"AT THE TWELFTH HOUR."
He was there to say good-bye.
As he sat waiting, the soft subdued hush of the shaded room, in its cool
fragrance, struck upon his senses as with an influence of depression, of
sadness, of loss. He had come to bid farewell. Farewell! Now the moment
had arrived he, somehow, felt it.
Would she never come in? His nerves seemed all on edge, and ever upon
the glowing midday heat, the jarring thump of the Crown Reef battery
beat its monotonous time. Then the door opened softly, and Lilith
entered.
Never had she seemed to look more sweet, more inviting. The rich, dark
beauty, always more enthralling, more captivating when warmed by the
constant kiss of its native southern sun; the starry eyes, wide with
earnestness; the sad, sweet expression of the wistful lips; the glorious
splendour of the perfect form, in its cool, creamy white draperies.
Laurence Stanninghame, gazing upon her, realized with a dull, dead ache
at the heart, that all his self-boasted strength was but the veriest
weakness. And now he had come to say farewell.
"I can hardly realize that we shall not see each other again," Lilith
said, after a transparently feeble attempt or two on the part of both
of them to talk on indifferent subjects. "When do you expect to return?
How long will you be away?"
"'It may be for years, and it may be for ever,'" quoted Laurence, a
bitter ring in his tone. "Probably the latter."
"You must not say that. Remember what I told you, more than once before.
I am always hopeful, I never despair, even when things look
blackest--either for myself or other people. Though, I dare say, you are
laughing to yourself now at the idea of things being anything but bright
to me. Well, then, I predict you will come back with what you want. You
will return rich, and all will look up then for you."
She spoke lightly, smilingly. He, listening, gazing at her, felt bitter.
He had been mistaken. Well, he had found out his mistake, only just in
time--only just. But even he, with all his observant perceptiveness, had
failed to penetrate Lilith's magnificent self-command.
"Let us hope your prediction will prove a true one," he said, falling in
with her supposed mood. "The one thing to make life worth living is
wealth. I will stick at nothing to obtain it--nothing! Without it, life
is a hell; with it--well, life is at one's feet. There is nothing one
cannot do with it--nothing."
His eyes glowed with a sombre light. There was a world of repressed
passion in his tone, the resentful snarl, as he thought of the past
squalor and bitterness of life, mingling with the savage determination
and unscrupulous recklessness of the born adventurer.
"There is one thing you cannot obtain for it," she said. "That
is--love."
"But it can bring you all that will cause you to feel no longing for
that deceptive illusion. You can forget that such a thing exists--can
forget it in the renewed exuberance of vitality which is sheer enjoyment
of living. Well, wish me luck. 'Good-bye' is a dreadful word, but it has
to be said."
He had risen and stood blindly, half-bewilderedly. The shaded room, the
sensuous fragrance of her presence, every graceful movement, the
fascination of the wide, earnest eyes, all was more than beginning to
intoxicate him, to shatter his chain-armour of bitterness and
self-control. He, the strong, the invulnerable, the man in whom all
heart and feeling was dead--what sorcery was this? He was bewitched,
entranced, enthralled. His strength was as water. Yet not.
They stood facing each other, glance fused into glance. At that moment
heart seemed opened to heart--to be gazing therein.
"Good-bye," he said. "Don't quite forget me, Lilith dear. Think a little
now and then of the times we have had together." Then their lips met in
a long kiss. And she said--nothing. Perhaps she could not. The
flood-gate of an awful torrent of pent-up, bravely controlled grief may
be opened in the utterance of that word "good-bye."
Laurence Stanninghame seemed to walk blindly, staggering in the strong
sunlight. Was it the midday heat, or the strong glare? The
ever-monotonous beat of the Crown Reef stamps seemed to hammer within
his brain, which seethed and swirled with the recollection of that last
long kiss. He would not look back. Impervious to the furnace-like heat,
he stepped out over the veldt at a pace which, by the time he reached
the corner of the Wemmer property, caused him to look up wonderingly,
that he should already be entering the town.
"Oh, there you are, Stanninghame," sung out a voice, whose owner nearly
cannoned into him. Laurence looked up.
"Here I am, as you say, Holmes," he answered, quite coolly and
unconcernedly. "But where are you bound for, and what's the excitement,
anyway?"
"Why, I thought I'd see if I could meet you. Hazon said you had gone
down to Booyseus this morning. What do you think? I've got round him,
and I'm going with you."
Laurence stared, then looked grave.
"Going with us, eh? I say, youngster, have you made your will?"
"Haven't got anything to leave. But, Stanninghame, I'm awfully obliged
to you, old fellow. It's all through you I've got round the old man."
"Have you any sort of idea what our program is?"
