white. Constans's heart gave a great bound, for who but Esmay carried
her small head with so irresistible a grace. She held out her hands as
Quinton Edge reached her side, but he crushed her into his arms and
kissed her on the lips. They walked slowly along the terrace, turned the
corner of the eastern portico, and disappeared. Constans, running up,
was just an instant too late; he heard Quinton Edge calling the dog
inside, then the sound of the closing door.
By a supreme exercise of will Constans stopped short of the insanity
that impelled him to thunder on the barrier and demand admittance. Yet
he must gain instant entrance to the house, and he ran around the
terrace to the river portico. As he had expected, the hall-door was
fastened, but he had no difficulty in forcing one of the long windows of
the drawing-room; he stepped into the dark and empty room and stood
listening.
There was perfect silence everywhere, but he could not trust to it--eyes
and ears might be in waiting at every turn, and, above all, there was
the dog. He wondered that the hound had not already detected his
presence in the house, and his pulse thumped at the thought; he fancied
that he could hear deep breathing and the oncoming of padded feet.
The minutes passed, and the silence remained unbroken. Then the sense of
his cowardice smote him; the jaws of the brute would be preferable to
this intolerable inaction, and he went forward through the half-opened
door and into the main hall.
This, too, was empty, and, having windows that faced the west, it was
sufficiently well lighted by the conflagration to make the fact of its
desertion certain. And Constans owed it to the friendly flames that he
was once more provided with a weapon. There was a rapier hanging upon
the wall, slender and yet strong, of very ancient make; in an instant he
had it down and was trying the temper of its blade upon the hearthstone.
The touch of the cold steel was like a tonic; heart and blood responded
immediately. Its discovery had been a fortunate chance, for again the
illumination in the west died down the final pianissimo before the full
crash of the orchestra--and the darkness returned deeper than before.
Constans, with the rapier held shortened in his hand, found his way to
the staircase and began the ascent. At the turn of the second landing he
stopped, feeling instinctively that there was something in the way. When
he could bear no longer to wait and listen, he put his hand down and
felt beneath it the smooth, hairy coat of the hound's body. The dog was
quite dead, and lying in a pool of her own blood; there was a warm,
sickly smell of salt in the air, and Constans's hand was wet when he
fetched it away. Who had done this thing, and why?
He went on, with every sense on edge. He could hardly have mistaken his
way now, for the door before him stood partly ajar, and there was a
light in the room; Constans guessed that it must be the first of the
private apartments belonging to Quinton Edge.
He looked in. The room was a large one and luxuriously furnished. An
ancient hanging-lamp of brass hung from the ceiling, diffusing a soft
radiance; the curtains that concealed the deep window-seat were closely
drawn, and, had Constans made his observations with more care, he might
have noticed that something moved behind them, an unwieldy bulk that
gathered itself as though for a spring.
But he took no account of these smaller things, his eyes being full of
Esmay only, and surely that was she who stood there in the shelter of
Quinton Edge's arms; now she half turned her head, the better to look
into her lord's face, and Constans could trace the outline of her
profile--the upper lip, so deliciously short, and the exquisite curve
of her throat. His breath came quick as he watched them, and his grasp
tightened upon the rapier hilt. So she had deceived him, after all; she
had played the traitress from the very beginning. Twice, now, she had
smiled into his eyes and sold him for some piece of trumpery--a bracelet
of carbuncles or a kiss from Quinton Edge's lips. Well, he could kill
them both, and almost at a single stroke, since they stood with their
backs to the doorway and were quite unconscious of his presence. But,
upon further thought, he determined to wreak positive vengeance on
Quinton Edge alone. It was shame to strike a woman, and unnecessary--it
would be her punishment to live.
Dispassionately he reviewed his decision and reaffirmed it; it was now
the time for action. But he had delayed just a moment too long. Before
he could take that first forward step the one who waited behind the
window-curtains had passed before him, an ungainly figure of a man, who
limped upon one knee and whose black beard fell like a curtain before
his cruel mouth and lips--Kurt, whom men called the "Knacker." A knife
was in his hand, and he struck once and twice at Quinton Edge.
"This for the thirty lashes at Middenmass!" he shouted; "and this----"
But here Constans's rapier passed through his throat, and he fell back,
gurgling horribly and tearing at his windpipe.
