“Why have you tried?”
“Because every man likes freedom. But I like you better.” “I can tell
you the reason,” she said in her gentle unwavering voice. “I am Lady
Meryon’s governess, and an undesirable. You have felt that?”
“Don’t make me out such a snob. No--yes. You force me into honesty.
I did feel it at first like the miserable fool I am, but I could kick
myself when I think of that now. It is utterly forgotten. Take me and
make me what you will, and forgive me. Only tell me your secret of joy.
How is it you understand everything alive or dead? I want to live--to
see, to know.”
It was a rhapsody like a boy’s. Yet at the moment I was not even ashamed
of it, so sharp was my need.
“I think,” she said, slowly, looking straight before her, “that I had
better be quite frank. I don’t love you. I don’t know what love means
in the Western sense. It has a very different meaning for me. Your voice
comes to me from an immense distance when you speak in that way. You
want me--but never with a thought of what I might want. Is that love? I
like you very deeply as a friend, but we are of different races. There
is a gulf.”
“A gulf? You are English.”
“By birth, yes. In mind, no. And there are things that go deeper, that
you could not understand. So I refuse quite definitely, and our ways
part here, for in a few days I go. I shall not see you again, but I wish
to say good-bye.”
The bitterest chagrin was working in my soul. I felt as if all were
deserting me-a sickening feeling of loneliness. I did not know the man
who was in me, and was a stranger to myself.
“I entreat you to tell me why, and where.”
“Since you have made me this offer, I will tell you why. Lady Meryon
objected to my friendship with you, and objected in a way which-”
She stopped, flushing palely. I caught her hand.
“That settles it!-that she should have dared! I’ll go up this minute and
tell her we are engaged. Vanna-Vanna!”
For she disengaged her hand, quietly but firmly.
“On no account. How can I make it more plain to you? I should have gone
soon in any case. My place is in the native city--that is the life I
want. I have work there, I knew it before I came out. My sympathies are
all with them. They know what life is--why even the beggars, poorer than
poor, are perfectly happy, basking in the great generous sun. Oh, the
splendour and riot of life and colour! That’s my life--I sicken of
this.”
“But I’ll give it to you. Marry me, and we will travel till you’re tired
of it.”
“Yes, and look on as at a play--sitting in the stalls, and applauding
when we are pleased. No, I’m going to work there.” “For God’s sake, how?
Let me come too.”
“You can’t. You’re not in it. I am going to attach myself to the medical
mission at Lahore and learn nursing, and then I shall go to my own
people.”
“Missionaries? You’ve nothing in common with them?”
“Nothing. But they teach what I want. Mr. Clifden, I shall not come this
way again. If I remember--I’ll write to you, and tell you what the real
world is like.”
She smiled, the absorbed little smile I knew and feared. I saw pleading
was useless then. I would wait, and never lose sight of her and of hope.
“Vanna, before you go, give me your gift of sight. Interpret for me.
Stay with me a little and make me see.”
“What do you mean exactly?” she asked in her gentlest voice, half
turning to me.
“Make one journey with me, as my sister, if you will do no more. Though
I warn you that all the time I shall be trying to win my wife. But come
with me once, and after that--if you will go, you must. Say yes.”
Madness! But she hesitated--a hesitation full of hope, and looked at me
with intent eyes.
“I will tell you frankly,” she said at last, “that I know my knowledge
of the East and kinship with it goes far beyond mere words. In my case
the doors were not shut. I believe--I know that long ago this was my
life. If I spoke for ever I could not make you understand how much I
know and why. So I shall quite certainly go back to it. Nothing--you
least of all, can hold me. But you are my friend--that is a true bond.
And if you would wish me to give you two months before I go, I might do
that if it would in any way help you. As your friend only--you clearly
understand. You would not reproach me afterwards when I left you, as I
should most certainly do?”
“I swear I would not. I swear I would protect you even from myself. I
want you for ever, but if you will only give me two months--come! But
have you thought that people will talk. It may injure you. I’m not worth
that, God knows. And you will take nothing I could give you in return.”
She spoke very quietly.
“That does not trouble me.--It would only trouble me if you asked what
I have not to give. For two months I would travel with you as a friend,
if, like a friend, I paid my own expenses-”
I would have interrupted, but she brushed that firmly aside. “No, I must
do as I say, and I am quite able to or I should not suggest it. I would
go on no other terms. It would be hard if because we are man and woman I
might not do one act of friendship for you before we part. For though I
refuse your offer utterly, I appreciate it, and I would make what little
return I can. It would be a sharp pain to me to distress you.”
Her gentleness and calm, the magnitude of the offer she was making
stunned me so that I could scarcely speak. There was such an
extraordinary simplicity and generosity in her manner that it appeared
to me more enthralling and bewildering than the most finished coquetry
I had ever known. She gave me opportunities that the most ardent lover
could in his wildest dream desire, and with the remoteness in her eyes
and her still voice she deprived them of all hope. It kindled in me a
flame that made my throat dry when I tried to speak.
“Vanna, is it a promise? You mean it?”
“If you wish it, yes. But I warn you I think it will not make it easier
for you when the time is over.
“Why two months?”
“Partly because I can afford no more. No! I know what you would say.
Partly because I can spare no more time. But I will give you that,
if you wish, though, honestly, I had very much rather not. I think it
unwise for you. I would protect you if I could--indeed I would!”
It was my turn to hesitate now. Every moment revealed to me some new
sweetness, some charm that I saw would weave itself into the very
fibre of my I had been! Was I not now a fool? Would it not being if the
opportunity were given. Oh, fool that be better to let her go before she
had become a part of my daily experience? I began to fear I was courting
my own shipwreck. She read my thoughts clearly.
“Indeed you would be wise to decide against it. Release me from my
promise. It was a mad scheme.”
The superiority--or so I felt it--of her gentleness maddened me. It
might have been I who needed protection, who was running the risk of
misjudgment--not she, a lonely woman. She looked at me, waiting--trying
to be wise for me, never for one instant thinking of herself. I felt
utterly exiled from the real purpose of her life.
“I will never release you. I claim your promise. I hold to it.”
“Very well then--I will write, and tell you where I shall be. Good-bye,
and if you change your mind, as I hope you will, tell me.”
She extended her hand cool as a snowflake, and was gone, walking swiftly
up the road. Ah, let a man beware when his wishes fulfilled, rain down
upon him!
To what had I committed myself? She knew her strength and had no fears.
I could scarcely realize that she had liking enough for me to make the
offer. That it meant no shade more than she had said I knew well. She
was safe, but what was to be the result for me? I knew nothing--she was
a beloved mystery.
“Strange she is and secret, Strange her eyes; her cheeks are
cold as cold sea-shells.”
Yet I would risk it, for I knew there was no hope if I let her go now,
and if I saw her again, some glimmer might fall upon my dark.