"None. And I don't care."
Laurence whistled.
"See here, Holmes," he said, "this thing has got to be looked into. In
fact, it can't go on."
"Yes it can, and it shall. Don't be a beast, now, Stanninghame. I'd go
anywhere with you two fellows, and I'm dead off this waiting for a boom
that never comes. I shall be as stony broke as the rest of them if I
hold on any longer. So I'm going to realize at a loss, and go with you.
Come along, now, to Phillips' bar and we'll split a bottle of cham. to
the undertaking."
"You don't need to buzz to that extent, Holmes. I hate 'gooseberry.'
'John Walker' is good enough for me."
They reached Phillips', and found that historic bar far from empty; and
young Holmes, who was full of exhilaration over the prospects of this
trip, was insisting that many should drink success thereto. Laurence,
silent amid the racket of voices, was curiously watching him. This
joyous-hearted youngster, would he ever come to look back upon life as a
thing that had far better have never been lived? And he smiled queerly
to himself as he thought what would be the effect upon Holmes of the
experiences he would bring back with him from that trip to which he was
looking forward so joyously, so hopefully--if he returned from it at
all, that was--if, indeed, any of them did. But throughout the
racket--the strife of tongues, the boisterous guffaw over some cheap
"wheeze"--the recollection of the shaded room, of that last good-bye in
the cloudless noontide pressed like a living weight upon his heart.
Never would it be obliterated--never.
Throughout the afternoon Laurence busied himself greatly over the final
preparations. He did not even feel tempted to ride over to Booyseus, on
some pretext. Lilith would not be alone. There was always a host of
people there of an afternoon--callers, lawn-tennis players, and so
forth. The ineffably sweet sadness of that last parting must be the
recollection he was to carry forth with him.
It was evening. The wagons had been started just before sundown, and now
their owners were riding out of the town to overtake them. Young Holmes,
suffering under an exuberance of exhilaration begotten of multifold
good-byes effected to a spirituous accompaniment, was not so firm in his
saddle as he might have been; but on the hardened heads of the other two
the effect of such farewells had been nil. They were just getting clear
of the town when they became aware of a panting, puffing native striving
to overtake them.
"Why, it's John," said Hazon, recognizing one of the coloured waiters at
their hotel.
The boy ran straight up to Laurence, and held out an envelope.
"For you, baas," he said. "The baas forgot to give it you. Dank you,
baas!" catching, with a grin, something that was flung to him.
It was a delicate-looking envelope, and sealed. What new surprise was
this? as he took in the puzzling yet characteristic handwriting of the
address.
"I _must_ see you once more," he read. "I cannot let you go like this,
Laurence, darling. Come to me for one more good-bye. I shall be alone
this evening. Come to me, love of my heart. L."
"Pho! Of course it was not! It was too ridiculous. It was not as if all
heaven had opened before his eyes. Of course not!" he told himself.
But it was.
"By the way, Hazon," he said indifferently, "I find there is still a
matter I have to attend to. So you must go on without me. I expect I'll
overtake you to-morrow not long after sunrise--or not much later.
So-long!"
The dark, impassive face of the up-country man underwent no change. He
had understood the whole change of plan, but it was no concern of his.
So he merely said "_Ja_, so-long," and continued his way.
Laurence did not go back to the hotel. The last thing he desired was
that his return should be noticed and commented upon. He sought out
Rainsford, who, having stable-room, willingly consented to put up his
steed, and, being a discreet fellow, was not likely to indulge in undue
tongue-wagging. Then he took his way down to Booyseus.
As he stepped forth through the gloom--for by this time it was quite
dark--the words of that missive seemed burned into his brain in
characters of fire and of gold. What words they were, too! He had read
her glance aright, then? It was only that intrepidity of self-command
which he had failed to allow for. And he? Why had he been so strong that
morning? Seldom indeed did a second opportunity occur. But now? When he
should return up the hill he was now descending, such a memory would be
his to carry forth with him into the solitude and peril and privation of
his enterprise! Yet to what end? Even if he were successful in amassing
wealth untold, yet they two must be as far apart as ever. Well, that
need not follow, he told himself. With wealth one can do
anything--anything; without it nothing, was at this time the primary
article of Laurence Stanninghame's creed; and at the thought his step
grew more elastic, and all unconsciously his head threw itself back in a
gesture of anticipatory triumph.
The house was quiet as he approached. At the sound of his step on the
_stoep_--almost before he had time to knock--the door was opened--was
opened by Lilith herself--then closed behind him.
She said no word; she only looked up at him. The subdued light of the
half-darkened hall softened as with an almost unearthly beauty the
upturned face, and forth from it her eyes shone, glowed with the lustre
of a radiant tenderness, too vast, too overwhelming for her lips to
utter.
