Behind his tired eyes and general affectation of indifference Rupert
Dempster hid an overwhelming ambition. He longed for love--not for the
ordinary springtide passion experienced by ninety-nine men out of a
hundred; nor for the ordinary "living-prosaically-ever-after" which is
the ultimate sequel to such affairs. The desire of his heart was for
the experience of the hundredth man,--an experience as far distinguished
from the amours of the ninety-nine, as is the romance of the suburban
Algernon and Angelina, from the historic passion of a Dante and
Beatrice. Rupert searched not so much for a wife as for a mate, a woman
who should be so completely the complement of himself that to meet would
be to recognise, and after recognition life apart would become an
impossibility and a farce. In his own mind the conviction remained
unshaken that the day _would_ dawn when he should meet this dearer self,
and enter into a completeness of joy which would end but with life
itself. Yet the years passed by, and his thirty-fifth birthday came and
went, and found him no nearer his goal. Once and again as the years
passed by, Rupert awoke, breathless and panting, from a dream, the same
dream, wherein he had met his love, and they had spoken together. The
details of the dream seemed instantly to fade from his mind, leaving
behind an impression of mingled joy and pain. She had been beautiful
and sweet; he had been proud and glad, yet there had been a shadow. It
had not been all joy that he had felt as he had welcomed the
well-beloved; his emotion on awaking had been tinged with something
strangely resembling fear. But the dream-face had been fair. His
longing to meet it was but whetted by the consciousness of mystery.
He met her at last at a garden-party and gained an introduction by
accident. "Do find Lady Belcher, and bring her to have some tea," his
hostess bade him, and supplemented her request with a brief description:
"A tall, dark woman, dressed in yellow. She was on that bench a few
minutes ago. Anyone will tell you..."
Rupert crossed the lawn in the direction indicated; he was in the mood
of resigned boredom which possesses most men at a garden-party, and for
the moment the Dream Woman had no place in his thoughts. Lady Belcher
was plainly a guest of importance, for whose refreshment the hostess
felt herself responsible. She was probably elderly, and, as such,
uninteresting from a young man's standpoint. He looked for the gleam of
a yellow dress, caught it defined sharply among the surrounding blues
and pinks, and drew up in front of the seat.
"Lady Belcher, I think? Mrs Melhuish has sent me to ask you if you
will have some tea?"
Lady Belcher was talking volubly to an acquaintance on the subject of
the shortcomings of her friends, and was much bored by the interruption.
She lifted a face like an elderly rocking-horse, and made short work of
the invitation.
"Thanks! Couldn't possibly. I abhor tea," she said curtly, and
immediately resumed the interrupted conversation.
Dempster turned, faintly smiling. He was accustomed to the rudeness of
the modern society woman, and it had no power to hurt him. On the
contrary, he congratulated himself on having escaped an unwelcome task.
He turned aside with a sigh of relief, and even as he turned, the
ordered beating of his heart seemed for a moment to cease, and leave his
being suspended in space. Cut sharply in twain, as by the sweep of a
scythe, the old life fell from him and the new life began, for there,
but a couple of yards away, stood the Dream Woman, her eyes gazing
steadily into his!
She was a tall, slim woman, no longer in her first youth, but her face
had a strange, arresting beauty. Hair and eyes were dark, and there was
something curiously un-English in the modelling of the features,
something subtly suggestive of a fiercer, more primal race. So might a
woman have looked whose far-off ancestor had been an Indian brave,
bequeathing to future generations some spark of his own wild vigour.
The lips were scarlet, a thin, curved line in the pallor of her face;
her eyes were fringed with black, straight lashes. She wore a gown of
cloudy black, and there came to Rupert, with a cramping of the heart,
the swift conviction that she was unhappy.
She was looking at him, half frowning, half smiling, having, it would
appear, overheard his invitation and its rebuff; but as his face came
more clearly into view a look of bewilderment overspread her features.
She started, and involuntarily bent her head in salutation.
The next moment Rupert was by her side, and her hand lay in his. He had
extended his own, and hers had come to meet it without hesitation. For
a long moment they looked at one another in silence, then he spoke in
commonplace greeting:
"Good afternoon. Can I get _you_ some tea?"
She shook her head, but at the same time took a slow step forward, which
had the effect of turning the refusal into an invitation.
"I'm so tired; I don't want anything, but a seat; away from that band!"
"Come this way. There's a summer-house at the end of the shrubbery that
is probably empty. No one knows of it but the intimates. You can rest
there quietly."
He spoke eagerly, walking beside her, eager to lead her away from the
crowd, and have her to himself. The group of visitors among whom she
had been standing stared after them curiously, and one elderly, stout
woman took a tentative step forward, as if about to follow, thought
better of it, and stood aside. Dempster had a fleeting suspicion of
sharp eyes scanning his face; then he forgot everything but his
companion. He was conscious of every movement, of every curve of the
slim, graceful figure, but no word was spoken until they seated
themselves within the shelter of the arbour, and faced each other across
its narrow span. Was it the shadow of the trailing branches which made
her face so white? She narrowed her eyes, as if searching in the
store-room of memory, and a faint smile curved her lips. Once again the
pain cramped Rupert's heart as he realised that smiles came but hardly
to her lips. A note of interrogation quickened her voice:
"I know you so well... We have met before?"
