncomfortable it would not be fair to Dick. He would take it to heart that he had been so invited; and without any blame on his part he would feel that he had been deprived of a great happiness!”

“Oh, Dick would not mind!”

“How do you know?”

“If he had cared about me he would have said so long ago!” from which it could be seen that poor Dick’s silence was already beginning to be construed into a fault, and his blindness into an offence.

Reginald hardly took the same view as Esse on the subject, but he was none the less contented. However, they agreed that it would be no harm to send a cable to Peter Blyth to his London address, for Esse did not know where he stayed in New York, and the following was despatched:

Do nothing about Dick till I see you.

Esse.

The next evening Mrs. Elstree had a reception of all her friends, and she thought that it would be a good occasion to make known Esse’s engagement. Her receptions were given in English style, and as she had brought over English servants, her Californian friends were always interested in the way things were done. They generally ended however in an impromptu dance, American fashion. When the night arrived Mrs. Elstree received, just as she was going to dress, a telegram from Peter Blyth:

Arrive in evening; dining on car.