Lexy sat on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped loosely before her,
her bright head bent, her eyes fixed somberly upon nothing; and she
could see nothing--not one step of the way that lay ahead of her. She
could not think what she ought to do next. For the first time in her
life, she had a feeling of utter confusion and dismay.
“It’s because I’m so tired,” she said to herself. “I’ve never been
really tired out before.”
But that in itself was a cause for alarm. Why should she feel like this,
so exhausted and depressed? Horrible thoughts came to her. Dr. Quelton
had called her nervous, high-strung, hysterical. Was that because he
had seen in her something which she herself had never suspected? Was she
hysterical? Mrs. Enderby had laughed at her. Mr. Houseman had gone away,
satisfied with his own solution. Captain Grey, chivalrous and kindly as
he was, had obviously lost interest in her affairs. Nobody believed in
her. Was it because every one could see--
She remembered the intolerable humiliation of the day before, her wild
outburst of tears in the Queltons’ house. Even in her childhood she had
never done such a thing before.
“What does it mean?” she asked herself in terror. “What is the matter
with me? Is this whole thing just a delusion? I came here to find
Caroline, and I thought--I thought I did see her. Am I mad?”
That was the awful thing that had lain in ambush in her mind ever since
yesterday, that had haunted her restless sleep all night. She had not
admitted it, but it had been there every minute. All her actions, all
her words, to-day, had the one object of showing Mrs. Royce and Captain
Grey how entirely normal and sensible she was.
“That’s what they always do!” she whispered with dry lips.
All day, hiding her terror and weakness, talking to Mrs. Royce, sitting
at the lunch table and talking and laughing with Captain Grey, trying to
make them believe her quite cheerful and untroubled--and all the time
perhaps they knew. Perhaps they were humoring her!
She sprang up and went over to the window. The sun was beginning to sink
in a tranquil sky. It had been a beautiful day, but Lexy felt too weary
and listless to go out. She remembered now that both Captain Grey and
the landlady had urged her to do so, that they had both said it would do
her good. Then they must have noted that something was wrong with her.
What did they think it was? Did she look--
She crossed the room and stood before the mirror. The rays of the
setting sun fell upon her hair, turning it to copper and gold. It seemed
to her to shine with a strange light about her pallid little face. Her
eyes seemed enormous, somber, and terrible.
She covered her face with her hands and flung herself on the bed, sick
and desperate. She could not see any one, could not speak to any one.
When a knock came at her door, she thrust her fingers into her ears and
lay there, with her eyes shut tight, trembling from head to foot; but
the knocking went on until she could endure it no longer.
“Yes?” she said, sitting up.
“Supper’s all on the table!” said Mrs. Royce’s cheerful voice.
“I don’t want any supper to-night, thank you,” replied Lexy.
Mrs. Royce expostulated and argued for a time, but she could not
persuade Lexy even to unlock the door; and at last, with a worried sigh,
she went downstairs again.
The room was quite dark now, and the wind blowing in through the open
window felt chill; but Lexy was too tired to close the window or light
the gas. She was not drowsy. She lay stretched out, limp, overpowered
with fatigue, but wide awake, and with a curious certainty that she was
waiting for something.
There was another knock at the door, and this time Captain Grey’s voice
spoke.
“I say, Miss Moran!” he said anxiously. “You’re not ill, are you?”
“No!” she answered, with a trace of irritability. “I’m just tired.”
“But don’t you think you ought to eat something, you know? Or a cup of
tea?”
“No!” she cried, still more impatiently. “I can’t. I want to rest.”
“Can you open the door for half a moment?” he asked. “I’ve some roses
here that my sister sent to you. She wanted me to say--”
The door opened with startling suddenness. Lexy appeared, and took the
roses out of his hand.
“Thank you! Good night!” she said, and was gone again before he quite
realized what was happening.
Then he heard the key turn in the lock, and, bewildered and very uneasy,
he went away.
Lexy flung the roses down on the table, not even troubling to put them
into water.
“Anything to get rid of him!” she said to herself. “I want to be let
alone!”
She lay down on the bed again, pulling a blanket over herself.
