END OF LANGLER
I opened my eyes about mid-day quite quit of our night of griefs, with
the word "_safe_" on my lips, for down there at Badsögl in bright
daylight all looked rosy at last, and I was already inclined to doubt
the bogies of the dark. Eager to start for England, I woke Langler,
wired to Swandale, warned our Hanska to be ready. We breakfasted, and
now nothing remained but to send the telegrams and set out.
We had determined to send two telegrams--one to Percival of Keble, the
other to my friend, Mr Martin Bentley, of _The Chronicle_. In that
morning's paper was no word yet of any exposure, the only big news being
that overnight in England Education had been again sent up to the Lords;
so under the corn-sheaf in the porch I, at Langler's request, wrote the
two telegrams, telling of the little alp-miracle, of the world-plot, of
the coming vials: and I handed it to Langler to read.
To my astonishment, Langler's face showed fastidious, and he said:
"Percival will think me sudden and epic, Arthur."
"Perhaps," I answered shortly, for he seemed not to mind that Mr Martin
Bentley would think _me_ sudden and epic.
"Couldn't we arrange somehow," said he, "to spread abroad our knowledge
without having our names mixed up in it? I hate this glare----"
"But the sudden proposition, Aubrey, at this eleventh hour," said I:
"how can this possibly be done?"
"I have thought," said he, "of a meeting of journalists in London, to
whom we could tell everything _viva voce_, since that, I think, would be
more in order."
"For Heaven's sake, Aubrey," I exclaimed, "let us get this thing off our
backs now, and be done with it!"
"But I have thought," said he, "that if we retard the news even a day or
two that might be a great thing for the Church as against the Education
Bill." (He disliked the bill for some reason--called it "_smart_.")
"But what have we to do with the fate of the Education Bill?" said I,
for what I wanted was to see his sister's face: "surely we can't gyve
and entangle ourselves with such side-motives now! See, here is the boy
waiting to take the telegrams; pray let us send them."
"Is that your deliberate judgment?" he asked.
"It is, yes," said I.
"Then," said he, "I submit to it: send the telegrams."
But he said it just too late, and the telegrams were never sent, for at
that moment a letter-carrier came into the porch with a telegram for us
which I saw shake in Langler's hand as he read it; it came from Paris,
bore no signature, and was in the words: "If you send any telegrams you
sacrifice Miss Langler."
We ought now to have decided upon our action in one minute, but were two
hours in the dining-room, where we went to discuss it. "What we have to
do," I said from the first, "is to send instantly a telegram to Emily
ordering her to fly and hide herself, as she did before, till we come;
then send the two telegrams to Percival and Bentley, just as we
intended."
"Ah, it would shock her, such a telegram," said Langler.
"We needn't send it, really," said I; "I only propose it so as to be
quite on the safe side, for this message of Baron Kolár's is just a
threat, a last card to keep us from acting; if we defy it, and send the
two telegrams, he will have no motive whatever to hurt Emily--except a
wanton revenge, of which the man is incapable. I believe that Emily is
quite safe, really. Let us boldly send the two telegrams, whether we
send one to Emily or not."
"Oh, I couldn't," he murmured, flinching, pacing the floor, sorely
pestered now. Of Baron Kolár as regards his sister he had a blue awe
and shiver, like a man who when a child has been frighted with bogies.
It is obvious that my view of the matter was the rational one, but he
flinched irrationally, he had a blue fear of what Kolár might just
possibly be minded to do to Miss Emily. On the other hand, his pride
rebelled against the baron, for when I said: "don't send the telegrams,
then, but let us start at once," his answer was: "but who is this man
that I should in all things obey him blindly? He may find me of grimmer
make than he thinks!"
"But it must be one thing or the other, Aubrey," said I. "Send the
telegrams or not as you please, but, either way, do let us be gone at
once. My telegram to Emily this morning assured her that she should see
us on Friday morning; if we don't start now we can't reach London till
Friday night, and she will thus be thrown into a fresh stew of misery.
The one fatal thing for us is indecision."
He stood at a window, looking out upon the garden, and after some time
said: "well, I won't send the telegrams: let us start, and in passing
through London we can divulge all to the meeting of journalists,
secretly called, then at once hurry on to Swandale."
"Very good," said I, "the car is ready; let us start this moment."
"But what a mess!" he hissed, turning upon me: "I warn you, Arthur, that
it is even mean, it is even craven. Am I, then, the bondman of this
person?"
"Still, let us start, Aubrey! let us start!" cried I, with a pang of
panic in me.
"We are about to start," said he. "But consider whether this meeting of
journalists in London will not mean delay: suppose the man gets wind of
it, and, even while we are about it, perpetrates some horror at
Swandale...."
"He will have no motive!" I cried.
"Ah, he may have, he _may_. Would it not be better to send the
telegrams, only warning Percival and Mr Bentley not to make them public
for some days? In that way we act as we originally intended, our
purposes will not have been influenced by this man's mandates, and at
the same time he will not know that we have defied him."
"Well, then, let us do so, and quickly," said I.
"But that, after all, is mere self-cheating," he sighed: "if the
telegrams are not to be made public at once, why send telegrams? Why not
wait and write letters, which, moreover, would be less sudden and
assaulting? No, Arthur, if we are to obey the mandates of the man let us
not do so in such a way as to persuade ourselves that we have not done
so."
