Fifteen years had come and gone. The men and women who had sat round
the fire on that memorable New Year's Eve in Mrs Ingram's hospitable
country manor, had left youth behind, and entered upon the strenuous
term of middle age, while their host and hostess had reached a stage
still further on the downward path, and frankly ranged themselves among
the old.
Fifteen years ago! And now once more the end of the year was
approaching, and Mr Ingram and his wife were discussing their plans for
the festive season. It was a very frail woman who lay back against the
cushions of her chair, and to her husband all outside considerations
were as naught compared with the necessity of screening her from undue
exertion.
"Forget that it is Christmas time, that's the best thing you can do!
All your life you have worked and schemed to give other people pleasure,
now you must take it easy, and let them have a turn for a change. No
Christmas presents, no village treats, no house-party over the New Year.
You and I will have a quiet resting time, and think of nobody but
ourselves."
His wife smiled, her fine, delicate smile, and stretched out her hand to
meet his.
"Foolish man!" she said softly. "What folly you do talk! The Christmas
presents are _ready_, dear. I begin collecting them each January, as
soon as the last batch is out of the way, and it would break my heart to
disappoint the villagers of their treat; but I'll be very good, and
leave the whole of the arrangements to the vicar. That's a concession
made entirely to please you. I want to please you, because as regards
the house-party I am going to ask _you_ to give in to me! I'd been
planning a very special gathering for this year. Please, dear, don't
say no! It would be such a great interest. I want to ask all the
members of that Heart's Desire party of fifteen years ago--all that are
left, that's to say, and sit over the fire together as we did then, for
the first hour of the New Year, and talk over our different experiences.
I have thought of it for the last three or four years, but something
has always come in the way, and now--now I would rather not postpone it
again."
Her husband knew the meaning of that unwillingness. She was thinking
that she might not live to see another New Year, and the knowledge was
enough to stifle any objections which he might have made.
"You shall do as you choose, dearest," he said softly. "I ask only that
you should spare yourself. You must spend the mornings in your own
room, and then you will be able to enjoy your guests for the rest of the
day." He was silent for a few minutes, gazing into the heart of the
fire. "It is one thing to wish," he said at last, "and another to
confess what has really happened. I wonder if they _will_ confess!"
"Probably--not!" Mrs Ingram said. "We may be sure of one thing at
least, that the happenings which went deepest will never be put into
words. All the same we shall know. It is not only by speech that the
heart tells its secrets, Hubert!"
"But the ordinary man judges only by his ears. His eyes are holden that
he cannot see."
"Ah, well," sighed Mrs Ingram softly, "there's an instinct that is
truer than sight!"
Her husband pressed her hand, but did not answer. He knew well that his
wife possessed a wonderful heart-vision which could pierce beneath the
deceptions of surface appearance, down to the truth beneath; but this
was a plane to which he could not follow; and in truth he could not
trust himself to discuss it. This dearly loved wife had always been of
an unusual exalted character, and with the decline of bodily health, she
seemed to cast from her one by one the hindering frailties of the flesh,
and to become ever more spiritual and crystalline. He reverenced, he
worshipped, but--he feared! A spirit so fine seemed out of place on
this gross earth.
But, thank God! the old gaiety was not dead, and her laugh rang clear as
ever as a few minutes later he brought a writing-table to her side, and
they embarked upon the work of tracing old friends under new conditions.
Mr Ingram would have been hard put to it to remember the names alone of
all who had been present on the historic occasion, but his wife's diary
supplied an account not only of these, but of manners and appearance,
with a surprisingly verbatim record of what each person had said. She
had the memory which records words, and now as she read over one
pronouncement after another, something of her own keenness entered into
her husband's manner.
"By jove, you have a memory! It all comes back as I hear you reading--
the very words--the very expressions. I can see Claudia sitting in that
chair, telling us about the rich cousin who sent her cast-off clothes,
and looking so wonderfully pretty and sparkling. Ah, poor Claudia!
Well--one is bound to come up against tragedy, if one follows the
happenings of nine lives for fifteen years. All things considered, I
think we have less of it than might have been expected. Who comes next
on the list? Norah Boyce, eh? We shan't have Norah, since that clever
husband of hers has got this appointment in Canada; but we know at least
that things go well with her. Nice little Norah! She deserved her good
luck. And then comes Lilith Wastneys. No need to look up her address,
eh? Care of the Rt. Hon. Hereward Lowther, would reach her the world
over. And John Harely Malham! These friends of yours have developed
into very great personages, dear! Do you think they will care to accept
invitations from simple country dwellers like ourselves?"
"I shall send them invitations, and I think they will come," Mrs Ingram
said quietly. People had a way of doing what she wished, which seemed
the more extraordinary as she never argued nor persuaded. "Those two
are our only notables; the others are leading quite ordinary lives, so
ordinary that we shall have to resort to the directory to trace one or
two. I have not heard of Francis Manning for years."