He leaned forward, elbows on knees, chin cupped between finger and
thumb, tired eyes aglow with life.
"Yes!"
"When? Where?"
"Always!" he told her. "In our dreams."
She shrank at that, edging back into her corner, holding out a quick,
protesting hand. "No! Please! Don't make fun... We have met on more
substantial ground. I know your face. I knew it the moment you turned.
We have met years ago, and have forgotten--"
Rupert sat motionless, his eyes riveted upon her face. "Think!" he
urged softly. "Think! Ask your own heart, and let it answer. It spoke
clearly enough a minute ago. You have _always_ known me! You have been
waiting, as I have been waiting. It has been long, and we are both
tired, but now it is over, and we can forget. Our summer has begun!"
He stretched out his hand towards her.
"I've been keeping myself for you. From this moment I am yours, and all
that I have. The world would call me crazy to make such a vow to a
woman I have known in the flesh for only a few minutes, but _you_
understand! _You_ know that it is the simple, absolute truth. Give me
your hand!"
Like a homing-bird the small hand fluttered and fell, nestling softly
against his own. He pressed his lips to it in a long, sacramental kiss,
then raised himself to look into her eyes. "What is your name?"
"Eve. And yours?"
"Rupert. I am glad that you are Eve. The first woman; the only woman.
No other name could have fitted you so well. Eve! look in my eyes, and
answer what I ask. Do you trust me, Eve? Do you believe that I am
speaking the truth?"
White as a dead woman, she faced him across the shadow; the scarlet of
her lips was like a stain of blood, but as she gazed her face quivered
into an inexpressible tenderness, for on Rupert Dempster's features
nature had printed the hall-mark of truth, and no one had yet looked
into his eyes and doubted his word. The Dream Woman accepted it so
simply that she did not trouble to answer his question. "I am not worth
it," she said instead; "I am too old; too sad. It ought to have been a
lovely, radiant girl who could have given you her youth."
"I have thought of her like that," he answered simply, "but I see now
that it could not have been. I needed more. She could not have
satisfied me, if she had not suffered. I should have missed the
greatest joy of all, if she had not needed my comfort."
"I wish I were beautiful!" she sighed again. "She should have been
beautiful to be worthy of you. I wish I were beautiful!"
"Are you not beautiful?" he asked her. "It is strange; I had thought so
much of how you would look, but when our eyes met I forgot all that. We
belong; that is everything. The beginning and the end. You are Eve."
"Ah, you are good!" she sighed. "You are good! I did not know there
were such men in the world... It is true, Rupert. You must have been
with me in my dreams, for there is nothing new about you, nothing
strange. I know your face as I know my own, and it is rest to be with
you--rest and peace. It must have been meant that we should meet
to-day, for it is the first time for--oh, so long, that I have been to
any public place!" She cast a quick glance at her black dress, and an
involuntary shudder shook her frame. "But to-day I felt better, and it
was so bright, and they persuaded me. I have dreaded meeting people,
but to-day I didn't mind. I think I _wanted_ to come. And then I saw
you, and your face was so familiar that I thought I had met you long ago
and had forgotten."
"You had not forgotten. You had never remembered anything so well. In
that first moment you _knew_ that I was different from the rest. It was
written on your face, dear; there was no need for words! There is
something else written there which hurts me to see. I think you have
needed me, Eve!"
She drew her hand from his and pressed it to her head with a gesture
more eloquent than words. Rupert's presentiment of trouble had been
true; it now remained to discover the nature of her grief.
He was conscious of steadying himself mentally and morally, before he
possessed himself of the disengaged left hand, which lay on her lap.
Deftly, tenderly, his fingers felt hers, moving tentatively upwards over
the joints, feeling with trembling anxiety for the presence of rings, of
_the_ ring! The shock at finding the tell-tale third finger bare was
almost as largely compounded of surprise as of joy, so strong had been
the presentiment of a husband in the background. The eyes which he
raised to hers were radiant with joy, but there was no answering gleam
in the depths into which he gazed. Their sombre gloom chilled him in
the midst of his ecstasy.
"Eve," he cried softly, "smile at me! I was wrong to conjure up dead
ghosts to-day when we ought to think of nothing but the happiness of
meeting. Eve! I have been preparing for you all these years; now I am
free to do as you will. It is for you to order, and I shall obey. We
will go where you will, live where you choose--"
"You will take me away?" She bent forward, her eyes peering into his,
so that he saw more closely than he had done before the beautiful,
ravaged face, with its slumbering passion, its deep, overmastering
gloom. There shrilled through her voice an almost incredible joy.
"_You_--_will_--_take_--_me away_?"
Dempster laughed happily. Ay, indeed, he would take her away. She was
free, there was no barrier between them; openly, honourably, before all
the world he could claim her as his own--could make her his wife with
all the stately ritual of the Church.
