ADREA'S DIARY
"A figure from the past I see once more as in a dream."
This evening I have had an adventure! I am thankful, for it has
occupied my thoughts for awhile; and for anything that does that I am
grateful. I had been in the house all day, restless and nervous, and
towards dusk I put on my cloak and a thick veil, and went out into the
street. I scarcely noticed which way I went. It was all the same to
me. A dull purple bank of clouds hung low down in the west, and the
air was close and still. By-and-by I heard thunder, and big raindrops
fell upon the pavement. A storm was threatening, and I longed for it
to come and clear the air.
I must have been walking for nearly an hour, when it came at last, and
the rain fell in great sheets. I looked around for a cab, but there
was none in sight. I had no idea where I was,--London is so vast and
large,--and though, by the distant roar of wheels, I could tell that
I was not far from a great thoroughfare, the street in which I was
seemed to be deserted. Just by my side was a dark tunnel, gloomy and
vault-like in appearance; but in that downpour any refuge was welcome,
and I stepped back underneath it. It was like going into the bowels
of the earth; and, every now and then, there was a roar over my head
which made me almost dizzy. But, from round the corner, I could see
that it was only the sound of trains passing and repassing, so I
decided to stay until I could see a cab.
Opposite to me was a man with a truck-load of oranges, and by his
side a boy seated before a red-hot swinging can, containing chestnuts.
There was no one else in the street, although at the bottom of it
crowds of people and a constant stream of vehicles were hurrying
along. On the other side of the way was a tall and grim-looking
building, discoloured with smoke and age. It was evidently a hospital
or institution of some sort. The windows were long and narrow, and one
or two of them, I could see, were of stained glass. There was no brass
plate by the front door, nor any sign. In the absence of anything else
to do, I began to frame surmises as to what the place might be. The
spotlessly white doorsteps and polished bell interested me;
they seemed out of tone with the character of the place and its
surroundings, so utterly bare and dreary. I began to wish that a
caller would come and ring the bell, so that I could get a peep at
the interior. But no one did, although I noticed that more than one
hurrying passer-by glanced up at it curiously.
The thunder died away, but the rain still came down heavily. If it had
not been for my curious interest in that great ugly building opposite,
I should have risked a wetting, and made my way down to the busy
thoroughfare in the distance. But I was anxious to see some one enter
or leave the place, or for something to happen which would give me
an idea as to its character; so I waited. Half an hour passed, and my
curiosity remained unsatisfied. There was no sign of life about
the place; not even a tradesman had called, nor had that
forbidding-looking portal once been opened. It was still raining fast,
but there were signs of finer weather, and right overhead was a
break in the clouds. I should certainly be able to leave now in a few
minutes; but, strangely enough, all my impatience seemed gone. The
grim-looking building opposite had fascinated me. I had no desire to
leave the place until I had found out all about it.
It was odd, that curiosity of mine; all my days I shall wonder at it.
On the face of it, it seemed so unreasonable, and yet it led to so
much. I have no creed, and I know nothing about philosophies, or
perhaps to-night's adventure might have meant even more to me. But,
indeed, it seems as though some unseen hand led me out and brought me
into that deserted street. From to-night there must be changes in my
life; I cannot escape from them. As yet I am too much in a whirl to
ask myself whether I wish to.
To return to that house. When I saw that the storm was clearing, and
that I should be able to leave in a few minutes, I determined to make
an effort to satisfy my curiosity. I crossed the road, and addressed
the man who was sitting on the handles of his barrow of oranges.
"Do you know what place that is opposite?" I asked, pointing across
the road.
He took out a filthy pipe from his mouth, and spat upon the pavement.
I think that he must have noticed my look of disgust, for he answered
me surlily, "No, I don't!"
I turned to the boy. "Do you?" I asked.
He shook his head. "Not for certain, ma'am. I believe it's some sort
of a Roman Catholic place, though. Them gents in long clothes and
shovel hats is allus going in and hout. 'Ullo, Bill! Here she be
again! She's a-trying it on, ain't she?"
