A to Z Classics - Bram Stoker - The Complete Novels

Here Joyce joined us, and he turned to him:

“And do you, Phelim Joyce, take to heart the lesson of God’s goodness! Ye thought when yer land and yer house was taken that a great wrong was done ye, and that God had deserted ye; and yet so inscrutable are his ways that these very things were the salvation of ye and all belonging to ye. For in his stead you and yours would have been swept in that awful avalanche into the sea!”

And now the head-constable returned with Dick, and the priest went out. I took the former aside and asked him if there would be any need for Norah to remain, as there were other witnesses to all that had occurred. He told me that there was not the slightest need. Then he went away, after telling the people that we all had had a long spell of trouble and labor, and would want to be quiet and have some rest. And so, with a good feeling and kindness of heart which I have never seen lacking in this people, they melted away; and we all came within the house, and shut the door, and sat round the fire to discuss what should be done. Then and there we decided that the very next day Norah should start with her father, for the change of scene would do her good, and take her mind off the terrible experiences of last night.

So that day we rested. The next morning Andy was to drive Joyce and Norah and myself off to Galway, en route for London and Paris.

In the afternoon Norah and I strolled out together for one last look at the beautiful scene from our table rock in the Cliff Fields. Close as we had been hitherto, there was now a new bond between us; and when we were out of sight of prying eyes — on the spot where we had first told our loves, I told her of my idea of the new bond. She hung down her head, but drew closer to me as I told her how much more I valued my life since she had saved it for me, and how I should in all the two years that were to come try hard that every hour should be such as she would like me to have passed.

“Norah, dear,” I said, “the bar you place on our seeing each other in all that long time will be hard to bear, but I shall know that I am enduring for your sake.”

She turned to me, and with earnest eyes looked lovingly into mine as she said:

“Arthur, dear Arthur, God knows I love you! I love you so well that I want to come to you, if I can, in such a way that I may never do you discredit; and I am sure that when the two years are over — and, indeed, they will not go lightly for me — you will not be sorry that you have made the sacrifice for me. Dear, I shall ask you when we meet on our wedding morning if you are satisfied.”

When it was time to go home we rose up, and — it might have been that the evening was chilly — a cold feeling came over me, as though I still stood in the shadow of the fateful Hill. And there in the Cliff Fields I kissed Norah Joyce for the last time.

***

The two years sped quickly enough, although my not being able to see Norah at all was a great trial to me. Often and often I felt tempted almost beyond endurance to go quietly and hang round where she was so that I might get even a passing glimpse of her; but I felt that such would not be loyal to my dear girl. It was hard not to be able to tell her, even now and again, how I loved her; but it had been expressly arranged — and wisely enough too — that I should only write in such a manner as would pass, if necessary, the censorship of the school-mistress. “I must be,” said Norah to me, “exactly as the other girls are, and, of course, I must be subject to the same rules.” And so it was that my letters had to be of tempered warmth, which caused me now and again considerable pain.

My dear girl wrote to me regularly, and although there was not any of what her school-mistress would call “love” in her letters, she always kept me posted in all her doings; and with every letter it was borne in on me that her heart and feelings were unchanged.

I had certain duties to attend to with regard to my English property, and this kept me fairly occupied.

Each few months I ran over to the Knockcalltecrore, which Dick was transforming into a fairy-land. The discovery of the limestone had, as he had conjectured, created possibilities in the way of building and of waterworks of which at first we had not dreamed. The new house rose on the table rock in the Cliff Fields. A beautiful house it was, of red sandstone with red tiled roof and quaint gables, and jutting windows and balustrades of carven stone. The whole Cliff Fields were laid out as exquisite gardens, and the murmur of water was everywhere. None of this I ever told Norah in my letters, as it was to be a surprise to her.

On the spot where she had rescued me we had reared a great stone — a monolith — whereon a simple legend told the story of a woman’s strength and bravery. Round its base were sculptured the history of the mountain, from its legend of the King of Snakes down to the lost treasure and the rescue of myself. This was all carried out under Dick’s eye. The legend on the stone was:

Norah Joyce

A Brave Woman

on this spot

by her Courage and Devotion

saved a man’s life.

At the end of the first year Norah went to another school at Dresden for six months; and then, by her own request to Mr. Chapman, was transferred to an English school at Brighton, one justly celebrated among Englishwomen.

These last six months were very, very long to me; for as the time drew near when I might claim my darling the suspense grew very great, and I began to have harrowing fears lest her love might not have survived the long separation and the altered circumstances.

I heard regularly from Joyce. He had gone to live with his son Eugene, who was getting along well, and was already beginning to make a name for himself as an engineer. By his advice his father had taken a sub-section of the great ship canal, then in progress of construction, and with the son’s knowledge and his own shrewdness and energy was beginning to realise what to him was a fortune. So that the purchase-money of Shleenanaher, which formed his capital, was used to a good purpose.

At last the long period of waiting came to an end. A month before Norah’s school was finished, Joyce went to Brighton to see her, having come to visit me beforehand. His purpose and mine was to arrange all about the wedding, which we wanted to be exactly as she wished. She asked her father to let it be as quiet as possible, with absolutely no fuss — no publicity, and in some quiet place where no one knew us.

“Tell Arthur,” she said, “that I should like it to be somewhere near the sea, and where we can get easily on the Continent.”

I fixed on Hythe, which I had been in the habit of visiting occasionally, as the place where we were to be married. Here, high over the sea level, rises the grand old church where the bones of so many brave old Norsemen rest after a thousand years. The place was so near to Folkestone that, after the wedding and an informal breakfast, we could drive over to catch the mid-day boat. I lived the requisite time in Hythe, and complied with all the formalities.

I did not see my darling until we met in the church-porch, and then I gazed on her with unstinted admiration. Oh, what a peerless beauty she was! Every natural grace and quality seemed developed to the full. Every single grace of womanhood was there; every subtle manifestation of high-breeding; every stamp of the highest culture. There was no one in the porch — for those with me delicately remained in the church when they saw me go out to meet my bride — and I met her with a joy unspeakable. Joyce went in and left her with me a moment — they had evidently arranged to do so — but when we were quite alone she said to me, with a very serious look:

“Mr. Severn, before we go into the church answer me one question — answer me truthfully, I implore you!”