It had all happened so quickly that the two living men could only stare
alternately at each other and at the burden that lay in Quinton Edge's
arms. A slim, white figure, with that red stain upon her
breast--spreading, spreading.
Constans gathered himself with a mighty effort. "Let me help you," he
said, and between them they carried her over to the couch and laid her
down. On a near-by table stood a ewer of water; Constans fetched it and
began moistening the bloodless lips. They parted with a little sigh, and
then the eyes of his sister Issa opened upon him. "Little brother," she
whispered, and smiled.
Constans looked over at Quinton Edge, but he shook his head and stood
back among the shadows.
"Little brother," said Issa again, and put out a wavering hand.
XXIX
DEATH AND LIFE
It had been very quiet in the room for a long time. Constans had tried
to make the dying woman more comfortable, but every attempt to move her
had only resulted in the wound breaking out afresh. It was cruelty to
persist, and so he gave it over, waiting for what must come.
Now it seemed that Issa slept, for her eyes were closed and the lines of
pain had wholly disappeared from the smooth, white brow. Quinton Edge
kept his place at the back, where he could see and not be seen; a statue
could not have been more immobile. Constans, kneeling by the couch,
still held his sister's hand in his, keeping watch upon the pulse that
fluttered so delicately. Once or twice the heavy eyes had opened and she
had smiled up at him--contentedly as a child resting after the long
day's play.
Constans had not attempted to speak; his mind was still seeking its
wonted bearings, and he was afraid. His sister Issa!--the little Issa
with whom he had played at fox-chase and grace-hoops. Issa!--the maiden
who had gathered her May-bloom in the long ago, and who had given
herself and all for love of the stranger within her father's gates; yes,
and who had died within that self-same hour upon her lord's breast.
And yet if this miracle were indeed the truth it accounted for more than
one thing that had troubled him. He remembered now the white-robed
figure that had appeared to him in the gardens of Arcadia House and the
superstitious terror with which he had watched it following upon the
unconscious footsteps of the girl Esmay. Then, again, the fair-haired
woman who only a few minutes ago had come to meet Quinton Edge on the
north terrace, an apparition so ravishing that Constans must needs
confound it with the flesh-and-blood presentment of his own dear lady.
She was speaking now, almost fretfully. "Is the night never to be gone?
The hangings at the window are so heavy. And where is my father?"
Constans rose and went to the window, intent on flinging it wide open.
But Quinton Edge was there before him and stayed his hand.
"No," he said, and Constans obeyed, being greatly troubled in mind and
uncertain of himself, even as one who wanders in a maze. This Quinton
Edge must have perceived, for he spoke gently, making it plain to him
that this was, indeed, the maid whom they had both loved and not some
disembodied shadow from the underworld. And having come finally to
believe this, Constans was comforted and desired to hear the matter in
full. "Tell me," he said, and Quinton Edge went on:
"It was weeks and weeks that she lay weak and speechless upon a pallet
of dried fern, her only shelter the thatch of a mountain sheepfold.
"There was no one among us who had any knowledge of surgery, and so I
had to be content with simples--cold-water compresses for the wound and
a tea made from the blossoms of the camomile flower to subdue the fever
in the blood. So the days dragged by until the turn for the better came.
Little by little I nursed her back to life again, and in time we came
safely to Doom.
"Arcadia House was a secure hiding-place for my treasure, and during all
these years no one has even guessed at the secret. I had no need to
trust my servants, for they knew nothing; the walls had neither eyes nor
ears, and I kept my own counsel. Until to-day no man's eye but mine has
looked upon her face.
"But even yet you do not wholly understand. Have you forgotten, then,
that the body may be in health and yet the soul be darkened? She had
come back to life, indeed, but it was the life of a butterfly in the
sun, unconscious of aught else than the light and warmth that surrounds
it. For her the past had been sealed; to me the future. Do you
understand now? A woman grown and yet as a new-born babe in heart and
mind. What was there for me to do but to bear my punishment as patiently
as I might, the cup of love ever at my lips, but never to be tasted."
Constans kept silence for a little space. When he spoke it was
haltingly.
