Amethyst: The Story of a Beauty

Chapter Thirty Four

All these things have ceased to be with my Desire of Life

Mrs Leigh obeyed her son’s wish, and made the amende with all the gracious tact that could possibly be shown in dealing with so difficult a situation. It suited Lady Haredale much better to ignore the past than to keep up any kind of coldness. The Jacksons were a connecting link, with their eager seeking of Amethyst and Una; Lucian’s two young sisters were glad to resume friendly relations with Kattern and Tory, who had but newly joined their mother, with Miss Haredale and Carrie Carisbrooke.

It was a fortunate moment. Lord Haredale was away at Monte Carlo, and his wife, who, with what Una called “my lady’s dreadful capacity for enjoying herself,” had found friends of every sort on their travels, lost in some marvellous way the nameless look, shabby, “shady” (only some slang word could quite describe it), which had just a little tarnished her graceful ladyhood, when there were only shabby, shady people with whom to associate, and fitted at once into her old circle. Other residents and visitors called upon her, so that a time of cheerfulness and gaiety set in for all the young people, who met every day, and made expeditions together, which often began and ended in Mrs Leigh’s garden at Casa Remi. Amethyst came with the rest. If she had been deaf to Sylvester’s appeal, she could hardly have resisted the half-acknowledged misery in Mrs Leigh’s face. She was kind and gentle to Lucian, and her manner never betrayed under-currents of feeling; but the dreary months of dissatisfaction with herself and with her lot in life had stolen away her bloom, and she looked unhappy and weary.

Lucian could not talk to her much. As he had said, he lay and looked at her; but how life and death seemed to him, when she was in his sight, it was hard to tell. Sylvester sometimes feared that the pleasure, which he had so much desired, had been dearly bought. Surely that restraint must be hard for Lucian, which was so great a strain upon himself, but the wonder how it was with her, the fear that all was not well with her, the pity for the dying lover, and the passion that beat in his own heart, were almost more than he could bear.

“Syl,” said Lucian one day, after one of these gatherings, about three weeks after Amethyst’s first visit, “Syl, Amethyst isn’t happy.”

“No,” said Sylvester, a little startled, “I fear not; her life has many hardships.”

“I want to speak to her alone,” said Lucian, “our parting has always stung her. It’s bad for her to look back on; I think I can make it better. You’ll manage it, won’t you?”

“If it’s not too much for you, I will try.”

“I’ve got it to do,” said Lucian. “Get her to come by herself; I know what I want to say.”

“Well,” said Sylvester, “I’ll try – when you are feeling strong enough.”

“To-morrow then.” He paused a moment and looked at Sylvester, and then said distinctly – “She is not the least bit in love with me now, you know, Syl.”

“Oh, my dear boy,” said Sylvester, hurriedly, “all this is very bad for you. Even for her sake, I can’t bear to have you distress yourself. It is so hard for you.”

“Why, Syl, I don’t feel enough like living, to mind as much as you suppose. Of course sometimes,” – he paused again, then smiled a little – “I know better than she does now, about a good many things. – Oh, I’m bad to-day! Lift me, Syl. A change makes it easier.”

Sylvester did what he could to mitigate the attack of pain which followed, glad that Lucian did not try to hide it from him, as he too often did from his mother.

He did not see how to manage the interview without Mrs Leigh’s co-operation, and decided to tell her of Lucian’s wish. She gave him a look which went to his heart; for in it was the acknowledgment of all which she could not bring her tongue to utter.

“I leave it to you,” she said, “he must have his own way now.”

Sylvester went straight to Amethyst and asked her to come at a given time, and to let Lucian say to her whatever he would. She looked at him for a moment, and he could see that she shrank from such a meeting, but she only said —

“I will come.”

“Thank you,” said Sylvester; “he has set his heart on it.”

She looked, as she stood silent, as if with another word her self-control would break down into passionate grief, but the moment passed, and she recovered her usual manner, as she repeated her promise to come to-morrow morning. Her troubled look dwelt in Sylvester’s mind. Had the old love woke again in tender pity, and were they breaking her heart once more with this recall of the past? But this time Sylvester did not understand her, and tormented himself in vain.