"Of course I will take you away! Do you imagine, after all these years,
I will wait a day longer than I can help? Now that I have found you, I
shan't easily let you go." And, with his whole being thrilling in
answer to her appeal, "You _want_ to come to me, Eve?" he asked her.
"Yes," she sighed softly, "yes!" Her lips parted in a long-drawn sigh
of content. "You are so good. Your goodness rests me. That's what I
need more than anything else--rest!" With the same tragic gesture she
pressed her fingers against her brow, then, with a sudden impulse,
sweet, and girlish, and unexpected, clasped his hand in hers, and
repeated the gesture, bending her head to meet the healing touch.
There was no need of words to explain the meaning of the action, the
message flashed from eye to eye with silent eloquence. For the moment
the shadow lifted, and Dempster gazed into a face illumined by love and
tenderness. Only for a moment; then suddenly came the sound of
unwelcome footsteps, and peering through the trailing branches Rupert
beheld a middle-aged couple pacing slowly by, glancing curiously to
right and left, yet remaining happily unconscious of the arbour behind
the trees. He recognised the woman as the one who had been standing by
Eve's side in the garden, and wondered with a passing amusement if
curiosity had sent her to see what had become of her companion. How far
she was from guessing the high happenings of those short moments!
In the midst of his amusement he felt Eve grasp his arm, and draw him
back into the shadow. It was joy to feel that her dread of interruption
was as keen as his own, and he turned to her a look of glad
understanding, but the tragic misery on her face chilled him once more.
It was inconceivable that the annoyance of a temporary interruption
could call forth such intensity of feeling, and Dempster, regarding her,
felt his own nerves thrill with a kindred fear. For one glad moment he
had believed that his happiness was assured; now he realised that he had
rejoiced too soon. There _were_ barriers to be overcome--mysterious
barriers which loomed before him, dark and lowering. He caught the
slight form in his arms, cradling it with pitiful tenderness.
"My darling! My darling! You are afraid. Of _what_ are you afraid? I
am here--no one can harm you. Give me your dear hands! Lean against
me! The whole world cannot separate us, Eve, if we choose to be
together. Why are you afraid?"
He felt the shudder that ran through her limbs. Close against his ear
her lips trembled over the words:
"I am afraid of losing you; of being left alone! They will try to
separate us. If they knew what we had been planning, they would plot
together so that we might not meet. You are strong, but they are
stronger, and I am in their power... Take me away, Rupert, take me now,
or it will be too late!"
He took her hand, and raised it solemnly to his lips.
"I swear to you," he said, "that I will take you. I swear that I will
be the truest and most faithful of husbands so long as God gives me
life!"
"I swear to you," she cried in response, "that I will be a true wife.
Whatever has happened, whatever may come, I swear that you shall never
regret it. I will love you; I will be your slave. Nothing, nothing can
be too much!"
They clung together in silence. The nearness, the stillness, the deep
welling of joy in the sweet human contact, were all-engrossing. Rupert
would fain have banished all difficulties into the future, and given
himself up to untrammelled enjoyment of the hour, but the urgency of
Eve's appeal forbade postponement.
He raised himself, supporting her in his arms.
"Eve! from this moment you and I are one. What belongs to one, belongs
to the other; we can have no secrets, no concealments. If there are
difficulties in our way, I must be prepared to meet them. Who is this
woman? What right has she or anyone else to dictate what you should or
should not do?"
Her eyes gazed back into his with a deep, unseeing gaze, the delicate
eyebrows creased as if in an effort of thought; then once again she
lifted her hand and pressed it against her brow. Poignantly beautiful,
poignantly sad, she sat and gave him her answer.
"I live with them," she said quietly. "They take care of me. I think--
I think I am mad!"
Rupert Dempster lost no time in questioning his hostess as to the
history of the Dream Woman who had come to fill such a real place in his
life. As soon as the guests had departed he put in a plea for a private
conversation, whereupon Mrs Melhuish seated herself on a chair at the
farther side of the lawn, and drew a long breath of mingled fatigue, and
relief.
"That's over, thank goodness! This annual garden-party to the
neighbourhood looms over me like a nightmare. I feel ten years younger
when the last carriage has driven away from the door. Now! what can I
do for you? But I know, of course. You've fallen a victim to Eve
Bisdee and her _beaux yeux_. They _are_ beautiful! It's about once in
a lifetime that one meets an Englishwoman with such eyes as hers. It
seems superfluous to have a tongue, when all that one feels can be
expressed so eloquently in a glance. Even now her eyes are wonderful;
but if you'd seen her as a girl, before--"
"Before what? That's what I am waiting to hear. What happened to her?
Some tragedy, of course. Tell me about it."
Mrs Melhuish gave him a searching glance.
"You realised that--that she is not--like other people?"
Rupert's smile was half sad, half triumphant.
"Not in the least like other people. But we can discuss that later on.
I am waiting for your story."
Mrs Melhuish leaned her head on her hand and her face fell into
thoughtful lines.