"Then you think--you think----"
"She recognized you. Could you not see it--that note in her voice as of
one who wakes from a long sleep? That was why I stopped you from
throwing aside the window-curtains. The light of the burning city--it
might have brought back the memory of that night at the keep."
"And for the same reason you have kept yourself out of sight," said
Constans, coldly.
The man trembled. "Yes; I am afraid," he answered, and Constans, for all
his bitterness of heart, was fain to pity him.
A series of muffled explosions startled them. Quinton Edge moved softly
towards the outer door. "The fire must be coming nearer," he whispered.
"I will make sure of our position and return within a few minutes. Hush!
she is sleeping again."
But when Constans went and stood by the couch, Issa was looking at him
with wide-opened eyes.
"Constans--little brother," she said, weakly, and yet with an infinite
content. He dropped to his knees beside her and tried to answer, but
could not.
"Surely it must be close to morning now," she went on, slowly. "I can
hear the doves cooing on the tiles, the wind is blowing over the
water-meadows, and the lark is in the blue--ah, God! how beautiful this
dear world of ours! It is the May-time, little brother, and the arbutus
will be in bloom--the shy, pink blossoms that nestle on the sunny slopes
of the rocks and at the roots of the birch-trees. We will gather
them--you and I--and bring them home to deck our lady mother's chamber.
The May-bloom--it is in the air. How sweet--how sweet!"
Constans, following the look in her eyes, saw a low table standing
against the opposite wall. Upon it was a bowl filled with the delicate
arbutus--fresh and fragrant as though but lately gathered. He went
softly across the room and despoiled the bowl of a spray. She took it
from him eagerly. Then the violet eyes clouded.
"I cannot remember--it must be that I am still so tired--it is strange.
The morning--it cannot be far distant--now----"
Quinton Edge at the threshold held up a beckoning finger, and Constans
went to him.
"It is upon us," said the Doomsman. "The out-buildings are smoking
already, and the lumber-yard on the north will become a furnace the
instant that the first spark falls there. There is but one chance--the
river. You will find a boat at the dock. The girl Esmay--ah, you could
think that, too, of me. Yet it was natural enough."
Constans would have spoken, but the words tripped on his tongue. Quinton
Edge interrupted him imperiously.
"She is there," he said, and pointed to a door leading to the interior
apartments of the suite. "I could not leave Issa entirely alone on this
last night. So I brought the girl here--for once, she trusted me. For
once, you can do likewise."
Constans bowed his head. "But Issa," he said, thickly.
"She would be dead in our arms before we reached the stairs," returned
the other. "Can you not leave her to me for just this little while
longer?" His voice hardened savagely. "She is mine, do you hear--mine,
mine. I have paid the price, double and treble, and now I take what is
my own."
His voice rang like a trumpet in the narrow room. And yet, straight
through its clamor, pierced the sound of a stifled cry. Constans turned
instantly, but Quinton Edge, trembling, kept his eyes fixed on the
floor.
Sitting upright upon the couch, Issa looked at the two men steadfastly,
and then only at the one. The violet depths in her eyes had darkened to
pools of midnight, and her lips were like a thread of scarlet against
the ivory of her face. A miracle! but Constans would not look again,
knowing that for him this hour had passed forever.
Constans went to the inner door and opened it. Esmay was kneeling at the
window; he went over and touched her on the shoulder. "Come," he said.
She looked up at him, and he saw that her face whitened for all of the
glare from the flaming sky that fell upon it. Yet she let him lead her,
unresisting, into the other room, where Quinton Edge still stood
motionless and looked upon the floor. Constans plucked at his sleeve,
drawing him out into the full circle of the lamp-light. Face to face for
the last time, and, though no word was said, each knew that there was
peace between them.
"Go to her," whispered Constans, and pushed him gently towards the
couch.
* * * * *
Now the room had fallen into semi-darkness, for the oil had failed in
the lamp, and there was only that dull-red line along the edge of the
window-curtains. And there was silence, too, for all that words could
say had been said already.
* * * * *
The minutes passed, but the man had ceased to count them. The hand that
lay in his was growing cold, but the knowledge had ceased to concern
him; the brain no longer registered the messages sent by the nerves,
and he was conscious only of an immense weariness, of an overwhelming
desire to sleep. The maiden Issa's hair lay within the hollow of his
arm, a pool of rippled gold; it was like looking down into an enchanted
well; the waters seem to rise and meet him. The glow at the curtain-edge
grew stronger; now it was a lake of liquid fire into which he gazed.