Downstairs she could hear Mrs. Royce moving about in the kitchen, and
Captain Grey’s singularly agreeable voice talking to the landlady. It
seemed to her that they were in a different world, and that she was shut
outside, in a black and terrible solitude.
“If I can only sleep!” she thought. “Perhaps, in the morning--”
She was beginning to feel a little drowsy now. How heavenly it would be
to sleep, even for a little while! To sleep and to forget!
The wind was blowing through the dark little room, bringing to her the
perfume of the roses--a wonderful fragrance. It was wonderful, but
almost too strong. It was too strong. It troubled her.
“I’ll put them out on the window sill,” she murmured. “It’s such a queer
scent!”
But she was too tired, too unspeakably tired. She didn’t seem able to
get up, or even to move. She sighed faintly, and closed her eyes. The
wind blew, strong and steady, heavy with that sweet and subtle odor.
* * * * *
“Look out!” cried Mr. Houseman. “She’s going about!”
Lexy laughed, and ducked down into the cockpit while the boom swung
over. The little sailboat was flying over the sunny water like a bird.
There was not a cloud in the pure bright sky, not a shadow in her joyous
heart.
“I am so glad you came!” she said.
“Of course I came,” he answered. “I had to swim all the way from India.”
“Mercy!” cried Lexy. “That must have been dreadful! But why?”
Mr. Houseman leaned forward and whispered solemnly:
“There was a tempest in a teapot.”
This frightened her.
“Do you think there’s going to be another one?” she whispered back.
“Sure to be!” said he. “Don’t you see how dark it’s getting?”
It was getting very dark. Lexy couldn’t see his face now.
“Hold my hand!” he shouted, and she reached out for it; but she couldn’t
find him at all.
“Mr. Houseman!” she cried.
There was no answer. She stared about her, numb with terror. What was it
that rustled like that? What were these black, tall things that were
standing motionless about her on every side?
“I’ve been dreaming,” she said to herself. “I’m in my own room, of
course. If I go just a few steps, I’ll touch the wall. I’m awake
now--only it’s so dark!”
And what was it that rustled like that--like leaves in the wind? What
were these black, still forms about her? Trees? No--they couldn’t be
trees.
In a wild panic she moved forward. Her outstretched hand touched
something, and she screamed. The scream seemed to run along through the
dark, leaping and rolling over the ground like a terrified animal. She
tried to run after it, stumbling and panting, until her shoulder struck
violently against something, and she stopped.
And into her sick and shuddering mind her old sturdy courage began to
return. She tried to breathe quietly. She struggled desperately against
the awful weakness that urged her to sink down on the ground and cover
her eyes.
“No!” she said aloud. “I won’t! I’m here! I’m alive! I will understand!
I will see!”
She was able now to draw a deep breath, and the horrible fluttering of
her heart grew less. She stood motionless, waiting. It was coming back
to her, that immortal, unconquerable spirit of hers. The anguish and the
strange fear were passing.
“I’m here,” she said. “I’m in a wood somewhere. These are trees. What I
hear are only the leaves in the wind. I don’t know where it is, or how I
got here; but I’m alive and well. I can walk. I can get out of it.”
She moved forward again, quietly and deliberately. Her eyes were more
accustomed to the darkness now, and she made her way through the trees,
looking always ahead, never once behind her.
“The wood must end somewhere,” she said. “The morning will have to come
some time. All I have to do is to go on.”
Patter, patter, patter, like little feet running behind her.
“Only the leaves on the trees,” said Lexy. “All I have to do is to go
on.”
And she went on. Sometimes a wild desire to run swept over her, but she
would not hasten her steps, and she would not look behind. The primeval
terror of the forest pressed upon her, but she cast it away. Alone,
lost, in darkness and solitude, she kept her hold upon the one thing
that mattered--the honor and dignity of her own soul.
“I’m not afraid,” she said.
And then she saw a light. At first she thought it was the moon, but it
hung too low, and it was too brilliant. Even then she would not run. She
went on steadily toward it. In a few minutes she stepped out of the
woodland upon a road--a hard, asphalt road with lights along it. It was
quite empty, it was unfamiliar to her, but she would have gone down on
her knees and kissed the dust of it. It was a road, and all roads lead
home.