"ADREA'S DIARY"
"Farewell to the dead ashes of life."
The path which I had been following led straight up to the bare,
arched door of the building. I had reached it unmolested, and rang the
bell.
What a hoarse, clanging sound! I shivered as I stood there listening
to its gloomy echoes until they died away. No one came. The place
seemed wrapped in an austere silence. I listened, but I could hear no
sound within; only the dull, melancholy sighing of the wind amongst a
sickly avenue of firs behind.
I stretched out my hand, and rang again. Almost before the echoes had
died away I heard footsteps within. A heavy bolt was withdrawn, and
a dark-robed monk stood on the threshold before me. He recoiled for a
moment at seeing a woman, and I thought that he would have closed the
door, but he did not.
"What would you have at this hour, sister?" he asked sternly. "The
chapel is closed, and morning is the time for dispensing charity."
"I have come in search of a priest who is only a visitor here," I
said. "Father Adrian he is called!"
He seemed still indisposed to admit me. "Is your business urgent?" he
asked doubtfully. "Father Adrian is at his devotions, and must not be
lightly disturbed."
"It is urgent," I answered.
He beckoned me to follow him, and in silence led me a few yards down a
bare stone corridor. Then he threw open the door of a small room, and
bade me enter.
"This is the guest-chamber," he said. "Wait here, and I will summon
Father Adrian!"
He closed the door and disappeared. The interior of the room in which
he had left me was bare and chilling. I turned from it to the window.
Almost opposite was a small eminence, and at its summit a rude cross
of Calvary. A dark figure, with clasped hands and bent head, was
slowly descending the path.
Even at that distance I thought I recognised the walk, and as he came
nearer I saw that he was wearing the ordinary garb of a Roman Catholic
priest instead of the monk's robes. I stood close to the window
watching him, and as he crossed the open space before the door he
raised his eyes and saw me. How he started, and how his eyes seemed
to burn in their sockets! Doubtless he would have turned paler, but he
was already deathly white. He stood there, swaying from side to side,
with his eyes fastened wildly upon me, as though an apparition had
appeared before him. Then he took a quick step forward; I heard the
great front door creak and groan upon its hinges, and almost as soon
as I could turn round he was on the threshold before me.
"Adrea! Adrea!" he cried, in a low, suppressed whisper which shook
with passion. "You here! What has happened? Stand in the light! Let me
see your face!"
I moved a step towards him, and raised my veil. "I am lonely," I said
softly. "Was it very wrong of me to come here?"
He stood before me, with hungry, incredulous eyes fastened upon my
face, as though he would see through it into my false heart. Yet I
did not flinch; I was actress enough for my part. I watched him
tremble--watched the colour flush into his face and die away. It was
a very storm of passion which shook him before he could find the words
to answer me.
"Adrea! Adrea! have you come here to mock me? As you are a woman, I
implore you to spare me! Speak the truth!"
I answered him softly, with my eyes fixed upon the ground. "I came
because I was lonely. Let us go away from here! Come home with me!"
"Home with you! Home with you!" He repeated my invitation. He scarcely
seemed to understand.
"Yes! I was very silly the other day! I did not understand you! I did
not understand myself! And you see I have humbled myself very much! I
have come to tell you so! Am I forgiven?"
I raised my eyes to his, and added in a half whisper: "Won't you come
home with me, and read aloud, as we used to on the rocks at Cruta?"
He stood there as though fascinated. I began to feel impatient, but I
dared not show any signs of it.
Suddenly he took a quick step towards me, and before I could prevent
it he had thrown himself at my feet on the cold stone floor, and was
holding my hands tightly in his.
"Adrea!" he cried, his voice choked with passion, "is this thing true?
My brain reels with the delight of it; but, oh, forgive me if I seem
to doubt! I know nothing of women, but surely your lips could never
lie! You are not mocking me? Oh, Adrea, my love, lift up your eyes and
swear that this is no dream. I am dizzy with joy! Speak to me! Let me
look into your face! I am not doubting you, yet say it once more! Tell
me it is not a dream!"
I lied to him with my face, and with my eyes, and with my lips. "It is
no dream," I said softly. "I have come to you, Adrian, because I want
you. No one else would do."
He stood up, pale and shaken. His voice was still full of deep,
throbbing earnestness. "Adrea!" he cried, "to-day I have been fighting
a grim fight. Look into my face and mark its traces. I am desperate!
For hours I have knelt on what was once a hallowed spot. In vain! In
vain! On my knees before the cross of Calvary I have striven to pray,
as a man wrestles for his life with the waves of a great ocean. Alas!
alas! In the twilight I fancied always that your face was moving
amongst the shadows, and even the breeze which rustled in the shrubs
around seemed ever to be murmuring your name. Oh, my love, my love,
sometimes I wonder that I have lived through the anguish of these
days. But it is over! You have come to me, and the evil days are past.
I renounce my priesthood! It has become only a barren farce to me!
Heaven or hell, what matters it? I leave here with you to-night never
to return! Never! never! never!"
He pressed hot kisses upon my hands; they stung me like molten lead,
but I did not withdraw them. Then he rose up and held out his arms to
me with a great yearning stealing into his dark eyes. But I kept him
away.
"Not here! not here!" I cried. "I heard footsteps outside. Let us go!"
"You are right," he answered. "Wait for me; I have but few
preparations to make."