* * * * *
The threshold of the door had warped and sprung, and through the crack
crept a thin line of smoke; it raised itself sinuously, as does a snake;
it darted its head from side to side, preparing to strike.
* * * * *
Descending the staircase, Constans saw that the time was growing
perilously short. On three sides of them the buildings were burning, and
Arcadia House itself was on fire at the southern wing. The hurricane,
shifting back to the northwest, was at its wildest, and the air was full
of ashes and incandescent sparks. As Constans and Esmay emerged from the
shelter of the house, it seemed as though the universe itself was on
fire. Could they ever hope to reach the river? His heart sank as he
looked at that fiery rain through which they must pass. He turned to
Esmay.
"It is the only way," he began, and then stopped, wondering that she
should look so strangely upon him.
"I thought you dead," she answered, humbly. "It was the last thing I
heard--the silver whistle and Nanna misunderstood my question."
"Oh," said Constans, enlightened, and at the same time subtly warned
that he must not press her too far. "So you feared that it might have
been my spirit that came to fetch you?"
"No; not feared," she answered, and with such sweet confidence that
Constans's heart thrilled to new courage. By God's splendor! this woman
trusted him and he would save her.
Half way to the boat-stage they were caught in a whirlwind of choking
vapor; they struggled onward for a few steps, and then the girl fell.
With infinite difficulty Constans half carried, half dragged her down
the last slope to the landing. The boat, a small canoe or dugout, was
there, but he could find only one broken paddle. It was a mad thing to
venture out upon the wind-lashed river with equipment so imperfect, but
there could be no choice of another way.
The tide was running out strongly and Constans could do nothing more
than keep the craft on a straight course and out of the trough of the
heavier seas. He looked longingly at the opposite shore, so near to the
eye and so impossible to attain against that wind and tide; he realized
that they were drifting down into the open bay, and that would be the
end. Yet he would fight for it, and now that the fresh air had aroused
Esmay from her swoon, she crept to his side and sat there comforting
him.
Four hours later the keel grated on a pebbly shingle, and Constans,
looking about him with weary eyes, recognized the little bay, with its
fringing semicircle of trees. Here was the very log upon which he had
sat and dreamed of unutterable things that bright May morning in the
long ago, a dream from which he had awakened to make first acquaintance
with Quinton Edge.
A little way up the grassy glade a fire was burning, and there was the
savory odor of roasted meat in the air. Constans helped Esmay out of the
boat, and with stiffened limbs they dragged themselves up the forest
way. There was a little shriek, a rush of feet, and swishing skirts, and
Nanna's arms were about her sister, while Constans was looking into
Piers Minor's honest eyes.
Far in the north, a smoke as of a furnace ascended, and the sky was
darkened. But here the sun shone brightly, the grass was green
underfoot, the birds sang in the branches above their heads, and the
smell of the spring-tide was in the air. Truly, life and light are sweet
to him who has once walked in the shadow.
XXX
THE STAR IN THE EAST
It was in October of the same year that Constans and Esmay stood one day
in the court-yard of the Greenwood Keep, now restored and rebuilt.
His father's blood friends had helped generously in the rehabilitation
of his fortunes, and Constans had worked hard with his own hands. Now
the task was finished, and he had persuaded Esmay to ride over from the
River Barony and pronounce in person upon its merits. For let it be
known that Piers Minor had lost no time in bringing home his bride, and
both he and Nanna had insisted that Esmay must live with them. And Esmay
had accepted gratefully, for all that she was an heiress in her own
right, through inheritance of her uncle Hugolin's estate, and could have
bought and sold Piers Minor and Nanna, and all their holdings, ten times
over. But all of her red gold could not buy love, and Esmay was wise
enough to know this. Moreover, the River Barony was but twenty miles
distant from the Greenwood Keep, and at least twice every week Constans
rode over and spent the night. It was pleasant to hear him tell proudly
of the progress of the work; how yesterday the roofing of the
guard-house had been started, and how to-day they had turned for the
first time the waters of the Ochre brook into the moat. Esmay always
listened attentively, and it pleased her to think that Constans looked
at her when he talked, even though his actual words might be addressed
to Piers Minor or to Nanna. Listening always, but speaking seldom, for
she felt that he was waiting purposely until some milestone of
achievement had been passed, and she feared that he might consider her
unwomanly. So the summer had gone, the great work was accomplished, and
now they were viewing it together. They had seen everything, going in
turn from lighting platform to calving-barn; from forge and smithy to my
lady's bower. And Esmay had duly admired all and pronounced it good.