The man looked up and grunted. I followed the boy's glance, and saw a
tall, dark woman walking swiftly along on the other side of the road.
From the very first her figure was somehow familiar to me, and
She stopped outside the closed door, and hesitated for a moment,
as though doubtful whether to ring or not. During her moment of
hesitation she glanced round, and I recognised her. She could not see
me, for I was in the shadow of the underground tunnel.
"Blarmed if she ain't come again," the man growled. "She's as regular
as clockwork! Wonder what she wants!"
I felt my knees trembling; I could not have crossed the road at
that moment if it had been to save my life. The boy looked up at me
curiously.
"Happen you know her, lady," he remarked. "She's been here at this
time, or thereabouts, pretty near every day for a fortnight."
Happen I know her! Yes, that was the boy's odd phrase. It rang in my
ears, and I found myself gasping for breath. My eyes were fixed upon
that tall, slender figure, clothed in sober black, waiting upon the
doorstep with bowed head, and standing very still and motionless. It
was like an effigy of patience. There were not two women in the world
like that; it was impossible. She was in England, and alone--free!
What did it mean? Should I run to her, or hide away? I glanced over my
shoulder where the black shadows of the tunnel were only dimly lit by
the feeble gaslight. I could steal away, and she would never see
me. Yet as I thought of it, the grimy, barren street and the
solemn-looking building faded away before my eyes. The sun and wind
burned my face; the wind, salt with ocean spray, and echoing with the
hoarse screaming of the sea-birds that rode upon it. I was at Cruta
again, panting to be free, stealing away in the twilight down the
narrow path amongst the rocks to where that tiny boat lay waiting,
like a speck upon the waters. And it was she who had helped me--the
sad-faced woman who had braved the terrible anger of the man whom we
had both dreaded. Again I heard her gentle words of counsel, and the
answering lies which should have blistered my lips. For I lied to her,
not hastily or on impulse, but deliberately in cold blood. Anything,
I cried to myself, to escape from this rock, this living death! So I
lied to her, and she helped me. No wonder that I trembled. No wonder
that I half made up my mind to flee away into the sheltering darkness
of that noisome-looking tunnel.
It takes long to set down in writing the thoughts which flashed
through me at that moment. Yet when I had made up my mind the woman
was still there, waiting meekly before the closed door.
"You were speaking of her," I said to the boy, who was half-sitting,
half-crouching against the side of the tunnel. "What was it you said?
I did not hear."
Man and boy commenced to tell me together. Their strange London talk
puzzled me, and I could only extract a confused sense of what they
said. The woman, to whom they rudely pointed, had called at the
building opposite every day for a fortnight at about this hour to make
some inquiry. Day by day she had turned away, after one brief question
asked and answered, with bowed head and dejected manner. Yet, day by
day, she returned and repeated it. Ever the same disappointment, the
same despair!
They knew nothing more. Her regular visits had awakened a certain
curiosity in them, and they had commenced to look for them, and
indulge in a little mild speculation as to her one day meeting with
a different reception. Nothing more! There was a shade of pity in the
boy's tone, and I gave him a shilling; then I crossed the road.
As I left the kerbstone, the door opened and I heard her question:--
"Has Father Adrian called or written, or sent any address yet,
please?"
The man, who had opened the door only a few inches, kept in the
background, and I could see nothing of him, but I heard his grim,
monosyllable reply:
"No! Father Adrian has not visited or communicated with us."
She turned away with a meek "Thank you," and found herself face to
face with me. My heart smote me when I saw how poor were her clothes,
and how thin her features.
At first she did not know me; but I raised my veil, and whispered her
name softly in her ear.
She threw up her hands, and swayed backwards and forwards upon the
pavement.
"Adrea! Adrea!" she cried wildly. "My God!"
A cab drove up, and I called it. She had just strength enough to enter
it, leaning heavily upon my arm; then she fainted.