POIKILUS never left Taddington—only the “Swan.” More than once he was within sight of Ashmead unobserved. Once, indeed, that gentleman, who had a great respect for dignitaries, saluted him; for at that moment Poikilus happened to be a sleek dignitary of the Church of England. Poikilus, when quite himself, wore a mustache, and was sallow, and lean as a weasel; but he shaved and stuffed and colored for the dean. Shovel-hat, portly walk, and green spectacles did the rest. Grandfather Whitehead saluted. His reverence chuckled.
Poikilus kept Severne posted by letter and wire as to many things that happened outside Vizard Court; but he could not divine the storm that was brewing inside Ina Klosking's room. Yet Severne defended himself exactly as he would have done had he known all. He and Zoe spent Elysian hours, meeting twice a day in the shrubbery, and making love as if they were the only two creatures in the world; but it was blind Elysium only to one of them—Severne was uneasy and alarmed the whole time. His sagacity showed him it could not last, and there was always a creeping terror on him. Would not Uxmoor cause inquiries? Would he not be sure to tell Vizard? Would not Vizard come there to look after Zoe, or order her back to Vizard Court? Would not the Klosking get well, and interfere once more? He passed the time between heaven and hell; whenever he was not under the immediate spell of Zoe's presence, a sort of vague terror was always on him. He looked all round him, wherever he went.
This terror, and his passion, which was now as violent as it was wicked, soon drove him to conceive desperate measures. But, by masterly self-government, he kept them two days to his own bosom. He felt it was too soon to raise a fresh and painful discussion with Zoe. He must let her drink unmixed delight, and get a taste for it; and then show her on what conditions alone it could be had forever.
It was on the third day after their reconciliation she found him seated on a bench in the shrubbery, lost in thought, and looking very dejected. She was close to him before he noticed; then he sprung up, stared at her, and began to kiss her hands violently, and even her very dress.
“It is you,” said he, “once more.”
“Yes, dear,” said Zoe, tenderly; “did you think I would not come?”
“I did not know whether you could come. I feel that my happiness cannot last long. And, Zoe dear, I have had a dream. I dreamed we were taken prisoners, and carried to Vizard Court, and on the steps stood Vizard and Mademoiselle Klosking arm-in-arm; I believe they were man and wife. And you were taken out and led, weeping, into the house, and I was left there raging with agony. And then that lady put out her finger in a commanding way, and I was whirled away into utter darkness, and I heard you moan, and I fought, and dashed my head against the carriage, and I felt my heart burst, and my whole body filled with some cold liquid, and I went to sleep, and I heard a voice say, 'It is all over; his trouble is ended.' I was dead.”
This narrative, and his deep dejection, set Zoe's tears flowing. “Poor Edward!” she sighed. “I would not survive you. But cheer up, dear; it was only a dream. We are not slaves. I am not dependent on any one. How can we be parted?”
“We shall, unless we use our opportunity, and make it impossible to part us. Zoe, do not slight my alarm and my misgivings; such warnings are prophetic. For Heaven's sake, make one sacrifice more, and let us place our happiness beyond the reach of man!”
“Only tell me how.”
“There is but one way—marriage.”
Zoe blushed high, and panted a little, but said nothing.
“Ah!” said he, piteously, “I ask too much.”
“How can you say that?” said Zoe. “Of course I shall marry you, dearest. What! do you think I could do what I have done for anybody but my husband that is to be?”
“I was mad to think otherwise,” said he, “but I am in low spirits, and full of misgivings. Oh, the comfort, the bliss, the peace of mind, the joy, if you would see our hazardous condition, and make all safe by marrying me to-morrow.”
“To-morrow! Why, Edward, are you mad? How can we be married, so long as my brother is so prejudiced against you?”
“If we wait his consent, we are parted forever. He would forgive us after it—that is certain. But he would never consent. He is too much under the influence of his—of Mademoiselle Klosking.”
“Indeed, I cannot hope he will consent beforehand,” sighed Zoe; “but I have not the courage to defy him; and if I had, we could not marry all in a moment, like that. We should have to be cried in church.”
“That is quite gone out among ladies and gentlemen.”
“Not in our family. Besides, even a special license takes time, I suppose. Oh no, I could not be married in a clandestine, discreditable way. I am a Vizard—please remember that. Would you degrade the woman you honor with your choice?”
And her red cheeks and flashing eyes warned him to desist.
“God forbid!” said he. “If that is the alternative, I consent to lose her—and lose her I shall.”
He then affected to dismiss the subject, and said, “Let me enjoy the hours that are left me. Much misery or much bliss can be condensed in a few days. I will enjoy the blessed time, and we will wait for the chapter of accidents that is sure to part us.” Then he acted reckless happiness, and broke down at last.
She cried, but showed no sign of yielding. Her pride and self-respect were roused and on their defense.
The next day he came to her quietly sad. He seemed languid and listless, and to care for nothing. He was artful enough to tell her, on the information of Poikilus, that Vizard had hired the cathedral choir three times a week to sing to his inamorata; and that he had driven her about Taddington, dressed like a duchess, in a whole suit of sables.
At that word the girl turned pale.
He observed, and continued: “And it seems these sables are known throughout the county. There were several carriages in the town, and my informant heard a lady say they were Mrs. Vizard's sables, worth five hundred guineas—a Russian princess gave them her.”
“It is quite true,” said Zoe. “His mother's sables! Is it possible!”