She came on the next day, punctual to the moment, very grave and quiet, and perfectly calm.

Lucian had been resting all the morning, and now lay on his couch under the verandah, while Mrs Leigh greeted Amethyst, and set a chair for her close by, within easy reach of his eyes and voice, then with hardly a word she left them.

“Amethyst,” said Lucian, “you know I’m going to die, and you, I suppose, will have a long life. I want to take the pain out of your thoughts of me, so that when you think of those days when we were engaged to each other, it may be pleasant to you, as if we’d had a good time when we were children.”

Amethyst looked at him, but she could not speak.

“I never ought to have lost patience with a girl like you, and I ought to have known you better. But I was too young and stupid, it was a dreadful thing to me when I knew I had wronged you – had been so wrong – and couldn’t make up for it. And when I saw you again, I knew I had never thought enough of you, though I loved you so much.”

“Oh, Lucian – no – ”

“If we’d married, I suppose I should have learned in time. But I should have made mistakes and vexed you, I wasn’t fit to guide you. I should always have thought I knew best Well, then, you see it has all been for the best, and I want to tell you, that if I hadn’t had the loving, and the getting to understand you, and the trying to get on without you, it would have been much worse for me now. And so, as that poor little old time has helped me to die better, it seemed to me that perhaps the thought of it might make your life better for you – at least to know what you have done for me.”

“Oh, Lucian, that’s not quite it. Why was I such a wicked girl as to forget you? It wasn’t because I was angry. If I had been faithful too – you might – we might – ”

“No, dear,” said Lucian. “That’s what I want to show you. You couldn’t – you wanted more than I had got to give you. That’s what I found out. You’ll have it some day, and then you won’t feel I did you nothing but harm.”

“Oh,” said Amethyst, with streaming tears, “I shall always – I shall always feel —glorified by your having loved me —so.”

He got hold of her hand, and held it gently in both his own, and when she was a little calmer, he said —

“Tell me about your troubles.”

“They’re not worth it,” she said, “hard, sordid money troubles – things that are hateful. And the wrong things I do – and feel – and think.”

“I think there’ll be better times for you,” said Lucian; then he smiled, and said, “As there will be soon for me.”

“If – if you could but get better – ”

Lucian gave her the strangest look.

“Oh, no,” he said, quietly, and then, with a little more of his usual manner —

“I’m sorry to have made you cry. But I think you’ll like by and by to know I quite understood. Now there’s just one thing more.”

He took hold of a gold locket that hung from his watch chain, and opened it slowly, then took out of it the broad gipsy ring, set with a big amethyst and two diamonds – the very ring that his boyish taste had thought both handsome and symbolical enough to give his betrothed.

“Let me give it you back,” he said. “Perhaps you won’t like to wear it now; but, when you put another ring on your finger, let this be a guard to it. That’s my fancy.”

“Oh, Lucian! Put it on – I never – never shall – ”

“I think you will,” he said. “I hope you will.” He took her warm young hand, and, with his weak fingers, put on the ring, and back upon them both came the joyous moment when he had first put it on, and “all the world was young.”

“And then,” continued Lucian, “when Mr Riddell is here, and gives me my last Communion, will you come too? I remember the Sunday we were engaged – ”

“Oh,” said Amethyst, “all the love went away together. But now, I will – I will – ”

“There is Syl, across the garden,” said Lucian, after a moment – “He thinks – I shall be tired. He takes such care of me, he is so good to me – now he must come and take you home. Good-bye, my dear love. God bless you! I am quite happy now.”

He looked up at her, and with a sudden impulse she stooped down and kissed him, and then turning her head away, and waving Sylvester back, she fled across the garden and out of sight.

Lucian had covered his face with his hands, it was flushed and burning, as all that was left of life in him surged up and rebelled against the approaching hand of death.

“In much pain, dear boy?” said Sylvester anxiously, after a minute.

“More – more than I knew,” said Lucian, with panting breath, then, with a look which Sylvester never forgot, he whispered – “But it’s quite right, – Syl.”