Chapter 19

SUCCESS AFTER SUCCESS.

Having adopted the optimistic view of life, Frank found that it was not easy to eradicate his dismal turn of mind.

He fought bravely. It was not his first fight. He had been, when younger, passionate and a trifle ill-tempered, but he had, while still in his teens, successfully overcome these defects.

He often thought of Adele. He dared not go near "Les Marches." He knew full well that the sight of the house in which he had first known love, would arouse in him sentiments of jealousy and grief; so he satisfied himself with continuing to work at the reformation of his character. Each victory which he achieved made him feel stronger and wiser, and every day added to his success.

Let us return to Adele Rougeant. Six out of the twelve months' truce had now elapsed.

Tom's visits at Les Marches were few and far between.

Adele had chanced to overhear a part of the conversation which took place between her father and cousin, after she had asked the former for a year's peaceful solitude.

Quoth Mr. Rougeant: "You will have to wait another year."

"Indeed!" said his nephew.

"Adele says she wishes to think the matter over."

"Oh!" said Tom, biting his nails; with which operation he was very familiar--"a year will soon pass away."

"Yes," answered the uncle.

Adele's business took her to another room, and she had too much good-breeding to stay and listen. Eavesdropping was not in her line. She laughed all to herself. Liberty was so sweet.

When she went out, she could listen with more than ordinary delight to the songs of the birds. Some were singing with everchanging variety, others were somewhat more laboriously endeavouring to imitate the whistle of the farmer-boys.

Adele Rougeant sympathized with birds; she felt attracted towards them, for she too was a bird. She had been, for a time, caged; but now she was perfectly free, for six more months at least. She trusted to be out of the difficulty by then. Why; she did not know; something within her seemed to assure her that it would be so.

When, a week afterwards, Tom Soher was taken ill, she thought of that strange certainty which she had had. Was he going to die? Something within her said: "If he could, I then should be saved." Adele grew angry with herself for wishing such an abominable thing. She dispersed the wicked thought which had formed into a wish, with all the energy which she was capable of displaying.

To think that she had had such a desire. She was ashamed of herself.

Next day, when she heard that Tom's condition was worse than ever, involuntarily her heart leapt with joy. How sinful is the heart of man!

Adele's better nature rose against these feelings. Finally she overcame them. She tried to pity her cousin and partly succeeded in doing so. When she fancied herself freed from him, she felt relieved; when she pictured herself dying in his place, she immediately pitied him. And she put this question to herself: "Is sympathy a virtue?" No. Most often, when people sympathize with others they say: "Just imagine if we were in their place; they really think for themselves."

This was now her view of the matter. Perhaps it was not quite correct, but there was a great deal of truth in it.

Tom Soher was not to die this time. The crisis passed. He rallied almost as rapidly as he had lost strength.

Mr. Rougeant visited him daily. His daughter listened to the news of Tom's recovery, with attention. The farmer was pleased. "She takes more interest in him than she cares to show;" he said to himself.

One fine afternoon, in summer, Adele, whose spirits were as bright as the weather, was sitting in a chair--thinking. Her thoughts flew hither and thither. They were full of bright hope. She sat where she was for nearly one hour, her head full of vague thoughts, aspirations after perfect womanhood.

As her thoughts rambled, she recalled to mind a flower and fruit show that was to take place that afternoon in the Vegetable Markets.

"I think I shall go," she said to herself.

She spoke to her father about it. He answered her not unkindly: "I believe you would travel twenty miles to see a flower; if you wish to go, you may."

She dressed herself in a dainty costume, set out, and arrived in St. Peter-Port just as the clock of the Town Church struck five. Going to the market, she paid the entrance fee, and proceeded leisurely to examine the flowers.

While she was doing so, Frank Mathers entered the exhibition, utterly unconscious of her being there. He was walking about in the crowd, which, as evening approached, was getting thicker and thicker, when he perceived Adele intently bent upon examining the cut flowers.

He was quite upset. When he had recovered sufficiently to think; "She is alone, why is not her lover with her," he mused. He could not unravel this mystery.

Hope sprang within him; he shook it off. "He will be back presently," he said to himself; "she is waiting for him while pretending to examine the flowers."

He gazed upon her with admiration, unheeding the throng that continually jostled him.

Suddenly, he was startled by a burst of laughter behind him. He turned round to ascertain its cause.

Two burly fellows who were watching him, were having a merry time of it at his expense.

He moved from his place and walked away, passing quite close to Adele, who did not notice him. He stopped a few paces from her, watching her narrowly all the time.

She looked up, saw him, recognised him, and nodded. He raised his hat; then, a strange delicacy of feeling overcoming him, he walked away.

Adele saw him go and felt stung. Why had he not spoken to her? he might have done so. She had been on the point of advancing towards him, and he seemed to have deliberately avoided her.

"I was not mistaken when I fancied he loved another one," she said to herself. In spite of that, she walked in a contrary direction to him, hoping to meet him, a thing which she could not fail to do if they both kept advancing in contrary directions. She did not stop to think that he would perhaps pass haughtily by her. Love is blind.