"I've known Eve since she was a girl of eighteen--the loveliest thing!--
and as gay and sweet as she was lovely. She was an only child, and her
parents adored her, and--what is by no means so usual!--she adored them
in return. They were not rich--quite poor, in fact; but the family was
exceptional, and everyone visited them. When Eve came out, Mrs Bisdee
used to give charming little evenings, so simple and unpretentious, but
so well done. Eve was so different, too, from the ordinary fair, placid
English girl that she made quite a sensation in the county. We expected
her to make a great match. Then one day they were all travelling
together to Burnham to attend a hunt ball, and the train they were in--"
Mrs Melhuish shuddered, as at a terrible remembrance. "You will
remember it--the Tunford accident--a terrible affair! Over sixty
passengers killed in the most appalling circumstances. Eve escaped.
She was travelling with a friend in the rear part of the train. They
were pulled out and carried up the bank, and there that poor child stood
and looked on, helpless, maddened, while her parents and the other poor
wretches in the wrecked carriages lay pinned down, devoured by the
names. Oh, my dear man, we read of such things, we agonise over them,
or we _think_ we agonise, but imagine the real thing! Seeing, hearing,
within a few yards, yet as powerless to help as though one were at the
other side of the world... Well! Eve went through that torture, and it
wrecked her life. She had brain fever, and when that passed, her mind
remained--what shall I say?--_clouded_. Yes, that's the right word. It
expresses exactly the truth. There is a cloud hanging over her,
shutting out the sun. Her memory is impaired, so that she does not
remember any actual event; but there is an impression of horror and
dread. It is ten years since the accident, and the cloud has not
lifted. She lives with our doctor and his wife; they are good, honest
people, and do their best; but I wish sometimes she could have a change.
At the best of times they are not her type, and after ten years
together--"
"You say that the cloud has not lifted. Is she _no_ better than at the
beginning of the time?"
"Oh, yes! When one looks back over the years one can see that there is
improvement. Her health is better, and she has lost her dread of
society. At times, as you saw her to-day, one would hardly realise that
she was not normal. But the cloud falls. She is always sweet, always
gentle, but terrible, terribly sad."
"But she _is_ better," Rupert insisted. "She is going to get quite
well. I am going to make her well... Mrs Melhuish"--he leaned
forward, his hand on the arm of her chair--"you are my very kind friend.
It is only right that I should tell you at once.--I am going to marry
Eve Bisdee!"
"My _dear_ Rupert!" cried Mrs Melhuish deeply. Her face flushed, her
mild eye showed a flash of anger. She was shocked--more than shocked,
outraged. Her voice took an edge of coldness. "Really, this is too
much. Eve is a most appealing creature, and it is natural that a man
should feel chivalrous and protective when he hears her history. But
marriage! That's unthinkable! It offends me. Please think of what you
are saying!"
Rupert lifted his hand and laid it gently on hers. They were old
friends, these two, and for years back had been able to speak together
frankly without fear of offence.
"Wait!" he said. "Listen to what I have to say before you give your
verdict. What I propose to do may be unusual, but it is eminently sane.
I propose to change places with that doctor, and to see what I can do
towards removing that cloud. There is only one way in which I can gain
the right, and that is by going through a form of marriage. Therefore a
form of marriage it must be. Don't look at me in that commiserating
manner, dear lady! This is not philanthropy, it's not pity. I am going
to undertake this thing because I want to do it more than anything on
earth! Now do you understand? You know my ideas about love. We have
talked of them together, and you know for what I have been waiting. It
came to me this afternoon, at the moment when Eve's eyes looked into
mine. From that moment there was no going back."
"My dear Rupert!" cried Mrs Melhuish again. The anger had faded from
her face, but she looked infinitely distressed. With all her heart she
wished that this meeting had never taken place. "My dear Rupert, to
have waited so long, and then to rush into folly like this! I do know
your ideas, and very beautiful they are; all the more reason why you
should make no mistake. There is always the reverse side of the
picture, and as you can love more keenly than other men, so of a
certainty can you suffer more. You may feel powerfully attracted to
poor Eve, but you have no idea of the strain and weariness of battling
with a mind diseased. It's hard enough when such a task comes to one as
an obvious duty, but to _choose_ it!"
"I did not choose it," Rupert said quietly. "There is no question of
choice. It has to be. Don't make it harder for me by misunderstanding.
For a moment I thought my kingdom had come, but that was a mistake. I
have met my Queen, but I shall have to serve for her before she is
really mine. Seven years I may have to serve--perhaps for twice seven
years. Do you think a man would deliberately _choose_ such a fate?
It's something stronger than choice between Eve and me. The simple
truth is that I have no object in life but to help her to get back to
the light. I'll tell you something else, too--_I'm the only man who can
do ill_. I possess a power over her which no doctor or nurse could
obtain. Good heavens! Haven't they had ten years for their
experiments? How much longer would you have me content to stand by and
wait? If she has any relations, they must be thankful to give her a
chance of being cared for, for love instead of money. I'll find her a
nurse, the best nurse that can be had. We'll take her abroad to live in
the sun, away from all her old associations. She is afraid of those
people--did you know that? She is not afraid of me. She _wants_ to
come. My dear lady, this thing is going to _be_! The question is--am I
to have your help?" Mrs Melhuish was not easily convinced, but she was
conquered in the end, as were, in turns, the few relatives whom Eve
possessed. All had been conscious that the time had come to make a
change, and no more promising change could be imagined than the one
proposed. From Eve's own point of view, that was to say! For Dempster
it was a different matter. The relations felt it their duty to argue
with him, to point out that he was recklessly shattering his life. But
Dempster smiled, and persisted.