And he? He, too, said no word. Those lips of hers, sweet, inviting, were
pressed to his; that peerless form was wrapped in his embrace, sinking
therein with a soft sigh of contentment. What room was there for mere
words? as again and again he kissed the lips--eyes--hair--then the lips
again. This was only the beginning of a farewell visit,--a sad,
whirling, heart-break of farewell,--yet as the blood surged boiling
through Laurence Stanninghame's veins, and heart, pressed against heart,
seemed swelled to bursting point, he thought that life, even such as it
had been, was worth living if it could contain such a moment as this.
Equally, too, did he realize that, in life or in death, the triumph-joy
of this moment should illumine his memory, dark though it might be, for
ever and ever.
"What did you think of me when you got my note, dear one?" she whispered
at last. "And I have been in perfect agony ever since, for fear it
should be too late. But I could not let you go as I did this morning. I
felt such an irresistible craving to see you again, Laurence, my
darling, to hear your voice. I felt we could not part as we did--each
trying to deceive the other, each knowing, the while, that it was
impossible. I wanted more than that for a memory throughout the blank
time that is coming."
"Yes, we were both too strong, my Lilith. And why should we have been?
What scruple ever stood anybody to the good in this hell-fraud of a
state called 'Life'? Not one--not one! Yes, we were too strong, and your
self-command deceived even me."
"My self-command? Ah, Laurence, my darling, how little you knew! All the
time I was battling hard with myself, forcing down an irresistible
longing to do this--and this--and this!" And drawing down his head, she
kissed him, again and again, long, tender kisses, as though her whole
soul sought entrance into his.
"But I shall tire you, my dearest, if I keep you standing here like
this," she went on. "Come inside now, and our last talk--our last for a
long time--shall, at any rate, be a cosey one."
She drew him within the half open door of an adjoining room. The window
curtains were drawn, and a shaded lamp gave forth the same subdued and
chastened light as that which burned in the hall. There were flowers in
vases and sprays, arranged in every tasteful and delicate manner, and
distilling a fragrance subtile and pervading. The sumptuous prettiness
of the furniture and ornaments--picture frames encasing mystic and
thought-evoking subjects, books disposed here and there, delicate
embroidery, the work of her fingers--in short, the hundred and one
dainty knick-knacks pleasing to the eye--seemed to reflect the bright,
beautiful personality of Lilith; for, indeed, the arrangement and
disposal of them was almost entirely her own.
She made him sit down upon the softest and most comfortable couch; then,
as she seated herself beside him, he drew her head down to rest upon his
shoulder and wound his arms about her.
"Why did you wait until even the twelfth hour?" he said. "Why did you
blind me all this time, my Lilith? Only think what we have lost by it!"
"Ah, yes, I have indeed. But tell me, dear one, it is not too late, is
it, even though it be the twelfth hour?"
"It came very near being too late. I had already started. Yes, it is
indeed the twelfth hour. Too late? I don't know," he went on, in a tone
of sombre bitterness. "Think of the blissful times that might have been
ours had I but known. I would have taught you the real meaning of the
word 'love.' I would have drawn your innermost soul from you--would have
drawn it into mine--have twined every thought of your being around
mine--had I but known. And I could have done this; you know I could, do
you not? Think a moment, then answer."
The head which rested on his shoulder seemed to lean heavier there; the
arm which encircled her was pressed tighter by hers to the round,
beautiful waist, as though to bring herself closer within his embrace.
The answer came, rapturously sweet, but with a thrill of pain:
"I know you could have. There is no need to think, even for a moment.
You have done it."
"I have tried to, even against difficulties. Come what may, Lilith, you
shall never be free from the spell of this love of ours. All thoughts of
other love shall be flat, and stale, and dead; and now, when I am gone,
your whole soul shall ache and throb with a sense of loss--love and pain
intertwined--yet not one pang of the latter would you forego, lest it
should lessen the rapturous keenness of the former in the minutest
degree. This is what you have caused _me_ to suffer by reason of your
stony self-command up till this morning. Now you shall suffer it too."
His tones were calm, even almost stern as those of a judge pronouncing
sentence. Lilith, drinking in every word, felt already that every word
was true. That sense of love and pain was already in possession of her
soul, and would retain possession until all capacity for feeling was
dulled and dead.
"You were cruel to draw my very soul out of me as you have done--to
force me to love you as I do," she answered--"cruel and pitiless."
"What then? I was but carrying out the program of life. It is that way.
But tell me, would you have preferred that I had not done it--that I had
passed by on the other side?"
