CHAPTER XXXVII

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FETTERS OF GOLD.

"No indeed, for God above Is great to grant, as mighty to make, And creates the love to reward the love; I claim you still for my own love's sake! Delayed it may be for more lives yet, Through worlds I shall traverse, not a few; Much is to learn, much to forget, Ere the time be come for taking you." --ROBERT BROWNING.

But at rare intervals was that dark torturing shadow, so dreaded by Lady Shanno, wont to fall across her path; but in the bodily weakness caused by her sorrow and her long months of watching it sprang up once more during the lonely weeks which followed her father's death, and in its terror the poor girl fled from her castle walls and took shelter as in her childhood beneath the lowly roof of her foster-father, where his loving care speedily soothed her tortured nerves to rest. Then at last she prevailed on him to give up his humble home and return with her for ever to the castle, that she might cheer his old age and he protect her from her girlish terrors within those ancient halls, whose resounding echoes and empty vastness now seemed more dreary than she could bear. And though even now it cost the old man a pang to leave his riverside cot, where he had dwelt so many long years, yet there was a certain proud satisfaction mixed with the love which drew him to his foster-daughter's side, in that he, the humble boatman, should be called to end his days within those brave old walls, with a secret right so to do which was little guessed by any of his village friends. Still, although his daughter and her noble husband were dead, the old man clung fixedly to his resolve to maintain silence as to his real relationship to his foster-child, and seemed to take a greater pride in his own secret knowledge of the fact than he would have felt in having his true position as the Lady Shanno's grandfather proclaimed throughout the neighbourhood. Perhaps his aged nerves were actually too weak to bear the fresh excitement caused by such a revelation, but be that as it might, his will was firm on the matter, and Primrose, so finding it, forbore to press him further.

To herself, following closely upon the vanquished foe, her mysterious shadowy tormentor, there came a fresh anxiety and misery, which long refused to be banished. So safe, so happy had she felt in her love for Percival and in the assurance of his own, that till now the thought had never occurred to her that perhaps in his secret heart he might rather be loosed from the spiritual fetters which bound them one to the other, that, sweet though those fetters were to herself, and the only joy left her on earth, they might perchance be to the injury of his future happiness. Might he not one day, like Sir Tristram, find her image in his heart replaced by some yet fairer vision, or one at least more attainable? Was it fair and right that she should seek to bind him ever to herself by this bond of spiritual love, which he might one day surely wish to exchange to his own good and happiness for a blessed earthly union? Her whole heart shrank from the bare contemplation of such a possibility, and as night after night she pondered the matter in the silent darkness, and strove with agonised prayers and tears to gain courage to speak to him on the morrow the words which would involve such bitter self-sacrifice, her spirit rebelled against the thought of further suffering, and she cried aloud in the stillness of her chamber, "Oh, God, I cannot! His love is all I have on earth, and without it I must die! He loves me and lives too in my love. I cannot speak to him words which may suggest a thought he has not yet dreamed, yet which, when once suggested, may slowly but surely work in his mind until he sees their wisdom! Nay, I cannot tell him I am willing to let him go, and see another snatch one day the bliss I have forsworn! Yet to me our mutual sacrifice is easier than to him, since I know it to be the will of God that I should never wed, and I dare not fight against His will; but to him it is surely a hard task, which only my selfishness imposes, since it is but his love to me which bids him take up this cross of loneliness. For him no divine fiat has gone forth, as for me, to forswear all earthly bliss, and it is but my selfish, cowardly heart which shrinks from bidding him seek the joys of home which others crave, and which would surely cheer him on his path of duty! yet he is mine--mine these five years past and more--and I cannot let him go!" So in the secret pain of a conflict hitherto undreamed, and all unsuspected by him she loved, Lady Shanno grew white and wan within the walls of her castle; and while she wept and prayed in the bitterness of her spirit, the chaplain, marvelling why her light footstep had ceased to come and go in the village, and why, in her grief at her father's death, she must needs refuse admittance to him, her truest friend and comforter, went daily to pray for her in his church on the hillside, kneeling long before the altar in silent supplication for her welfare, and for a continual blessing upon those years of separation, yet closest union, which might perchance roll over their heads in this fair valley ere they might exchange the sorrows of earth for the joys of eternity.

At length, one winter's afternoon, going to pray as usual at the twilight hour in this quiet, undisturbed spot, with a heart heavy with grief at his long banishment from her side, he found her there before him, kneeling on the cold pavement of the sanctuary, with bowed head and drooping form; and as, at the sound of his footstep, she turned and looked at him with eyes which shrank beneath his earnest gaze, he started at the sorrow he saw revealed in their troubled depths, and at the pallor of the sweet face, wan with woe, which she quickly hid in her trembling hands. "Primrose," he said gently, "you are in trouble of heart, and you hide it from me, who of all men have the right to share your sorrows! Is this your trust and confidence in me? Sweetheart"--and he touched softly the golden head, which bowed yet lower at his words--"it is not sorrow only for your beloved father's loss that has wrought such dark lines beneath these dear eyes and on these wasted cheeks, and that has caused you these many weary weeks to shut your doors upon me. Some other sorrow weighs down your tender spirit, and you seek to bear it alone, instead of suffering me to share it, as is my right!"