Now they were standing in the great hall watching the martins as they
circled around the red-capped gatehouse, and the white doves cooing in
the eaves. A silence had fallen between them, and Constans, leaning
against the window-casement, seemed to have forgotten of Esmay's very
existence. Quietly she drew aside and left him, impelled by an
irresistible desire to know if he would notice her absence and would
follow her. Hardly had she stolen five steps away than she heard him
start, and then turn to seek her. A sheer delight coursed through her
veins, and she began to run.
"Esmay!" he called, but she would not stop, gathering up her skirts in
both her hands, and trying not to look behind her. But he was quickly at
her heels, and an inexplicable terror seemed to seize her; she looked
about for a hiding-place; a door presented itself, and she clutched the
handle desperately, but it refused to turn. Seeing her discomfiture,
Constans believed that he was entitled to enjoy his triumph. He walked
up with leisurely deliberation. "You are a goose," he said, and took
her hands in his, as one who reproves a wilful child.
She assented meekly.
"To run away like that--so foolish, when I had something serious to say
to you. Why do you suppose I brought you here? Why should I want you to
see the house? why did I build it at all? Be good enough to answer me."
She looked up at him with the most innocent expression in the world.
"Why?" she echoed, as though mightily puzzled, and immediately the male
creature became miserably bewildered, and lost his confident bearing in
the twinkling of an eye. Had she really misunderstood him? had he been
deceiving himself from the very beginning? He turned pale and dropped
her hands, and she, misinterpreting this relinquishment of ownership,
felt the blood receding from her own checks. Two utterly foolish
creatures, and yet their folly is not to be argued away by the wise men.
For while it is the accepted theory that a woman always knows when she
is loved (with which men please themselves), and _per contra_ that a man
is never unconscious of the favor in which he stands (with which women
torment themselves), yet the truth is that neither man nor woman is ever
certain of the fact until it is finally proclaimed in actual speech. So
this is why lovers are always being asked to repeat and repeat again the
magic words upon which all their happiness depends.
"The reason--you know--the reason why," he stammered, and then she came
to his aid.
"Yes, I know, but _tell_ me."
And thereupon he did tell her.
A year later, and Constans and his wife sat on a high point of land that
overlooked the waters of the Lower bay and the broad, salt sea beyond
the dunes. Several of Constans's neat-cattle had strayed, and he had
determined to ride to the fishermen's village below the Narrows to
inquire if the estrays had been seen in that direction. Esmay had
accompanied him, and they had been all day in the saddle and were weary.
Nevertheless, they were satisfied, for the lost cattle had been
recovered, and in the morning the herdsmen would be sent over to drive
them home.
They had shared a frugal supper of bread and cheese and dried grapes,
and now they were waiting until the horses should have cropped their
fill. There was no hurry, the moon not rising for an hour yet, and it
was useless to arrive at the Kills before the time of slack water.
Constans had his back against a pine-stump, and Esmay's head rested on
her husband's shoulder. They sat in silence, gazing out upon the gray
sea, content in their present happiness and looking forward to a yet
greater one in the near future. For to Constans Esmay had just made a
wife's final confession, the secret being whispered into his inmost ear,
though there was only the land and the sea to overhear.
Suddenly, on the darkened eastern sky-line, a bright light flashed out,
in color like to a star, and yet incomparably more brilliant. And the
light was not fixed, but continually changed its base, as was shown by
the broad band of rays that now swept the surface of the sea and then
traced their luminous way on the overhanging clouds. Another shift and
the shining pathway reached to their very feet, illuminating with its
radiance every object within its focus, down to the tiniest shell upon
the beach. Esmay, startled, clung to her husband's arm.