Rupert"--it was the
first time she had ever addressed me by name, and naturally it thrilled
me through and through--"Rupert, my husband, only that I trust you with
all the faith which is in perfect love--mutual love, I dare not have done
what I have done this night. But, dear, I know that you will bear me
out; that your wife's honour is your honour, even as your honour is mine. My honour is given to this; and you can help me--the only help I can have
at present--by trusting me. Be patient, my beloved, be patient! Oh, be
patient for a little longer! It shall not be for long. So soon as ever
my soul is freed I shall come to you, my husband; and we shall never part
again. Be content for a while! Believe me that I love you with my very
soul; and to keep away from your dear side is more bitter for me than
even it can be for you! Think, my dear one, I am not as other women are,
as some day you shall clearly understand. I am at the present, and shall
be for a little longer, constrained by duties and obligations put upon me
by others, and for others, and to which I am pledged by the most sacred
promises--given not only by myself, but by others--and which I must not
forgo. These forbid me to do as I wish. Oh, trust me, my beloved--my
husband!" She held out her hands appealingly. The moonlight, falling through the
thinning forest, showed her white cerements. Then the recollection of
all she must have suffered--the awful loneliness in that grim tomb in the
Crypt, the despairing agony of one who is helpless against the
unknown--swept over me in a wave of pity. What could I do but save her
from further pain? And this could only be by showing her my faith and
trust. If she was to go back to that dreadful charnel-house, she would
at least take with her the remembrance that one who loved her and whom
she loved--to whom she had been lately bound in the mystery of
marriage--trusted her to the full. I loved her more than myself--more
than my own soul; and I was moved by pity so great that all possible
selfishness was merged in its depths. I bowed my head before her--my
Lady and my Wife--as I said:

"So be it, my beloved. I trust you to the full, even as you trust me. And that has been proven this night, even to my own doubting heart. I
shall wait; and as I know you wish it, I shall wait as patiently as I
can. But till you come to me for good and all, let me see you or hear
from you when you can. The time, dear wife, must go heavily with me as I
think of you suffering and lonely. So be good to me, and let not too
long a time elapse between my glimpses of hope. And, sweetheart, when
you _do_ come to me, it shall be for ever!" There was something in the
intonation of the last sentence--I felt its sincerity myself--some
implied yearning for a promise, that made her beautiful eyes swim. The
glorious stars in them were blurred as she answered with a fervour which
seemed to me as more than earthly:

"For ever! I swear it!" With one long kiss, and a straining in each others arms, which left me
tingling for long after we had lost sight of each other, we parted. I
stood and watched her as her white figure, gliding through the deepening
gloom, faded as the forest thickened. It surely was no optical delusion
or a phantom of the mind that her shrouded arm was raised as though in
blessing or farewell before the darkness swallowed her up. BOOK VI: THE PURSUIT IN THE FOREST


RUPERT'S JOURNAL--_Continued_. _July_ 3, 1907. There is no anodyne but work to pain of the heart; and my pain is all of
the heart. I sometimes feel that it is rather hard that with so much to
make me happy I cannot know happiness. How can I be happy when my wife,
whom I fondly love, and who I know loves me, is suffering in horror and
loneliness of a kind which is almost beyond human belief? However, what
is my loss is my country's gain, for the Land of the Blue Mountains is my
country now, despite the fact that I am still a loyal subject of good
King Edward. Uncle Roger took care of that when he said I should have
the consent of the Privy Council before I might be naturalized anywhere
else. When I got home yesterday morning I naturally could not sleep. The
events of the night and the bitter disappointment that followed my
exciting joy made such a thing impossible. When I drew the curtain over
the window, the reflection of the sunrise was just beginning to tinge the
high-sailing clouds in front of me. I laid down and tried to rest, but
without avail. However, I schooled myself to lie still, and at last, if
I did not sleep, was at least quiescent. Disturbed by a gentle tap at the door, I sprang up at once and threw on a
dressing gown. Outside, when I opened the door, was Aunt Janet. She was
holding a lighted candle in her hand, for though it was getting light in
the open, the passages were still dark. When she saw me she seemed to
breathe more freely, and asked if she might come in. Whilst she sat on the edge of my bed, in her old-time way, she said in a
hushed voice:

"Oh, laddie, laddie, I trust yer burden is no too heavy to bear." "My burden! What on earth do you mean, Aunt Janet?" I said in reply. I
did not wish to commit myself by a definite answer, for it was evident
that she had been dreaming or Second Sighting again. She replied with
the grim seriousness usual to her when she touched on occult matters:

"I saw your hairt bleeding, laddie. I kent it was yours, though how I
kent it I don't know. It lay on a stone floor in the dark, save for a
dim blue light such as corpse-lights are. On it was placed a great book,
and close around were scattered many strange things, amongst them two
crowns o' flowers--the one bound wi' silver, the other wi' gold. There
was also a golden cup, like a chalice, o'erturned. The red wine trickled
from it an' mingled wi' yer hairt's bluid; for on the great book was some
vast dim weight wrapped up in black, and on it stepped in turn many men
all swathed in black. An' as the weight of each came on it the bluid
gushed out afresh. And oh, yer puir hairt, my laddie, was quick and
leaping, so that at every beat it raised the black-clad weight! An' yet
that was not all, for hard by stood a tall imperial shape o' a woman, all
arrayed in white, wi' a great veil o' finest lace worn o'er a shrood. An' she was whiter than the snow, an' fairer than the morn for beauty;
though a dark woman she was, wi' hair like the raven, an' eyes black as
the sea at nicht, an' there was stars in them. An' at each beat o' yer
puir bleeding hairt she wrung her white hands, an' the manin' o' her
sweet voice rent my hairt in twain. Oh, laddie, laddie! what does it
mean?" I managed to murmur: "I'm sure I don't know, Aunt Janet. I suppose it
was all a dream!" "A dream it was, my dear. A dream or a veesion, whilka matters nane, for
a' such are warnin's sent frae God . . . " Suddenly she said in a
different voice:

"Laddie, hae ye been fause to any lassie? I'm no blamin' ye.