The youngsters and their English uncle were holding hands to form a ring around the tree.
‘It’s quite ridiculous of Theodore to make such a fuss of Eline,’ Frédérique muttered to herself, but Etienne overheard.
‘How tiresome you’ve become lately!’ he exclaimed. ‘You can’t even enjoy a joke any more!’
. .
Nearby the small church was a pine grove, where Eline reclined on a bank smooth with fallen needles, propping up her head with her hand. Otto sat beside her. They could hear the creak of the rope pulling on the headstock before each slow clang of the bell. It was time for church. Some country folk in glossy broadcloth and shiny silk aprons passed by on the road, prayer book in hand, and Eline and Otto, themselves scarcely visible among the trees, followed them with their eyes. The scattered church goers were few in number, and after a few latecomers hurried by a Sunday hush descended on the countryside. All was still save for the distant bleating of a goat.
It was true: Eline had imagined De Horze far grander and more luxurious than it had turned out to be, and the simplicity of life on the estate made her smile when she thought back on Ouida’s English castles with their complement of dukes and princes, and how, during her vigils at Aunt Vere’s sickbed, she had dreamt of inhabiting such a castle herself. Compared with the past splendours of that fictional aristocracy, the living conditions of these well-to-do but necessarily frugal members of an ancient house were positively austere. Yet she would not have exchanged her present circumstances for anything, and with a smile she told Otto about how enchanted she had once been by Ouida’s novels and her English castles, but that she would now give preference to De Horze, just as she preferred him, her poor country squire, to some fantasy Scottish laird with an immense fortune and a name like Erceldoune or Strathmore.
Yes, Eline felt her heart swell with happiness as she sat in that quiet glade beneath the pine trees, with Otto’s voice, deep and full, sounding in her ears. He told her he could scarcely believe that she was his, his alone, and that they would indeed be united for ever. He told her she had only one fault, which was that she did not know herself as he knew her. He knew her as she really was: she had untold treasures hidden within her character, and it would be his privilege to attempt to bring them to light. In the fullness of her joy she became candid, even towards herself, more than she had ever been before, and her voice was tinged with regret as she replied that he would yet, when he knew her better, discover in her much that was bad. No, no, truly, he didn’t not know her as well as he thought. There was so much going on in one’s heart that one got muddled at times — she did anyway — and she had to confess that her thoughts were not always of the best, neither was she always as even-tempered as she pretended to be whenever he saw her; and she could be peevish at times, without reason, or nervous, or in low spirits, but for his sake — he was such an idealist! — she would certainly endeavour to live up to the image he had formed of her. She felt pure and good making this admission, assured that she could freely reveal to him thoughts she that she scarcely dared admit to herself. Gone was the fear of losing him through some careless word; she could now see so clearly how much he loved her, and that he loved her all the more for speaking of her feelings in that frank, unguarded way. He was like the personification of her conscience, someone in whom she could confide every secret a girl might harbour. And the more she deprecated herself in such moments of sincerity and truth, the more he worshipped her, and the more he believed he could plumb the mysteries of her soul beneath that beautiful exterior.
They listened to the hymns of the peasantry drifting from the church like a soft current of simple piety, and in the tranquillity of the moment it seemed to them that the rustic voices were steeped in poetry, a poetry that mingled with the darkling boughs above, with the aroma of pine needles, with the love in their hearts. Eline was so affected with emotion that she raised herself up a little, the better to rest her head against his chest; she could not resist twining her arms about his neck, too, and all at once, feeling herself so close to him, with her bosom pressed to his heart, she was shaken by a sob.
‘Goodness! Eline, whatever is the matter?’ he asked gently.
‘Nothing!’ she replied, breathless with exaltation. ‘Nothing, don’t mind me — it’s just that I feel so — so very happy!’
And she wept in his embrace.
. .
It was early-to-rise and early-to-bed at the country house, and the days flew by. The weather was splendid, and most of the time was spent in the fresh air, especially by the children, who only came indoors at mealtimes or to shelter from a rare shower. With their faces and hands as brown as berries from the sun, the youngsters — the Van Rijssel foursome, the two boys, Willy and Gustaaf, and Edmée and Kitty Howard — resembled a band of little Negroes cavorting on the lawns and by the pond amid the flutter of startled doves. Often they would be pursued by any one of the three nursemaids: Truus’ governess, Catherine’s English nanny and Nurse Frantzen, the latter being in a state of constant anxiety about the danger of Nico falling into the pond. The youngsters inspected the aviary and the stables, they befriended the head gardener and his men, as well as the coachman and his stable boy, fed the birds and the hens and the ducks, they went swimming and took turns riding Theodore’s unsaddled horse under the watchful guidance of the good-natured stable boy. They also peered in the windows of the gym-room to watch the men exercise, finding Theodore impressively muscular and Howard more lithe and supple, while Etienne made a show of swinging wildly on the rings and vaulting over the horse. Most of all, however, the children were in awe of Cor, who wore a rather conceited expression while effortlessly performing the most audacious turns on the rings with his strong, sinewy limbs. After coffee the boys played cricket with Howard, or they joined the girls at a game of lawn-tennis in the shade of the lofty trees in the park, or lounged under a tree with a book, or simply did nothing but lie back and daydream with their hands folded beneath their heads. After supper they went for walks or took turns in the small boat to float about the pond until darkness fell, and it would be ten o’clock before they knew it.
Eline’s happiness and enjoyment of country living made her feel so entirely herself that she could scarcely believe that she was the same person as she had been a few months before. She felt completely different; it was as though her soul had unwound itself from its gleaming draperies and now rose up before her like a statue of the purest white. She no longer veiled herself in affectations, no longer played a role, she was her own self, her dear Otto’s little wife-to-be, and this newfound candour lent such winsomeness to her gestures, to the slightest word she uttered, that not only Truus admitted having been mistaken about Eline, much to Catherine’s satisfaction, but also that Frédérique took to spending hours exchanging sisterly confidences with her, and that Madame van Erlevoort pronounced her an angel. During moments of solitary reflection on her new selfhood, tears welled up in her eyes in gratitude for all the goodness that she had received, and her only wish was that time would not fly, but stand still instead, so that the present would last for ever. Beyond that she desired nothing, and a sense of infinite rest and blissful, blue tranquillity emanated from her being.
. .
Dusk fell slowly, and the cloudless sky turned a pearly shade of grey studded with stars. The park was a vague, shadowy mass in the background, the glass doors of the illuminated garden room stood wide open, and out on the terrace the tea table shone in the soft light coming from the house. The children were in bed, but Marianne and Henrietta were allowed to stay up a little longer. They all sat in a large circle while Truus poured the tea. Inside, Eline could be heard singing, and from time to time a star fell from heaven.