Very well, then! let him have his way. So Rupert and Eve were married,
and immediately after set sail for Egypt.
One midsummer afternoon two years later, Rupert Dempster walked along an
exquisite stretch of road in North Wales which divides the rocky course
of the river Dee from a sleepy canal with fern-covered banks, and an
overhanging arch of green. After the blazing Eastern lands in which the
past years had been spent, the dewy loveliness of the scene was a
delight to the senses. On every side rose the crests of green, smiling
hills; the river broke into ripples of foam round the scattered rocks
which strewed its bed. Along the still stream to the left floated a
miniature barge, carrying a gay awning overhead. This was the omnibus
of the neighbourhood, plying up and down the stream several times a day,
and even as Rupert watched, its slow course was stayed, and one of the
passengers alighted and walked slowly towards him.
She was a slightly-made girl with a noticeable daintiness of movement.
Under her wide-brimmed hat her face showed small and pale, and her hair
was of a light flaxen hue. Rupert knitted his brow, and his pace
quickened instinctively. The girl walked with her eyes on the ground,
oblivious of his approach. Another moment and they were side by side,
and Rupert gave a cry of recognition.
"Lilith! It is Lilith! What an extraordinary chance, to meet you here!
My dear Lilith, I am so pleased to see you."
And indeed there was unmistakable pleasure in his voice; the somewhat
worn face lightened with animation. He gripped the girl's hand with
eager fingers, and she smiled back at him, a calm, unperturbed smile, as
though she had parted from him but an hour before.
"How do you do, Rupert? Are you staying down here? Is Mrs Dempster
with you?"
"Yes. We have taken the house just behind those trees. Do you know it?
You cross the next bridge, and follow the lane to the left."
"Yes, I know it. I'm staying at the Inn."
Lilith walked by his side, her eyes quietly searching his face, but
having vouchsafed these bare words of information, she added nothing
more. The silence lasted for several minutes, nevertheless it was with
an overwhelming impression of answering a question, that Rupert spoke
again, saying slowly:
"She is better, but she is not cured. The attacks of depression come on
less frequently, but they still come. We are tring to ward off another
at this moment. She grew tired of the East. For a time she delighted
in it, and the novelty took her out of herself; but it became
wearisome--the eternal glare, the absence of green, the medley of
tongues. She wanted to come home. We've been wandering about for the
last four months, and landed here last week. It's a charming spot, and
_peaceful_. It ought to do her good!"
There was an appeal in his voice which a woman's ear should have been
quick to read, but Lilith made no response. She turned her strange,
expressionless eyes first on the silent, shaded canal, then on the
river, sparkling in the sun, its waters beating against the jagged
rocks. Until that moment Rupert had regarded the two streams from an
artistic standpoint only, now of a sudden they seemed charged with a
spiritual meaning. Peace and storm, stagnation and action, life and
death,--he saw them all in the contrast between those two streams, and
for the first time a doubt crept into his mind whether he had done well
for Eve in shielding her from the great current of life, and lapping her
round with eternal calm. He turned abruptly to the girl and put another
question:
"Will you come with me now and see her? I think perhaps you might do
her good."
"Yes, I will come," Lilith answered, with a courteous indifference at
which Rupert smiled with grim amusement. For two long years he had
guarded his treasure with never-ceasing vigilance, finding for her the
most secluded retreats, where no alien eye should disturb her repose;
avoiding the society of his fellow-creatures as if it had been the
plague. And now at last he had invited an outsider to disturb that
calm, and she had received the honour with the indifference accorded to
the most ordinary of invitations! But, after all, what had he expected?
Who had ever yet seen Lilith moved out of her colossal calm!
Rupert led the way towards his temporary home, opened the gate, and
escorted Lilith through a brilliant tangle of garden to the front of the
house, where several long chairs were ranged along a shaded veranda. On
one of these lay Eve, in a reverie so deep that the new-comers had time
to take in the details of her appearance before she was aware of their
approach.
She wore a white dress, the skirt of which was scattered with the petals
of crimson roses, which her restless hands had pulled asunder. Her head
was tilted back on the cushion, showing the beautiful line of the
throat; her face was ivory white, and the curved bow of her lips showed
vividly, startlingly red. Even that first glance brought an impression
of strain and unrest; and as her ear at last caught the sound of the
approaching footsteps, she leaped upward with a gesture of alarm. Her
eyes fell upon Lilith's figure and distended in wild distress, but the
next moment she beheld Rupert, and in a flash the fear disappeared and
was replaced by the most melting tenderness. She came forward with the
shy grace of a child, slipped her hand into his, and stood passively
waiting for what it should please him to do next. Anyone who doubted if
Rupert Dempster's love had stood the strain of those two long years of
waiting would have found his answer in one glimpse at the man's face as
he stood holding that little hand in his.