“They all say he is caught at last, and this is to be the next Mrs. Vizard.”
“They may well say so, if he parades her in his mother's sables,” said Zoe, and could not conceal her jealousy and her indignation. “I never dared so much as ask his permission to wear them,” said she.
“And if you had, he would have told you the relics of a saint were not to be played with.”
“That is just what he would have said, I do believe.” The female heart was stung.
“Ah, well,” said Severne, “I am sure I should not grudge him his happiness, if you would see things as he does, and be as brave as he is.”
“Thank you,” said Zoe. “Women cannot defy the world as men do.” Then, passionately, “Why do you torment me so? why do you urge me so? a poor girl, all alone, and far from advice. What on earth would you have me do?”
“Secure us against another separation, unite us in bliss forever.”
“And so I would if I could; you know I would. But it is impossible.”
“No, Zoe; it is easy. There are two ways: we can reach Scotland in eight hours; and there, by a simple writing and declaration before witnesses, we are man and wife.”
“A Gretna Green marriage?”
“It is just as much a legal marriage as if a bishop married us at St. Paul's. However, we could follow it up immediately by marriage in a church, either in Scotland or the North of England But there is another way: we can be married at Bagley, any day, before the registrar.”
“Is that a marriage—a real marriage?”
“As real, as legal, as binding as a wedding in St. Paul's.”
“Nobody in this county has ever been married so. I should blush to be seen about after it.”
“Our first happy year would not be passed in this country. We should go abroad for six months.”
“Ay, fly from shame.”
“On our return we should be received with open arms by my own people in Huntingdonshire, until your people came round, as they always do.”
He then showed her a letter, in which his pearl of a cousin said they would receive his wife with open arms, and make her as happy as they could. Uncle Tom was coming home from India, with two hundred thousand pounds; he was a confirmed old bachelor, and Edward his favorite, etc.
Zoe faltered a little: so then he pressed her hard with love, and entreaties, and promises, and even hysterical tears; then she began to cry—a sure sign of yielding. “Give me time,” she said—“give me time.”
He groaned, and said there was no time to lose. Otherwise he never would have urged her so.
For all that, she could not be drawn to a decision. She must think over such a step. Next morning, at the usual time, he came to know his fate. But she did not appear. He waited an hour for her. She did not come. He began to rage and storm, and curse his folly for driving her so hard.
At last she came, and found him pale with anxiety, and looking utterly miserable. She told him she had passed a sleepless night, and her head had ached so in the morning she could not move.
“My poor darling!” said he; “and I am the cause. Say no more about it, dear one. I see you do not love me as I love you, and I forgive you.”
She smiled sadly at that, for she was surer of her own love than his.
Zoe had passed a night of torment and vacillation; and but for her brother having paraded Mademoiselle Klosking in his mother's sables, she would, I think, have held out. But this turned her a little against her brother; and, as he was the main obstacle to her union with Severne, love and pity conquered. Yet still Honor and Pride had their say. “Edward,” said she, “I love you with all my heart, and share your fears that accident may separate us. I will let you decide for both of us. But, before you decide, be warned of one thing. I am a girl no longer, but a woman who has been distracted with many passions. If any slur rests on my fair name, deeply as I love you now, I shall abhor you then.”
He turned pale, for her eye flashed dismay into his craven soul.
He said nothing; and she continued: “If you insist on this hasty, half-clandestine marriage, then I consent to this—I will go with you before the registrar, and I shall come back here directly. Next morning early we will start for Scotland, and be married that other way before witnesses. Then your fears will be at an end, for you believe in these marriages; only as I do not—for I look on these legal marriages merely as solemn betrothals—I shall be Miss Zoe Vizard, and expect you to treat me so, until I have been married in a church, like a lady.”
“Of course you shall,” said he; and overwhelmed her with expressions of gratitude, respect, and affection.
This soothed her troubled mind, and she let him take her hand and pour his honeyed flatteries into her ear, as he walked her slowly up and down.
She could hardly tear herself away from the soft pressure of his hand and the fascination of his tongue, and she left him, more madly in love with him than ever, and ready to face anything but dishonor for him. She was to come out at twelve o'clock, and walk into Bagley with him to betroth herself to him, as she chose to consider it, before the stipendiary magistrate, who married couples in that way. Of the two marriages she had consented to, merely as preliminaries to a real marriage, Zoe despised this the most; for the Scotch marriage was, at all events, ancient, and respectable lovers had been driven to it again and again.
She was behind her time, and Severne thought her courage had failed her, after all. But no: at half-past twelve she came out, and walked briskly toward Bagley.
He was behind her, and followed her. She took his arm nervously. “Let me feel you all the way,” she said, “to give me courage.”
So they walked arm-in-arm; and, as they went, his courage secretly wavered, her's rose at every step.
About half a mile from the town they met a carriage and pair.
At sight of them a gentleman on the box tapped at the glass window, and said, hurriedly, “Here they are together.”
Mademoiselle Klosking said, “Stop the carriage”: then, pausing a little, “Mr. Vizard—on your word of honor, no violence.”
The carriage was drawn up, Ashmead opened the door in a trice, and La Klosking, followed by Vizard, stepped out, and stood like a statue before Edward Severne and Zoe Vizard.
Severne dropped her arm directly, and was panic-stricken.
Zoe uttered a little scream at the sight of Vizard; but the next moment took fire at her rival's audacity, and stepped boldly before her lover, with flashing eyes and expanded nostrils that literally breathed defiance.
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