Saraband for Two Sisters

It was characteristic of me that when a possible solution suggested itself I did not hesitate. I had always acted too quickly and my mother had often chided me for it. I was impatient, impulsive by nature. Perhaps it was due to this that my conduct so often brought me into situations from which I found it difficult to extricate myself.

Indeed I should have considered this possibility. Why should not I, a passionate woman, also be a fruitful one? I had not thought beyond the intrigue and immense delight of those occasions, or perhaps I had subconsciously refused to look at a likely result.

The fact remained that I was pregnant and in due course my condition would be known.

I had to do something.

I rode over to Longridge Farm. I sat with Ella, talking in the farmhouse, until Luke came in. His pleasure in seeing me was apparent, and I made up my mind that I would speak to him. When he came to take me back to Far Flamstead, I did.

I came straight to the point. “You asked me to marry you. Do you still wish it?” He drew up his horse and looked at me. I returned his gaze unflinchingly. “Because if you do,” I went on, “I accept. I will marry you.”

“Bersaba!” There was no mistaking the joy in his voice.

I held up my hand to ward him off. “You must know the reason,” I said. “I am with child and in the circumstances a husband is rather necessary to me.” I could see that he was finding it difficult to follow my meaning. He clearly did not believe what I was saying could be true.

“It is true,” I said. “When you asked me I refused you because I did not know then. I like you. You interest me. I enjoy our discussions, but I want you to know the reason why I will accept your offer. Of course you may change your mind now. You, a gentleman of the Puritan persuasion, would not want a woman such as I am for a wife. I am really most unsuitable and we both know it, but you told me that you loved me and I am now in this somewhat embarrassing position. I have to consider how I can act in a manner calculated to bring the least difficulty to others and of course to myself. Marriage is the obvious answer. That is my proposition.” He was still silent and I went on: “Ah, I have your answer. It is what I expected. Think no more of it. You now know that I am a woman of loose morals and I understand completely-and agree with you-that such a woman is unsuited to be your wife. Your silence answers me. There is no need of words. What I have suggested is preposterous, insulting, and I deserve never to be allowed again to call you my friend. Good-bye.” I turned my horse and was preparing to gallop off when he called my name.

I stopped and looked at him.

“You ... you bewilder me,” he said.

“I realize of course that I have behaved most unconventionally. Good-bye.”

“No. Give me time. I want to think.”

“The more you think the more you will realize how impossible my suggestion is. I made it because you told me you loved me. You spoke with some vehemence and, as marriage with you would provide a way out for me, I suggested it But at the same time I see that it is out of the question.

Good-bye.”

I heard his words as I galloped away.

“Give me... time.”

That afternoon he came over to Far Flamstead. Phoebe came to tell me that he had called and was asking to speak to me. Once again we went into the garden. It was not the weather for walking and there was a hint of snow to come in the darkening clouds.

“Bersaba,” he said, “I want you to marry me.”

A warm glow of something I could not understand came over me then. I almost loved him, for I knew how my condition must appear to a man of his Puritan outlook. He must indeed love me, or was it that potent attraction I had which was a kind of promised passion and which I was discovering men were aware of? “And you would be father to another man’s child?”

“I would, since it is yours also.”

“Luke,” I said, “you are either a very noble man or you love me very much.”

“I love you very much,” he said.

“Is it a tender love or is it an irresistible desire for me?”

“It is both. Whose child is it?”

“Do you think you should know?”

“I know already. There seems only one whom it could be. Your sister’s husband.” I saw his lips turn down with anger. ‘Why?” he cried in anger. “How could you? How could he?”

“For the same reason that you, the Puritan, will go against your principles. You will marry a woman such as I am. Would you have believed it of yourself before you met me?”

He shook his head slowly.