Primrose rose to her feet, and laying her hand on his arm, smiled bravely in his face, as she said; "Come without, Percival, and we will talk a few moments together, for I have more to say than may well be spoken within these walls. Fain would I have hidden myself from your sight yet awhile longer, till I could have worn away with smiles these traces of my foolish tears! But come, I am strong, and lest I become once more weak and cowardly of spirit, I will say my say. It is but a selfish grief, dear Percival, of which you see these marks upon my face--a selfish shrinking from a duty borne in but of late upon me, that has made me bury myself these past weeks within the walls of my castle and refuse admittance to you, whom I craved to see. But now I will shrink no longer from what I have felt I ought to say. Percival, it is my wish to release you from these special ties of love and friendship we have vowed together before yon altar--that you may be free to wed some day a maiden worthier than I to share in your labours and enjoy your love, free to tread a brighter path through this world than that to which your love for me must bind you, and to know those beautiful joys of home, which would surely lighten your cares and give you a happiness of which you as yet refuse to dream, and which I, in the selfishness of my love for you, have suffered you thus wholly to renounce for my sake. But your life shall not be ever sacrificed for mine, Percival! Nay, speak not hastily! Think on what I have said, and you will see, as I have come to do, how blindly selfish I have been, and how far better it will be for you to break these fetters, which have indeed hitherto been golden bands, but which you may perchance in the future feel to be links of iron!"

Percival stood with folded arms, listening patiently while she spoke, the first flush of startled surprise changing to an intense pallor, as he bit his lips to keep back the eager words which would have rushed forth ere she had spoken more than two or three words. Then he waited resolutely for the end, a proud smile crossing his face as he said at last, forcing himself to speak calmly: "You are thinking of Tristram Ap Thomas then, Shanno, and you dream that Percival Vere has a heart fashioned like his! Know you that the Veres, when they love once, love for ever--and that yon very Planet of Love now shining in the dark blue vault of heaven would change her course in God's boundless space ere one of them could root out from his heart a love like mine! Let Tristram rejoice in his bride, and others who have vowed for you a love like his find consolation where they will--what is that to me? Till I saw your fair face and form by the dark pool's brink, no maiden had e'er had power to touch my heart, which was in keeping for you alone; nor, must I daily die a thousand deaths for your sweet sake, will ever maiden touch it more!"

Primrose struggled vainly for words, which refused to come to her trembling lips; then, meeting the proudly flashing eyes of her lover as he gazed down upon her with a love re-awakened in all its intensity, she hid her face, and trembled from head to foot. For one moment Percival clasped her in his arms and passionately kissed the lips which strove in vain to plead their cause anew, then letting her go, he took her hands in his and said gently: "Who has bid you think so ill of me, sweetheart, as that I could ever crave any joy in life greater than that of your loving friendship and that measure of your sweet companionship which shall be allotted me in our path through this weary world?"

"No one," she answered softly; "it was within my own heart the thought sprang forth, and not yet have you laid it to rest. Your words are passing sweet to me, my beloved, but bethink you,--you are yet young, and a long life may be before you. To me, my share of suffering is light compared with yours, for I accept my lot direct from the hand of God, from whose decree there is no appeal; but you--no stern sense of duty, such as upholds and strengthens me, is yours, to brace you to self-sacrifice. It is your love for me only that makes it binding on you, and therefore----"

"Therefore the burden is sweeter than you deem possible," he answered, his face kindling with a sudden glow; "and therefore, an you will not suffer me to share and strive to lighten yours as hitherto, I must needs bear it alone and unaided, till like two solitary stars we each burn out drearily in our several courses, instead of sending forth the dual light of our mutual love--bright beams thrown into the darkness of other lives--as we have vowed to do. Think you not my unalterable love for you may not likewise be 'God's decree,' sweetheart? Besides, bethink you, I have too a burden laid on me by a forefather's sin. If your inheritance of suffering has come through the words of hate and passion spoken by the dying Ap Gryffyth, on me the penalty of those words may as justly be laid, as on you the penalty of Bryn Afon's treachery. Shall I see you suffer for the sins of others, and shrink from a like burden myself? Prithee, sweet Shanno, suffer no shadow evermore to come betwixt me and thee! I know that out of the nobleness of your heart you have spoken, but believe me, dear heart, you can inflict on me no more bitter pain than the knowledge of your continued distrust of my love's endurance!"

"It is not mistrust of your love, Percival," she answered, "nor doubt of your faithfulness, that has made me speak. It was the sense of my duty towards you, which, having all this while slumbered, awoke suddenly within my breast and bade me no longer seek my own life's joy at the expense of yours. At least, beloved, an you will not now consent to break the chain that binds us, you will promise me this--that should any other love e'er steal unawares into your heart, and this present sweet link betwixt us gall you with its bonds, you will frankly open your heart to me as I now have to you, and suffer me to give to another that blessing with which I would fain have seen my own life crowned!"

Percival looked into the dark eyes which strove to meet his fearlessly, yet revealed to his searching gaze but too clearly the bitter sacrifice of self such words demanded, and his own filled with tears. "An it will content you, sweetheart," he answered, "I will make that promise, knowing full well the while that it is one ever impossible of fulfilment. Oh, Primrose, rest content, I pray you, or my heart will break to think this thought can longer dwell in your mind! Believe me, the links that bind us will ever be to me of brightest gold--of gold purified seven times in the fire of our mutual suffering, and which death itself cannot sever! Yes, let me hold you yet once more close to this heart, which beats for you alone, and in these arms, which shall ever be your faithful shelter, ere we kneel again awhile before yon altar, and pray for strength to bear with patience the outward severance of our inwardly united lives."

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