English
5.THENARRATIVEOFWALTERHARTRIGHT
Earlyinthesummerof1850IandmysurvivingcompanionsleftthewildsandforestsofCentralAmericaforhome.
Arrivedatthecoast,wetookshipthereforEngland.
ThevesselwaswreckedintheGulfofMexico—Iwasamongthefewsavedfromthesea.
Itwasmythirdescapefromperilofdeath.
Deathbydisease,deathbytheIndians,deathbydrowning—allthreehadapproachedme;allthreehadpassedmeby.
ThesurvivorsofthewreckwererescuedbyanAmericanvesselboundforLiverpool.
TheshipreachedherportonthethirteenthdayofOctober1850.
Welandedlateintheafternoon,andIarrivedinLondonthesamenight.
Thesepagesarenottherecordofmywanderingsandmydangersawayfromhome.
Themotiveswhichledmefrommycountryandmyfriendstoanewworldofadventureandperilareknown.
Fromthatself-imposedexileIcameback,asIhadhoped,prayed,believedIshouldcomeback—achangedman.
InthewatersofanewlifeIhadtemperedmynatureafresh.
Inthesternschoolofextremityanddangermywillhadlearnttobestrong,myhearttoberesolute,mymindtorelyonitself.
Ihadgoneouttoflyfrommyownfuture.
Icamebacktofaceit,asamanshould.
TofaceitwiththatinevitablesuppressionofmyselfwhichIknewitwoulddemandfromme.
Ihadpartedwiththeworstbitternessofthepast,butnotwithmyheart’sremembranceofthesorrowandthetendernessofthatmemorabletime.
Ihadnotceasedtofeeltheoneirreparabledisappointmentofmylife—Ihadonlylearnttobearit.
LauraFairliewasinallmythoughtswhentheshipboremeaway,andIlookedmylastatEngland.
LauraFairliewasinallmythoughtswhentheshipbroughtmeback,andthemorninglightshowedthefriendlyshoreinview.
Mypentracestheoldlettersasmyheartgoesbacktotheoldlove.IwriteofherasLauraFairliestill.Itishardtothinkofher,itishardtospeakofher,byherhusband’sname.
Therearenomorewordsofexplanationtoaddonmyappearanceforthesecondtimeinthesepages.Thisnarrative,ifIhavethestrengthandthecouragetowriteit,maynowgoon.
Myfirstanxietiesandfirsthopeswhenthemorningcamecentredinmymotherandmysister.
Ifeltthenecessityofpreparingthemforthejoyandsurpriseofmyreturn,afteranabsenceduringwhichithadbeenimpossibleforthemtoreceiveanytidingsofmeformonthspast.
EarlyinthemorningIsentalettertotheHampsteadCottage,andfolloweditmyselfinanhour’stime.
Whenthefirstmeetingwasover,whenourquietandcomposureofotherdaysbegangraduallytoreturntous,Isawsomethinginmymother’sfacewhichtoldmethatasecretoppressionlayheavyonherheart.
Therewasmorethanlove—therewassorrowintheanxiouseyesthatlookedonmesotenderly—therewaspityinthekindhandthatslowlyandfondlystrengtheneditsholdonmine.Wehadnoconcealmentsfromeachother.
Sheknewhowthehopeofmylifehadbeenwrecked—sheknewwhyIhadlefther.
ItwasonmylipstoaskascomposedlyasIcouldifanyletterhadcomeformefromMissHalcombe,iftherewasanynewsofhersisterthatImighthear.
ButwhenIlookedinmymother’sfaceIlostcouragetoputthequestioneveninthatguardedform.
Icouldonlysay,doubtinglyandrestrainedly—
“Youhavesomethingtotellme.”
Mysister,whohadbeensittingoppositetous,rosesuddenlywithoutawordofexplanation—roseandlefttheroom.
Mymothermovedclosertomeonthesofaandputherarmsroundmyneck.Thosefondarmstrembled—thetearsflowedfastoverthefaithfullovingface.
“Walter!”shewhispered,“myowndarling!myheartisheavyforyou.Oh,myson!myson!trytorememberthatIamstillleft!”
Myheadsankonherbosom.Shehadsaidallinsayingthosewords.
**********
Itwasthemorningofthethirddaysincemyreturn—themorningofthesixteenthofOctober.
Ihadremainedwiththematthecottage—IhadtriedhardnottoembitterthehappinessofmyreturntoTHEMasitwasembitteredtoME.
Ihaddoneallmancouldtoriseaftertheshock,andacceptmyliferesignedly—toletmygreatsorrowcomeintendernesstomyheart,andnotindespair.Itwasuselessandhopeless.
Notearssoothedmyachingeyes,noreliefcametomefrommysister’ssympathyormymother’slove.
OnthatthirdmorningIopenedmyhearttothem.AtlastthewordspassedmylipswhichIhadlongedtospeakonthedaywhenmymothertoldmeofherdeath.
“Letmegoawayaloneforalittlewhile,”Isaid.
“IshallbearitbetterwhenIhavelookedoncemoreattheplacewhereIfirstsawher—whenIhavekneltandprayedbythegravewheretheyhavelaidhertorest.”
Idepartedonmyjourney—myjourneytothegraveofLauraFairlie.
ItwasaquietautumnafternoonwhenIstoppedatthesolitarystation,andsetforthaloneonfootbythewell-rememberedroad.
Thewaningsunwasshiningfaintlythroughthinwhiteclouds—theairwaswarmandstill—thepeacefulnessofthelonelycountrywasovershadowedandsaddenedbytheinfluenceofthefallingyear.