"But all this subtlety, Aubrey, when we should be stirring!" said I:
"come, shall we not decide one way or the other, and start now?"
"But are we to start without knowing what we are about?" he cried. "What
a mess! Is it possible that you cannot help me a little to see my way?"
"What more can I say?" I asked: "I have begged you to send the
telegrams, but, since you are timid about Emily, do not send them; there
remains the meeting of journalists in London; or thirdly, we can write
letters from Swandale. Only, let us start. I see clearly that all danger
to Emily is past; the really terrible danger now is to ourselves up to
the moment when we shall have communicated to someone else this
knowledge that we carry in our heads; and, indirectly, there is a danger
to Emily if our return is delayed, for it will monstrously shock her, I
warn you, Aubrey: let us start."
"Yes, do, do let us start," he muttered: "I shall send the telegrams; in
which case, do you still advise me to send one to Emily bidding her fly
from Swandale?"
I looked at the clock, saying, "no, not now, too late: for if Baron
Kolár really meant her any harm, by this time he has made his
arrangements to accomplish it; she wouldn't escape him. But he means her
no harm, and such a telegram would only throw her into needless alarms."
"Well, but I couldn't venture to send the telegrams to Percival and Mr
Bentley without also sending one to her," he answered.
"Ah, then, here is another deadlock," said I.
"Oh, Arthur," he cried out, "how we do need some faculty between scent
and sight to live!"
"But if you would let me decide for you--if you could, if you would!" I
wooed to him.
"Do so, do so, I beg for nothing better," he answered with his
bitter-sweet smile.
And again I decided for him, but again he raised new side-issues, and it
went on until near three, when we at last departed, after wiring to
Swandale that we should not arrive on Friday morning, as promised, but
on Friday evening between nine and eleven. As for the two telegrams,
they had not gone, for our world-message was to be shuffled off our
shoulders at the meeting of journalists.
Away, then, we flew westward. A whine was now in the time of year even
in the lowlands, and the worm of winter at its work in the woods. I saw
bands of telegraph-wires like bars of written music, crowded with birds
migrating, and thought how a messenger-wren, too, may be, had once
halted to rest on this band or on that; I saw cliffs of forest reflected
red, yellow, and negro in rivers, like old tapestry, angular and faded;
and that evening I saw such a sunset as I think that I have never seen,
save on the three following evenings, perfectly astonishing, like
portents. At dinner-time we arrived at Munich, where a telegram from
Swandale awaited us, and as she could hardly have been certain at which
hotel we should stay, we understood that she must have sent many
telegrams on the chance of striking us somewhere. _Why_ the delay from
Friday morning to Friday night, she wished to know! Were we actually
now on the way? Would we telegraph her at every town? She had been
greatly upset, but was reconciled now to the delay, provided we were
actually now at last on the way--a long message. We wired that we were
straining homeward, and at Stuttgart that midnight met yet a message
from her that seemed to laugh through tears, not without something of
the rictus of hysteria, I am afraid, with its "joy!" and its "bless
God!" and its "poor Kitty-wren is ill; she will sink more and more as
you come nearer, and the moment you re-enter Swandale gate will drop
dead." We had to stop some time at Stuttgart, but sleep was far from me,
such a pity bled in me, such a fear was mine; then under the stars we
started out afresh behind our flying Hanska, who had gained from Langler
the biblical name of "the terror, the arrow, and--the pestilence."
On the Thursday evening we were at Metz, where fresh messages passed
between us and Swandale; at Metz also we arranged for the meeting of
journalists, first wiring to Langler's friend, the Rev. Thomas Grimes,
who in his reply placed at our disposal a room in the Church-house,
Great Titchfield Street; we then sent messages to eight journalists whom
I knew, begging them to be at the Church-house at eight on the Friday
night, and to bring with them any other journalists whom they chose, to
hear a matter of high moment: we hoped that we might thus have a
meeting of perhaps a hundred men, who would instantly flood the world
with the news.
We then afresh set off, straining to catch the next day's 5.35 P.M.
boat. I am fond of the memory of that ride, for with it ended most of my
merriment in this life; the air was crisp and bright, the flight filled
our breasts, and raised our spirits. That evening on leaving Metz we
looked with something like awe and joy at the sunset, which was most
flamboyant, and likened by Langler to God's war-lords mingled in battle.
There burned in it a form that had an urn in her hand, which he pointed
me out, and with much feeling said to me: "to me, too, this earth is
dear, Arthur. It is easy to conceive a world with ruby mountains and
coloured moons, where all the lads are forever blowing the oboe and
ring-doves roll their soft rondeaus; but give me this hand-made old home
of ours, with her quite Greek trimness of style; for it is something
after all not to have been turned out by a God in a troubadour mood, and
out of her strength comes forth sweetness, too, anon,--consolations and
vouchsafements, winning twangs, and Memnon-vowels. Farther in the future
this music of our Father will discourse perhaps, and mourn, Arthur, to a
humanity that will have outlived this outer ear, and hoarded up an
inward hearing and harmony."
Moved by some throe of love, I laid my hand on his arm then, as the
sunset faded, murmuring to him "Aubrey, always full of grace and
truth"--I cannot tell why; it was my last caress; I did it to his
burying; and God knew, but not I. The same night we rushed through
Charleville, and by 5.10 the next evening were in Calais.