ON THE EDGE OF A FUTURE
At last the day of the wedding came, a beautiful September day, which may
be more beautiful in uncertain England than anywhere else. Lali had been
strangely quiet all the day before, and she had also seemed strangely
delicate. Perhaps, or perhaps not, she felt the crisis was approaching.
It is probable that when the mind has been strained for a long time, and
the heart and body suffered much, one sees a calamity vaguely, and cannot
define it; appreciates it, and does not know it. She came to Marion's
room about a half-hour before they were to start for the church. Marion
was already dressed and ready, save for the few final touches, which,
though they have been given a dozen times, must still again be given
just before the bride starts for the church. Such is the anxious mind
of women on these occasions. The two stood and looked at each other a
moment, each wondering what were the thoughts of the other. Lali was
struck by that high, proud look over which lay a glamour of infinite
satisfaction, of sweetness, which comes to every good woman's face when
she goes to the altar in a marriage which is not contingent on the rise
or fall in stocks, or a satisfactory settlement. Marion, looking, saw,
as if it had been revealed to her all at once, the intense and miraculous
change which had come over the young wife, even within the past two
months. Indeed, she had changed as much within that time as within all
the previous four years--that is, she had been brought to a certain point
in her education and experience, where without a newer and deeper
influence she could go no further. That newer and deeper influence had
come, and the result thereof was a woman standing upon the verge of the
real tragedy to her life, which was not in having married the man, but
in facing that marriage with her new intelligence and a transformed soul.
Men can face that sort of thing with a kind of philosophy, not because
men are better or wiser, but because it really means less to them. They
have resources of life, they can bury themselves in their ambitions good
or bad, but a woman can only bury herself in her affections, unless her
heart has been closed; and in that case she herself has lost much of what
made her adorable. And while she may go on with the closed heart and
become a saint, even saintship is hardly sufficient to compensate any man
or woman for a half-lived life. The only thing worth doing in this world
is to live life according to one's convictions--and one's heart. He or
she who sells that fine independence for a mess of pottage, no matter if
the mess be spiced, sells, as the Master said, the immortal part of him.
And so Lali, just here on the edge of Marion's future, looking into that
mirror, was catching the reflection of her own life. When two women come
so near that, like the lovers in the Tempest, they have changed eyes, in
so far as to read each other's hearts, even indifferently, which is much
where two women are concerned, there is only one resource, and that is to
fall into each other's arms, and to weep if it be convenient, or to hold
their tears for a more fitting occasion; and most people will admit that
tears need not add to a bride's beauty.
Marion might, therefore, be pardoned if she had her tears in her throat
and not in her eyes, and Lali, if they arose for a moment no higher than
her heart. But they did fall into each other's arms despite veils and
orange blossoms, and somehow Marion had the feeling for Lali that she had
on that first day at Greyhope, four years ago, when standing on the
bridge, the girl looked down into the water, tears dropping on her hands,
and Marion said to her: "Poor girl! poor girl!" The situations were the
same, because Lali had come to a new phase of her life, and what that
phase would be who could tell-happiness or despair?
The usual person might think that Lali was placing herself and her wifely
affection at a rather high price, but then it is about the only thing
that a woman can place high, even though she be one-third a white woman
and two-thirds an Indian. Here was a beautiful woman, who had run the
gamut of a London season, who had played a pretty social part, admirably
trained therefor by one of the best and most cultured families of
England. Besides, why should any woman sell her affections even to her
husband, bargain away her love, the one thing that sanctifies "what God
hath joined let no man put asunder"? Lali was primitive, she was unlike
so many in a trivial world, but she was right. She might suffer, she
might die, but, after all, there are many things worse than that. Man is
born in a day, and he dies in a day, and the thing is easily over; but to
have a sick heart for three-fourths of one's lifetime is simply to have
death renewed every morning; and life at that price is not worth living.
In this sensitive age we are desperately anxious to save life, as if it
was the really great thing in the world; but in the good, strong times of
the earth--and in these times, indeed, when necessity knows its hour--men
held their lives as lightly as a bird upon the housetop which any chance
stone might drop.
It is possible that at this moment the two women understood each other
better than they had ever done, and respected each other more. Lali,
recovering herself, spoke a few soft words of congratulation, and then
appeared to busy herself in putting little touches to Marion's dress,
that soft persuasion of fingers which does so much to coax mere cloth
into a sort of living harmony with the body.
