40+ Adventure Novels & Lost World Mysteries in One Premium Edition. Henry Rider Haggard

"hard upon me."

      When Florence started upon her homeward way, the afternoon had set in wet and chilly, and the sea was hidden in wreaths of grey mist. Altogether the scene was depressing. On arrival at the Cottage she found Eva standing, the picture of melancholy, by the window, and staring out at the misty sea.

      "O, Florence, I am glad that you have come home; I really began to feel inclined to commit suicide."

      "Indeed! and may I ask why?"

      "I don't know; the rain is so depressing, I suppose."

      "It does not depress me."

      "No, nothing ever does; you live in the land of perpetual calm."

      "I take exercise, and keep my liver in good order. Have you been out this afternoon?"

      "No."

      "Ah, I thought not. No wonder you feel depressed, staying indoors all day. Why don't you go for a walk?"

      "There is nowhere to go."

      "Really, Eva, I don't know what has come to you lately. Why don't you go along the cliff, or stop--have you been to the post-office? I called for the Dum's Ness letters, and Mr. Brown said that there was one for you."

      Eva jumped up with remarkable animation, and passed out of the room with her peculiarly light tread. The mention of that word "letter" had sufficed to change the aspect of things considerably.

      Florence watched her go with a dark little smile.

      "Ah," she said aloud, as the door closed, "your feet will soon fall heavily enough."

      Presently Eva went out, and Florence, having thrown off her cloak, took her sister's place at the window and waited. It was seven minute's walk to the post-office. She would be back in about a quarter of an hour. Watch in hand, Florence waited patiently. Seventeen minutes had elapsed when the garden-gate was opened, and Eva re-entered, her face quite grey with pain, and furtively applying a handkerchief to her eyes. Florence smiled again.

      "I thought so," she said.

      From all of which it will be seen that Florence was a very remarkable woman. She had scarcely exaggerated when she said that her heart was as deep as the sea. The love that she bore Ernest was the strongest thing in all her strong and vigorous life; when every other characteristic and influence crumbled away and was forgotten, it would still remain over-mastering as ever. And when she discovered that her high love, the greatest and best part of her, had been made a plaything of by a thoughtless boy, who kissed girls on the same principle that a duck takes to water, because it came natural to him, the love in its mortal agonies gave birth to a hate destined to grow as great as itself. But, with all a woman's injustice, it was not directed towards the same object. On Ernest, indeed, she would wreak vengeance if she could, but she still loved him as dearly as at first. The revenge would be a mere episode in the history of her passion. But to her sister, the innocent woman who, she chose to consider had robbed her, she gave all that bountiful hate. Herself the more powerful character of the two, she determined upon the utter destruction of the weaker. Strong as Fate, and unrelenting as Time, she dedicated her life to that end. Everything, she said, comes to those who can wait. She forgot that the Providence above us can wait the longest of us all. In the end it is Providence that wins.

      Eva came in, and Florence heard her make her way up the stairs to her room. Again she spoke to herself:

      "The poor fool will weep over him and renounce him. If she had the courage she would follow him and comfort him in his trouble, and so tie him to her for ever. Oh, that I had her chance! But the chances always come to fools."

      Then she went upstairs and listened outside Eva's door. She was sobbing audibly. Turning the handle, she walked casually in.

      "Well, Eva, did you---- Why, my dear girl, /what/ is the matter with you?"

      Eva, who was lying sobbing on her bed, turned her head to the wall and went on sobbing.

      "What /is/ the matter, Eva? If you only knew how absurd you look!"

      "No-no-nothing!"

      "Nonsense! People do not make such a scene as this for nothing."

      No answer.

      "Come, my dear, as your affectionate sister, I really must ask what has happened to you."

      The tone was commanding, and half unconsciously Eva obeyed it. "Ernest!" she ejaculated.

      "Well, what about Ernest? He is nothing to you, is he?"

      "No--that is, yes. O, it is so dreadful! It was the letter;" and she touched a sheet of closely written paper that lay on the bed beside her.

      "Well, as you do not seem to be in a condition to explain yourself, perhaps you had better let me read the letter."

      "O no."

      "Nonsense! Give it me; perhaps I may be able to help you;" and she took the paper from her unresisting grasp and, turning her face from the light, read it deliberately through.

      It was very passionate in its terms, and rather incoherent; such a letter, in short, as a lad almost wild with love and grief would write under the circumstances.

      "So," said Florence, as she coolly folded it up, "it appears that you are engaged to him."

      No answer, unless sobs can be said to constitute one.

      "And it seems that you are engaged to a man who has just committed a frightful murder, and run away from the consequences."

      Eva sat up on the bed.

      "It was not a murder; it was a duel."

      "Precisely, a duel about another woman; but the law calls it murder. If he is caught he will be hanged."

      "O Florence! how can you say such dreadful things?"

      "I only say what is true. Poor Eva, I do not wonder that you are distressed."

      "It is all so dreadful!"

      "You love him, I suppose?"

      "O yes, dearly."

      "Then you must get over it; you must never think of him any more."

      "Never think of him! I shall think of him all my life."

      "That is as it may be. You must never have anything more to do with him. He has blood upon his hands, blood shed for some bad woman."

      "I cannot desert him, Florence, because he has got into trouble."

      "Over another woman."

      A peculiar expression of pain passed over Eva's face.

      "How cruel you are, Florence! He is only a boy, and boys will go wrong sometimes. Anybody can make a fool of a boy."

      "And it seems that boys can make fools of some people who should know better."

      "O Florence, what is to be done? You have such a clear head; tell me what I must do. I cannot give him up; I cannot indeed."

      Florence seated herself on the bed beside her sister, and put an arm round her neck and kissed her. Eva was much touched at her kindness.

      "My poor Eva," she said, "I am so sorry for you! But tell me, when did you get engaged to him--that evening you went out sailing together?"

      "Yes."

      "He kissed you, I suppose, and all that?"

      "Yes. Oh, I was so happy!"

      "My poor Eva!"

      "I tell you I cannot give him up."

      "Well, perhaps there will be no need for you to do so. But you must not answer that letter."

      "Why not?"

      "Because it will not do. Look at it which way you will, Ernest has just killed his own cousin in a quarrel about another woman. It is necessary that you should mark your disapproval of that in some way or other. Do not answer his letter. If in time he can wash himself clear