Like the two gentlemen who circumnavigated the globe, the two young people met. Frank inquired after Mr. Rougeant's health, and made a few remarks about the exhibition. He always expected to see her intended appear on the scene. Finally, he ventured to ask: "Are you quite alone?" "Yes, quite," she answered.

They walked together for fully one hour, examining the flowers and fruit. "Is not this a beautiful specimen of the Dahlia?" Adele asked, pointing to a flower of that name.

"I am afraid I do not possess the necessary qualifications to form an opinion," he said; "I have not studied botany."

"I think you would find the study very captivating," she said; "our little island contains quite a number of beautiful specimens. There are a great many hard names to learn, but I feel certain that you would soon overcome that difficulty."

"You have a rather high opinion of my intellectual powers," he said; "I feel quite flattered. For the present, I will abide by your decisions. The flowers that you will praise, I shall call beautiful; those that you will condemn, I shall call ugly."

"I shall not condemn any," said she, "all flowers are beautiful to my eyes, only some are more perfect than others."

"You love flowers?" he questioned.

"Immensely, they are almost my constant companions; I should like to possess the whole of this collection," said Adele.

"All to yourself. Is it not a trifle selfish?" he said, looking at her with a pair of laughing blue eyes.

"Perhaps it is. Look at this beautiful collection of ferns." She began to name them. "This one on the left is _Adiantum Capillus Veneris_, or _Maiden Hair_, a rare European species; this one is _Adiantum Pedantum_, of American origin, and that one behind there, which is partly hidden, is _Adiantum Cuneatum_."

"I will not learn botany," he said; "you have quite frightened me with all those Latin names; when I wish to know the name of some plant, I shall come and ask you."

"I shall be delighted if I can be of any service to you," she said ingenuously. Frank thought these words were significant, but they were not.

Adele was anxious to get home early. Frank saw "Les Marches" that evening with hopeful eyes.

Afterwards, they often met. One day, Tom Soher, who was now completely cured, came face to face with his cousin Adele, who was accompanied by Frank. He stopped short, looked hard at his cousin, then resumed his walk.

When Tom was a little way off, Frank said to Adele: "What a queer fellow, one would think he was insane." "He is a cousin of mine," she said.

"Ah! doubtless he was surprised at seeing you in such company."

"Why?" she questioned.

"Perhaps he is afraid of losing caste," said Frank, anxious to know the cause of Tom's sullen countenance.

Adele laughed; "Losing caste!" she said, "the idea is preposterous."

"Miss Rougeant," said Frank, suddenly becoming grave, "do you want to oblige me?"

She looked up. "Of course I do," she replied.

"And will you answer my question?" he continued.

She looked down. "What can he mean?" she said inly. The twilight partly hid the deep blush that suffused her cheek.

He noticed her embarrassment and hastily spoke: "I was going to say this. Some time ago, I heard that you were engaged to a young man named Tom Soher. Would you be kind enough to explain me the riddle. But, you need not do so, if you do not feel inclined to."

Her manner suddenly changed. She had imagined that he had something of far greater importance to ask her. She replied: "I have never been engaged to him; you must have heard false news."

"Probably," he said, "it was Old Jacques who told me so."

"Ah, I see," said she, "he saw my cousin coming home to visit us rather often, and he invented that little piece of news. It was he--Tom Soher--whom we met just now, and who scrutinized us so." Then Adele told him all about her father's intentions. She tried to look bright, but Frank saw what she endeavoured to conceal: a painful contraction of the forehead at times. When she had finished, she asked smilingly: "What do you think of my father's mode of procedure?"

Frank looked at her anxiously. "I hope it will never be," he said.

"Indeed!"

"Because," he continued, "I should be extremely grieved to see you forced into an union without love."

"How do you know that it would be such an one?" she asked.

"Because," responded he, "when you told me about your father's plans, I saw your face. If there is any truth in physiognomy, you recoil with horror at the prospect of one day marrying Tom Soher."

She changed the subject of the conversation and nothing more was said about it that evening.

Going home; Frank thought of the difficulties that were rising before him. He soliloquized: "It is always the same old story; a greedy, avaricious, grasping father, sacrificing his daughter's happiness for the sake of his pride. But it must not be. I can and will save her from such a terrible fate."

He was full of indignant wrath against her father. "To think that she shudders at the thought of it," he muttered.

Meanwhile, Tom Soher was pondering heavily. He was in a terrible passion. When he entered his father's house, he wore an angry look. He walked straight upstairs without even partaking of supper. His mother and sister who were downstairs laughed. The young man was not much of a favourite at home.

Tom sat for a long time on his bed, his face covered with perspiration, his limbs agitated. He was not yet very strong after his illness, and the shock which he had received had completely upset him.

He meditated a plan of revenge. A dozen ideas struck him, but none seemed good enough. Finally, he thought of one, which, if carried out, would completely crush his detestable rival.