"Eve! this is an old friend. I met her walking by the river, and asked
her to come and see you. Her name is Lilith Wastneys. You remember it,
don't you? I have spoken to you about her."
"Yes, I remember," Eve said. She took her hand from her husband's, and
held it out towards Lilith with a graceful gesture of greeting. Her
eyes dwelt on the small, composed face with an expression of incredulous
surprise. "You wished for Power! That seemed strange to me when I
heard it, and now that I have seen you it seems stranger still. You
look so small and gentle. I wonder what made you wish for Power!"
Lilith's smile was as inscrutable as her eyes. She answered simply by
making another statement:
"And Rupert wished for love."
"He has got it!" said Eve deeply. She gave one glance at her husband--a
wonderful, liquid glance, then turned back to her guest. "Won't you sit
down? I sit in the veranda to be out of the sun. I am so tired of the
sun. In the East it is cruel, blazing down day after day, mocking at
the shadows. But the shadows are there--it cannot chase them away."
She leaned back on her cushions. "Here all is so cool and calm, and the
rain falls. That feels like nature weeping with us. I like to watch
the rain. Have _you_ a pretty garden to sit in?"
"I am staying at the Inn. I don't want a garden. I can have that at
home. When I want to rest I walk over the stepping-stones into the
middle of the river. There is a big rock there which forms a kind of
natural arm-chair. I can sit on it, looking down the stream, and no one
can see me from the bank, for the rock rises up like a wall nearly all
the way round. To sit there is like a peep into another life; a
mermaid's life, all grey rock, and splashing foam, and soft, ceaseless
roar. When you listen to that roar from the bank it sounds harsh and
monotonous. You are on another element, you see, so it is alien to you,
and has no meaning, but on the rock you are part of the river itself.
It tells you its secrets. You can understand!"
As she finished speaking, Lilith's heavy lids lifted, and her eyes
flashed with a sudden light. There was a moment's silence; then Eve
bent forward on her seat, while a wave of colour flamed into her pale
cheeks.
"_Will you take me with you_?" she cried breathlessly. "Will you take
me _now_? There is something I am always trying to hear--a secret which
I am always trying to find out, and no one can help me. Perhaps the
river will tell me my secret... Take me with you, and let me try!"
Eve was fascinated with the rocky seat, and spent hours of each day
ensconced thereon. The river was so low that it was easy to step from
one rock to another, and Rupert would see her comfortably settled, and
then leave her to take the brisk walk over the hills which was his usual
exercise. Eve preferred to be alone for part of the day, and he had no
fear of leaving her. There had never been any suicidal tendency in her
derangement; rather did she cling to life, and shrink from the thought
of death. And the river soothed her, she said; the murmuring voice
seemed to whisper of happiness and peace, but as yet it was only a
murmur. In vain she strained her ears; the message eluded her, and
floated vaguely into space. "Louder!" she would cry. "Louder!" But
the river floated sleepily on its course, and refused to be aroused.
A week passed by, and Rupert grew restless and uneasy. Eve was still
obsessed with love of her river seat, but the strain of listening for
the message which never came added to her depression, and it irked him
to feel that she was deliberately courting a disappointment which he was
powerless to relieve.
"It can do no good," he told Lilith impatiently, "and it may do great
harm. I have been so careful to screen her from every kind of
excitement or strain, so that the brain should have time to rest."
"Or stagnate?" suggested Lilith coldly. "She has had--how many years is
it--ten or twelve?--of this wrapping in cotton wool, and she has
progressed--how far should you call it--one inch, or two? How much
longer shall you be content with inches? If she were in my charge--"
Rupert stopped and faced her in the narrow path. There was a hint of
roughness in his manner. When a man is strung to the finest point of
tension it is not always easy to preserve the conventions. "It is easy
to boast when one has had no experience! _What_ would you do if she
were in your charge?"
"Neglect her, ignore her, leave her to fend for herself! You and that
drudge of a nurse imagine that you are helping by waiting on her hand
and foot. What if instead you are sapping her vitality, and stealing
her chance of life? What do you leave for her to do, except to breathe?
If you could breathe for her, you would relieve her of that also! You
make her into a doll, and expect the doll to live! She is asleep, and
you feed her with drugs. Better a thousand times to waken her out of
her sleep, even if it be to suffer. It was a shock which deadened the
brain; it may be that only a shock can rouse it to life again!"
"Ah!" cried Rupert bitterly. "I have heard that theory before. It's a
devilish theory! My poor Eve! She has been tortured enough; she shall
be tortured no more. It was the horror of what she saw and heard which
caused the mischief in the beginning. The one thing I am thankful for
in this loss of memory is that that honour has faded."
Lilith looked at him with her steady eyes.
"Have you ever been delirious?" she asked him. "Not for an odd hour
here and there, but for days together, stretching out into weeks? I
_have_; and I know. Nothing real can approach the horror of the
unknown. There is no beginning to it, and no end. It's a great cloud
darkening the sky; it presses lower, lower, strangling the breath.