They had no more words of confidence, but in the porch of the church,
Marion, as she passed Lali, caught the slender fingers in her own and
pressed them tenderly. Marion was giving comfort, and yet if she had
been asked why she could not have told. She did not try to define it
further than to say to herself that she herself was having almost too
much happiness. The village was en fete, and peasants lined the street
leading to the church, ready with their hearty God-bless-you's. Lali sat
between her husband and Mrs. Armour, apparently impassive until there
came the question: "Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?"
and General Armour's voice came clear and strong: "I do." Then a soft
little cry broke from her, and she shivered slightly. Mrs. Armour did
not notice, but Frank and Mrs. Lambert heard and saw, and both were
afterwards watchful and solicitous. Frank caught Mrs. Lambert's eye,
and it said, to a little motion of the head: "Do not appear to notice."
Lali was as if in a dream. She never took her eyes from the group at
the altar until the end, and the two, now man and wife, turned to go into
the vestry. Then she appeared to sink away into herself for a moment,
before she fell into conversation with the others, as they moved towards
the vestry.
"It was beautiful, wasn't it?" ventured Edward Lambert.
"The most beautiful wedding I ever saw," she answered, with a little
shadow of meaning; and Lambert guessed that it was the only one she had
seen since she came to England.
"How well Vidall looked," said Frank, "and as proud as a sultan. Did you
hear what he said, as Marion came up the aisle?"
"No," responded Lambert.
"He said, 'By Jove, isn't she fine!' He didn't seem conscious that other
people were present."
"Well, if a man hasn't some inspirations on his wedding-day when is he to
have them?" said Mrs. Lambert. "For my part, I think that the woman
always does that sort of thing better than a man. It is her really great
occasion, and she masters it--the comedy is all hers." They were just
then entering the vestry.
"Or the tragedy, as the case may be," said Lali quietly, smiling at
Marion. She had, as it were, recovered herself, and her words had come
with that airy, impersonal tone which permits nothing of what is said in
it to be taken seriously. Something said by the others had recalled her
to herself, and she was now returned very suddenly to the old position of
alertness and social finesse. Something icy seemed to pass over her, and
she immediately lost all self-consciousness, and began to speak to her
husband with less reserve than she had shown since he had come. But he
was not deceived. He saw that at that very instant she was further away
from him than she had ever been. He sighed, in spite of himself,
as Lali, with well-turned words, said some loving greetings to Marion,
and then talked a moment with Captain Vidall.
"Who can understand a woman?" said Lambert to his wife meaningly.
"Whoever will," she answered. "How do you mean?"
"Whoever will wait like the saint upon the pillar, will suffer like the
traveller in the desert; serve like a slave, and demand like a king; have
patience greater than Job; love ceaseless as a fountain in the hills; who
sees in the darkness and is not afraid of light; who distrusts not,
neither believes, but stands ready to be taught; who is prepared for a
kiss this hour and a reproach the next; who turneth neither to right nor
left at her words, but hath an unswerving eye--these shall understand a
woman."
"I never knew you so philosophical. Where did you get this deliverance
on the subject?"
"May not even a woman have a moment of inspiration?"
"I should expect that of my wife."
"And I should expect that of my husband. It is trite to say that men are
vain; I shall remark that they sit so much in their own light that they
are surprised if another being crosses their disc."
"You always were clever, my dear, and you always were twice too good for
me."
"Well, every woman--worth the knowing--is a missionary."
"Where does Lali come in?"
"Can you ask? To justify the claims of womanhood in spite of race--and
all."
"To bring one man to a sense of the duty of sex to sex, eh?"
"Truly. And is she not doing it well? See her now." They were now just
leaving the church, and Lali had taken General Armour's arm, while
Richard led his mother to the carriage.
Lali was moving with a little touch of grandeur in her manner and a more
than ordinary deliberation. She had had a moment of great weakness, and
then there had come the reaction--carried almost too far by the force of
the will. She was indeed straining herself too far. Four years of
tension were culminating.
"See her now, Edward," repeated Mrs. Lambert. "Yes, but if I'm not
mistaken, my dear, she is doing so well that she's going to pieces.
She's overstrung to-day. If it were you, you'd be in hysterics."
"I believe you are right," was the grave reply. "There will be an end
to this comedy one way or another very soon."
A moment afterwards they were in a carriage rolling away to Greyhope.