He left me, and I breathed freely again. I had no fears, no
hesitation. I never dreamt of turning back; but I began to find my
task more difficult even than I had imagined. It was his touch, his
passionate looks and words which were so hard to endure. My lips could
lie, but it was hard to govern my looks; and oh, how I hated him!
Soon he was back--too soon for me; and then we left the place. He had
changed his clothes, and, to my surprise, he wore an ordinary
dark walking suit and a long ulster. He had discarded the priest
altogether.
At the bend he looked back. There was a rift in the clouds just behind
the hill of Calvary, and the rude cross stood out vividly against the
sky. "At last!" he murmured; "at last! Farewell to the dead ashes of
life! It is rest to have ended the struggle, even to have fallen. My
new life is here!"
He touched my hand fondly, and held it within his own. "How deathly
cold your hand is, Adrea!" he said. "It is the night air. You are
well, are you not?" he added anxiously.
"Quite well; only tired."
He took my arm. I could not resist him, only I walked the more
swiftly. He tried to check me, but I shook my head. "I am cold and
tired," I told him. "This desolate walk frightened me, and even with
you I think I am a little nervous. Let us hurry. Hark! What was that?"
"A bittern in the marshes! Why, Adrea, how frightened you are! It is
not like you!"
"I know it," I answered; "but to-night--to-night the air seems full of
whisperings and strange sounds. Yes, I am frightened."
I shivered as I spoke. He would have drawn me closer to him, but I
waved him away. How could he know anything of the horrors of that walk
for me! Strange phantoms seemed ever rising from the sea, stalking
across the path, and away over the moor, and passing and repassing,
grinning and whispering in my ear. Sometimes it seemed as though I
could have touched them by stretching out my hand; but when I tried,
my fingers closed upon thin air. What were they? Why had they come to
torment me? Was it because they scented an evil deed? Would they haunt
me for ever like this? What folly! If I gave way so I should soon be
altogether unnerved, and my task was still before me. I closed my eyes
and opened them again. They had gone! It was good! I had conquered!
* * * * *
It was late, and we had eaten and drunk together. He was lying back in
an easy-chair, flushed, and strange to say, wonderfully handsome. The
hollows in his cheeks seemed suddenly filled up, and his eyes were
soft and bright. I sat at his feet looking into the firelight.
"Will you answer me some questions, Adrian?" I asked. "There has been
so much mystery around us lately, and, like a woman, I am curious."
"Yes, I will tell you anything," he answered. "Am I not your slave,
dearest? Only ask me them quickly. There are many things I have to
talk about. What was that?" he added quickly. "Is there any one else
in this room?"
I shook my head. "No one; it was fancy. Tell me, who was Madame de
Merteuill?"
"My mother!"
"Your mother?"
"Yes; and the old Count of Cruta is my grandfather. Madame de
Merteuill is his daughter. But that is not her real name!"
There was a high screen just behind his chair,--a japanned one, which
seemed to have been badly used, for there was a great hole in it.
While we had been talking a strange thing had happened. A man's hand
had slowly been thrust through, and a crumpled piece of paper was
dropped upon the carpet. I moved to his side, and raised the cushion
in his chair. Before I could help it he had caught my face, and
pressed a hot, burning kiss upon my cheek. I dared not struggle. I
had to yield, and endure for a moment his passionate embrace. Then I
dropped my handkerchief upon the piece of paper, and picked up both
hastily.
"Will you tell me something else, please?"
"Anything you ask! You know that I will!"
"The De Vaux estates----"
"Are mine. I am the son of Martin de Vaux. Paul de Vaux has no claim
at all. If I had remained in the Church, it was my intention to found
a great monastery here. But now----"
"Well?"
"Everything is yours!"
There was a moment's silence. I drew the piece of paper from my
pocket, as though by accident, and read it to myself. There were only
a few hastily scrawled lines:--
"I dare not do it. I am afraid. I will put the knife on the floor."
I glanced towards the hole. The hand was there, holding a long,
gleaming dagger. It laid it noiselessly upon the carpet, and was
withdrawn. I went over to his side, and knelt down there.
"And what will become of Paul de Vaux?" I asked.
He laughed grimly. "He must take his chance. He knows the whole story.
He has known since last night. Adrea, tell me once more," he pleaded:
"you never loved him really,--say that you never did!"
"Are you jealous, sir?" I asked lightly. My left hand was wandering
down his side! Ah! there was his heart! How it was beating! My right
hand was on the floor, cautiously feeling its way towards the screen.
It reached the dagger! I clutched it by the hilt! Now was the time.
There was his heart. I knew the exact spot.
"Adrea, are you ill?" he asked. "How white and strange you look! Ah!"
* * * * *
It was done! Lucrezia Borgia could not have bungled less! He lay
doubled up in the chair, with a long Genoese dagger buried in his
heart, and it was I who had done it!
Gomez crawled from behind the screen, and looked first at him and
then at me with protruding eyes. He tried to speak, but his teeth
chattered.
"It is done!" I said calmly, "and you are saved, Paul, my love," I
whispered to myself. "Be a man, Gomez. We must carry it into the wood.
Lift him gently; there must be no blood here."
It took all our strength to move him, and we had to drag him, yard by
yard, down the avenue and across the road into the little wood.
My pen is weary of horrors. The memory of that hour is not to be
written about. But when he turned away I took the flowers which he had
begged for from my corsage and threw them down amongst the wet leaves.
It was my sole moment of relenting.