"Oh, my Laurence, no! No, no--ten thousand times no! The mere
recollection of such an hour as this is worth a life-time of the awful
pain of loss of which you speak and which is around me already."
"That was my own judgment when I first recognized that a strong mutual
'draw' was bringing us together. I foresaw this moment, and deliberately
acquiesced in fate."
Now the soft waves of her hair swept his face, now the satin smoothness
of her cheek lay against his. Lips met lips again and again, and never
for a moment did the clasp of that firm embrace relax. The dead blank
hopelessness of life and its conditions, then, had still contained this,
had culminated in this? As he thus held her to him, as though he would
hold her forever, some dreamy brain-wave seemed to carry Laurence's mind
into the dim and somewhat awesome vistas of the future, to bring it face
to face with death in varying and appalling forms. What mattered! The
recollection of this farewell hour here, in the half-shaded room, with
its subtile fragrance of flowers and mysterious light, would be with him
then. Such an hour as this would be a crowning triumph to the apex of
life. Better that life should end than lengthen out to witness a decline
from this apex.
As Lilith had said, he was cruel and pitiless in his love. What then? It
was characteristic of him. Had not all experience taught him that the
slightest weakness, the slightest compunction, was that faulty link
which should snap the chain, be the latter never so massively forged? He
remembered how they had held discussion as to whether right might ensue
from what was wrong in the abstract. He remembered the cold, hard
imprint of the revolver-muzzle against his forehead, the increasing
pressure of his thumb upon the trigger, then the thought of Lilith's
love had come in as a hand stretched forth to snatch him from the jaws
of death. And it had so snatched him. What were the mere conventional
rules of abstract right or wrong beside such an instance of cause and
effect? Old wives' fables.
They were standing up, face to face, looking into each other's eyes. The
hour was late now. Any moment the household might return. Both desired
that the last farewell should take place alone. Not for the sake of a
few more precious moments would they run the risk of being cheated out
of that last farewell.
"You sweet, cruel, pitiless torturer," Lilith said, locking her hands in
his, as they rose, "you have placed my life under one great lasting
shadow, because of the recollection of you. How will it be, think you,
when I wake up to-morrow and find you are gone--if I sleep at all that
is? How will it be when, day after day, week after week---- Ah, love,
love," she broke off, "and yet I cannot say, 'Why did you do it?' for
your very cruelty in doing it is sweet--sweet, do you hear, Laurence?
Have you ever been loved--tell me, have you, have you?" she went on,
drawing his head down with a sort of fierceness and again pressing her
burning lips to his.
"At the twelfth hour! at the twelfth hour!" he repeated, in a kind of
condemnatory merciless tone, while his clasp tightened around the lovely
form, which seemed literally to hang in his arms. "Love of my heart,
think what such an hour as this might have been, not once, but again and
again, and that undashed with the pain of immediate parting as now. Why
did we--why did you--wait until the very twelfth hour? Why?"
"Why, indeed? Darling, darling, don't reproach me. You have drawn my
very heart and soul into yours. Think of it ever, day and night,
whatever may befall you. Oh, Laurence, my heart's life!"
Now this hard, stony, self-controlled stoic discovered that his granite
nature was shaken to its foundation. But, even then, the unutterable
sweetness of the thought that he, and he alone, had lived to inspire the
anguish of the pleading tones that thrilled to his ear, thrilled with
love for him, to enkindle the light that shone from those eyes, melting
with love for him; this thought flowed in upon the torrent-wave of his
pain, rendering it bliss, yet lashing it up the more fiercely.
There was silence for a few moments. Both stood gazing into each other's
eyes; gazing, as it were, into the innermost depths of each other's
soul. Then the sound of voices drawing nearer, rising above the clanking
hum of the Crown Reef battery, seemed to warn them that if their last
farewell was to be made alone the time to make it had come.
"Good-bye, now, love of my heart," he whispered, between long, burning,
clinging kisses. Now that this final parting had come, the dead,
dreary, heartsick pain of it seemed to choke all utterance.
She strained him to her, and heart throbbed against heart. Even now she
seemed to see his face mistily and far away.
"Oh, it is too bitter!" she gasped, striving to drown her rising sobs.
"Laurence, my darling! Oh, my love, my life, my ideal--yes, you were
that from the moment I first saw you--good-bye--and good-bye!"
He was gone. It was as though their embrace had literally been wrenched
asunder. He was gone. And even as he passed from her vision, from the
light into the gloom, so it seemed as though he had borne the light of
her life with him, and, as Lilith stood there in the open doorway,
gazing forth into the night, the dull measured clank of the battery
stamps seemed to beat in cruel, pitiless refrain within her heart:
"At the twelfth hour! at the twelfth hour!"