Ireachedthemoor—Istoodagainonthebrowofthehill—Ilookedonalongthepath—andtherewerethefamiliargardentreesinthedistance,theclearsweepingsemicircleofthedrive,thehighwhitewallsofLimmeridgeHouse.
Thechancesandchanges,thewanderingsanddangersofmonthsandmonthspast,allshrankandshrivelledtonothinginmymind.
Itwaslikeyesterdaysincemyfeethadlasttroddenthefragrantheathyground.
IthoughtIshouldseehercomingtomeetme,withherlittlestrawhatshadingherface,hersimpledressflutteringintheair,andherwell-filledsketch-bookreadyinherhand.
Ohdeath,thouhastthysting!oh,grave,thouhastthyvictory!
Iturnedaside,andtherebelowmeintheglenwasthelonesomegreychurch,theporchwhereIhadwaitedforthecomingofthewomaninwhite,thehillsencirclingthequietburial-ground,thebrookbubblingcoldoveritsstonybed.
Therewasthemarblecross,fairandwhite,attheheadofthetomb—thetombthatnowroseovermotheranddaughteralike.
Iapproachedthegrave.Icrossedoncemorethelowstonestile,andbaredmyheadasItouchedthesacredground.Sacredtogentlenessandgoodness,sacredtoreverenceandgrief.
Istoppedbeforethepedestalfromwhichthecrossrose.
Ononesideofit,onthesidenearesttome,thenewly-cutinscriptionmetmyeyes—thehard,clear,cruelblackletterswhichtoldthestoryofherlifeanddeath.Itriedtoreadthem.Ididreadasfarasthename.
“SacredtotheMemoryofLaura——”Thekindblueeyesdimwithtears—thefairheaddroopingwearily—theinnocentpartingwordswhichimploredmetoleaveher—oh,forahappierlastmemoryofherthanthis;thememoryItookawaywithme,thememoryIbringbackwithmetohergrave!
AsecondtimeItriedtoreadtheinscription.Isawattheendthedateofherdeath,andaboveit——
Aboveittherewerelinesonthemarble—therewasanameamongthemwhichdisturbedmythoughtsofher.
Iwentroundtotheothersideofthegrave,wheretherewasnothingtoread,nothingofearthlyvilenesstoforceitswaybetweenherspiritandmine.
Ikneltdownbythetomb.Ilaidmyhands,Ilaidmyheadonthebroadwhitestone,andclosedmywearyeyesontheeartharound,onthelightabove.Ilethercomebacktome.Oh,mylove!mylove!myheartmayspeaktoyouNOW!
IItisyesterdayagainsinceweparted—yesterday,sinceyourdearhandlayinmine—yesterday,sincemyeyeslookedtheirlastonyou.Mylove!mylove!
**********
Timehadflowedon,andsilencehadfallenlikethicknightoveritscourse.
Thefirstsoundthatcameaftertheheavenlypeacerustledfaintlylikeapassingbreathofairoverthegrassoftheburial-ground.
Ihearditnearingmeslowly,untilitcamechangedtomyear—camelikefootstepsmovingonward—thenstopped.
Ilookedup.
Thesunsetwasnearathand.Thecloudshadparted—theslantinglightfellmellowoverthehills.Thelastofthedaywascoldandclearandstillinthequietvalleyofthedead.
Beyondme,intheburial-ground,standingtogetherinthecoldclearnessofthelowerlight,Isawtwowomen.Theywerelookingtowardsthetomb,lookingtowardsme.
Two.
Theycamealittleon,andstoppedagain.
Theirveilsweredown,andhidtheirfacesfromme.
Whentheystopped,oneofthemraisedherveil.
InthestilleveninglightIsawthefaceofMarianHalcombe.
Changed,changedasifyearshadpassedoverit!
Theeyeslargeandwild,andlookingatmewithastrangeterrorinthem.Thefacewornandwastedpiteously.
Painandfearandgriefwrittenonheraswithabrand.
Itookonesteptowardsherfromthegrave.Shenevermoved—sheneverspoke.
Theveiledwomanwithhercriedoutfaintly.Istopped.
Thespringsofmylifefelllow,andtheshudderingofanunutterabledreadcreptovermefromheadtofoot.
Thewomanwiththeveiledfacemovedawayfromhercompanion,andcametowardsmeslowly.
Leftbyherself,standingbyherself,MarianHalcombespoke.
ItwasthevoicethatIremembered—thevoicenotchanged,likethefrightenedeyesandthewastedface.
“Mydream!mydream!”
Iheardhersaythosewordssoftlyintheawfulsilence.
Shesankonherknees,andraisedherclaspedhandstoheaven.“Father!strengthenhim.Father!helphiminhishourofneed.”
Thewomancameon,slowlyandsilentlycameon.Ilookedather—ather,andatnoneother,fromthatmoment.
Thevoicethatwasprayingformefalteredandsanklow—thenroseonasudden,andcalledaffrightedly,calleddespairinglytometocomeaway.
Buttheveiledwomanhadpossessionofme,bodyandsoul.Shestoppedononesideofthegrave.
Westoodfacetofacewiththetombstonebetweenus.
Shewasclosetotheinscriptiononthesideofthepedestal.Hergowntouchedtheblackletters.
Thevoicecamenearer,androseandrosemorepassionatelystill.“Hideyourface!don’tlookather!Oh,forGod’ssake,sparehim——”
Thewomanliftedherveil.
“SacredtotheMemoryofLaura,LadyGlyde——”
Laura,LadyGlyde,wasstandingbytheinscription,andwaslookingatmeoverthegrave.
[TheSecondEpochoftheStorycloseshere.]
Share this article to
FINISH