There is no hope in it, no appeal. Your wife saw her parents killed
before her eyes. I tell you the memory of the truth would be peaceful,
compared with this struggle in the darkness. She would realise that it
was over, that they were at rest; that it would pain them if she went
mourning all her life. I tell you, Rupert, the only chance of Eve's
recovery is to shock her into remembrance!"
"And if it were, if it were?"--he turned upon her fiercely as though
battling against an inner conviction. "A shock strong enough to
revolutionise the brain lies in the hands of Providence, to give or to
retain. What man dare meddle with such a cure? I love my wife; she is
my world. Am I to risk her life for a possible relief? To deliberately
court danger that she--she--" He threw out his arms with a gesture of
intolerable impatience. "Oh, it is unthinkable! You don't know what
you are talking about. It is easy for you to talk. You have no heart.
You cannot feel--"
He strode away up the road leading to the hills, and Lilith stood and
watched him go, and picked a leaf of sorrel from the bank by her side
and rubbed it daintily between her small teeth, enjoying the sharp,
pungent taste. Rupert's anger had no power to ruffle her calm.
By and by she also started on her morning promenade, passing by the gate
of Dempster's house, and catching a glimpse of Eve upon the veranda.
There had been thunder-storms in the neighbourhood during the last few
days, and though the actual storms had not yet reached their little
retreat, the atmosphere was heavy and breathless. That morning Eve had
complained of a headache, and had seemed content to remain in the
garden. As she passed by, Lilith saw the nurse come out of the gate,
basket in hand, and turn in the direction of the canal bank. Evidently
she was bound for the barge-omnibus, which should convey her to the
nearest township. Lilith repaired to her own room in the Inn, and set
about the task of answering a pile of letters.
Two hours passed quickly. Then gradually into her preoccupation stole
the sense of something unusual and disturbing. She raised her head, and
sat quietly considering its cause. The little room seemed filled with a
rushing noise; it was not a new noise, but rather an exaggeration of the
one to which she had been accustomed for weeks past--the swirling of the
river.
Lilith rose, and crossed the room to the latticed window. The Inn stood
on the bisecting road between canal and river, within but a few yards'
distance of each; but this morning a strange transformation had passed
over the accustomed scene. The waters of the river were no longer
crystal clear, but of a thick muddy brown; their course was no longer
smiling and leisurely, but rapid and threatening. Upon the surface
floated broken branches and boughs of trees.
Lilith turned instantly and descended the stairs. A sense of happenings
was upon her; there was no time to waste.
At the door of the Inn stood the landlord, his broad face lit by a smile
of satisfaction. Life was sleepy in this quiet vale; he welcomed a
passing excitement.
"The river is in flood, miss!" he cried genially. "Yes, indeed, we
shall have a big flood! There were bad thunder-storms this last week up
in the hills in Merioneth, where the river rises, and all the streams
will be swollen, and pouring down into the lake. It was the same in the
spring five years ago, when my Willie was born. Yes, indeed, the roar
of it woke us in the middle of the night. Look at the colour of it now,
miss, and the speed! Soon there will not be a rock to be seen. Yes,
indeed, it will be a fine sight, the river, when it will be in flood!"
He was beaming with innocent enjoyment. His face fell like that of a
thwarted child when the visitor turned, without as much as a word, and
walked down the path; he stared after her blankly, then shrugged his
shoulders, and ambled heavily back inside the Inn.
Lilith walked with rapid footsteps; her lips were set, but her eyes
roamed. They turned upward towards the house among the trees where she
had left Eve seated on the veranda. Assuredly Eve was there still; she
had a headache, and had announced her decision to remain at home. This
morning, for once, the river seat had lost its allure. Of a certainty
Eve was still on her veranda. Nevertheless Lilith's footsteps grew
quicker; straight as a die she made for the point on the bank opposite
to the chain of stepping-stones.
No trace of an occupant was to be seen on the central islet, but a
stronger sense than that of sight was at work in Lilith's brain. All
the arguments in the world were powerless to deceive her. Eve was on
the rock! She knew it. It was the truth.
On the edge of the road stood the stump of an old tree, the nearest fork
of which stood four or five feet from the ground. Lilith grasped it
with both hands, and with an agile movement drew her knees up to the
level. The rest was easy; she took another grasp of the trunk, drew up
her feet and stood, supporting herself on either side, gazing over the
stream.
Yes! the inner certitude had been correct. Against the dull grey of the
rock lay the folds of a white dress, the gleam of scarlet from a folded
parasol, a dark head lay tilted backward towards the sky. Eve was
there, asleep, or wrapped in one of her trance-like reveries in which
she was unconscious of passing events. She would see nothing, hear
nothing, until the mood passed and she became conscious of a desire for
movement. For half an hour to come, perhaps for an hour, she would
remain oblivious, and, meanwhile, with every moment the stream was
rising and gaining more deadly swiftness.
Lilith crooked one arm round the bough of the tree and raised bent hands
to her mouth. The stepping-stones were still well above water. She
would send her piercing "coo-ee" across the stream and continue to send
it, until the unusual character of the sound attracted Eve's attention,
then she would go to meet her, and help her to the bank. There would be
no danger, only a spice of excitement; a thrilling realisation of what
might have been. No more.
Lilith pursed her lips to give the signal, but the signal did not come.
Poised in the very attitude of preparation, a sudden change of
expression showed in her still eyes, or rather an arrestment of
expression; the features remained fixed and immovable, while the brain
worked.
For one long minute she stood motionless, then, slowly, her hands fell
to her sides; she bent downwards until once more her knees rested on the
fork of the tree, from hence she let herself gently to the ground. No
one had seen her. The Innkeeper was busy; the road stretched ahead bare
and empty. No one would interfere.
Lilith walked to the nearest bridge, crossed it and seated herself on a
sloping bank. The ground was raised above the level of the canal, and
by raising her head she could see the chain of stepping-stones leading
to the rocky islet. She folded her hands in her lap and watched. The
sun shone out from behind a leaden bank of clouds, and beat on her face.
What was the expression of Lilith's face? There was strength on it, an
immense, all-conquering strength; there was the mark of strain, in
deepened line and close-set lip; but there was something else--something
dominating, overriding. It shone in the eyes; the pose of the head
showed it, the beating pulse in the throat. It was joy--primitive,
triumphant joy!
The stepping-stones grew small and smaller; above the dark swirl of the
river their grey surfaces caught the sun and gleamed into silver. Once
and anon branches of a tree borne down by the flood were caught by one
of these islets and for a moment held bound, then the swirl and the rush
overcame, and they were swept relentlessly onward. Lilith's lips
tightened as she watched them pass.
Ten minutes passed; twenty minutes; the silver gleams made but tiny
spaces above the flood. Lilith rose to her feet and stood poised for
flight.
Another five minutes and the waters lapped over the surface of the
smallest stone. Like an arrow from the bow, Lilith flew across the
bridge, down the path to the little Inn.
"Help! Help! The ropes! ... A lady is on one of the rocks. The lady
from Plas Glynn. The ropes! Quick! Quick!"
The ropes hung coiled in the entrance of the Inn. It was not the river
which was the danger, but the shaded, sleeping canal. Many a pedestrian
had taken a false step off that fern-bordered bank, and had had a sore
struggle for his life. The Innkeeper's own son had had this struggle.
The ropes were ready, noosed at the end--long, stout ropes, for use, not
play. The Innkeeper seized them from their pegs and followed Lilith
down the path. Afterwards he recalled that it was she who issued
orders, and he who obeyed. He lashed the end of the ropes round the
stump of the old tree. One noose was put round his own waist, the other
he carried in his hand. The young lady stood by to let out their
length, but before he could start, a cry sounded from behind, a terrible
cry from the depths of a tortured heart, and Rupert Dempster fell upon
him, and wrenched the ropes from his hand.
They lifted their voices, the two men and the girl, and sent forth a
ringing cry of alarm; once, twice, they sent it forth, while Rupert felt
his way to the first wave-lashed stone, and at the third cry Eve's white
figure appeared in the aperture between the rocks.
The sight on which she looked was enough to turn the strongest head--the
waste of waters where there had been a bubbling stream, the swirling
current covering the way of retreat; yet to the onlookers there appeared
no sign of distress in Eve's attitude. The lurid sun still shown down,
shaftlike through the clouds, and showed her white figure in vivid
distinctness. She was bending forward, gazing, not at the shore, but
upward across the flood. Her ear was bent low, as though listening to
its voice...
Rupert turned back from the first stone, threw off his shoes, and
started afresh. Once and again his foot slipped, and he swayed
perilously to right and left, but always he recovered himself, and
pressed on steadfastly towards the rock where stood his wife,
motionless, bending forward towards the stream.
He was by her side, standing on the same foothold, before she was
conscious of his presence; then he spoke her name, and she turned her
eyes upon him. Oh, God in heaven, they were _sane_ eyes! Clear,
straight-glancing eyes. _Sane_ eyes, full of thankfulness and peace!
"I remember!" she cried loudly. "I remember! The river has told me.
Oh, Rupert I am free--"
"Come!" he said simply, and took her hand. There was no time to waste,
for the flood was rushing on its way, and the perilous passage had still
to be made; but there was no fear in either heart. Nothing on earth or
sea could mar the rapture of that moment. After long waiting and
heart-sickness the cloud had lifted, and the shadows had taken wing. He
read the change in her eyes, the very touch of her hand within his told
the same tale. It was no longer weak and helpless; her fingers clasped
his with a strong, resolute grasp, giving help as well as receiving.
The Dream Woman had come to life!
From the bank the stepping-stones had disappeared from sight, and to the
dazzled eyes of the onlookers it seemed as though two disembodied
spirits came walking towards them across the waters, their faces lit
with an unearthly radiance.
When the bank was reached, they turned, and made their way towards the
house, unconscious of the existence of the watchers. Hand in hand they
crossed the bridge and mounted the sloping path...
The Innkeeper hitched his shoulders and drew a trembling breath.
"It was a near thing, look you! As near a shave as ever I seen... That
was a good thing, missy, that you caught sight of her just at the right
moment!"
Lilith's heavy eyelids drooped over her eyes.
"Yes," she said sleepily, "the very right moment!"