"Manning, Manning! Which was Manning? The man who was in such a
dickens of a hurry to get himself into trouble?"
"No, that was Val Lessing. Val is quite a prosperous City man now. He
sends me a Christmas card every year. Francis Manning was the big, lazy
creature who couldn't think of anything he wanted so much as to be let
alone, to jog along in comfort. I have heard nothing of him since he
wrote years ago to tell me of his marriage. I sent him a present."
"I'll bet you did!" commented her husband, laughing. "Oh, well, we can
easily track Mr Manning. Then there comes Juliet! There's no
difficulty about Juliet. Let me see! What was it that Juliet wished
for?"
"Adventure!" Mrs Ingram said, and they both smiled.
"So Juliet wished for adventure, did she? Well! Well!" cried Mr
Ingram nodding. "_How_ many inches should you say she measures round
the waist at the present moment?"
But at this his wife protested strongly.
"Too bad! Too bad! Why should the mere fact of being stout make it
seem ridiculous for a woman to have a share in romance or excitement?
I'm not going to allow you to laugh at Juliet. Wait at least until you
have heard what she has to say. Now we come to the last on the list--
Rupert Dempster, Rupert who wished for love."
"I remember," said her husband shortly. Many things that had happened
on that evening had faded from memory, but the shock occasioned by
Rupert's unexpected confession had impressed it on his mind. In
imagination he could see the firelight playing upon the tired face, and
hear the strong, quiet tone speaking of his ideal love, the primal,
overmastering affinity of mind for mind, soul for soul, body for body.
And it was this Rupert Dempster who had married a woman admittedly
insane! Rumour said that she had to a great extent regained her reason,
but still... Mr Ingram registered a hope that Dempster and his wife
would not accept his wife's invitation for New Year's Eve!
It was New Year's Eve, and throughout the afternoon one batch of
visitors after another drove up to the door of the Manor. Some had
travelled by train, some by motor, and each guest in turn was received
by the hostess, welcomed with her inimitable charm, and escorted to the
rooms apportioned to them, where tea was served instead of in the hall
downstairs, as was the usual custom in the household. It did not
satisfy Mrs Ingram's dramatic sense that her guests should meet one by
one; she preferred to postpone the moment until they met _en masse_
round the dinner table later on.
Six invitations had been sent out, and in due time six replies came
back. Some were affectionate in tone, others politely formal, some
implied a willingness to stay as long as they should be asked; others
regretted that one day only could be spared; but so far as the
anniversary itself was concerned, each of the six notes brought the
acceptance which Mrs Ingram had so confidently expected. By six
o'clock that evening six of the surviving members of the original party
were once more gathered together beneath the roof of the Manor.
It was just eight o'clock when the sound of the gong pealed through the
house, and Mr and Mrs Ingram took their stand in the great hall, to
watch the procession of their guests down the stairway.
First of all came a tall man, muscular and healthy, a typical country
squire, the sunburn of his skin showing in marked contrast to his white
shirt and waistcoat. A handsome man, with an air of agreeable content,
and beside him a stout matron, her large face wreathed in smiles, her
dress a handsome creation of the year before last.
Behind her, creeping close to the wall, a plain, insignificant woman
trailed a robe of magnificent gold brocade, while the glitter of
diamonds on neck and head lent an additional wanness to the pinched
face. This was the Lady Anne Malham, and by her side walked the husband
whose success in life had made him a world-known figure. The large
head, and hawk-like features had been so often represented in the Press
that the public recognised him at a glance, but few of those who studied
the weary face realised that this was a man who had not yet seen his
forty-fifth year. There was no lingering trace of youth on the face of
John Malham, millionaire!
Behind the Malhams came yet another couple: the woman's left hand rested
lightly on the banister, while on the inner side of the stairway, her
husband slipped his arm through hers, as though to afford a double
security to her descent. Slim, ethereally transparent, her white
shoulders rising above a dress of misty black, a carmine flush staining
the soft oval of her cheeks, Eve Dempster appeared more like a beautiful
wraith than a woman of flesh and blood. The years had brought to her
none of the ordinary signs of age; as though loath to mar so exquisite a
creature, they had passed by, leaving behind nothing but an air of
additional transparence and fragility to mark their course. Rupert, on
the contrary, looked more than his age. His face was lined as by a
ceaseless anxiety, but in his eyes there was a great content.
Eve Dempster's long, misty train floated so far behind as to necessitate
a gap in the descent of the guests. The gap, and the isolated position
which she occupied as the first of the guests to descend in single file,
threw into greater prominence the stolid, ungainly figure of Mrs
Francis Manning, clad in a satin gown of a violent shade of blue. Her
light hair was elaborately waved and dressed in the latest eccentricity
of the day; tight white kid gloves came to an end half-way up her
reddened arms. She looked what she was, a middle-class matron of the
suburbs, divided between pride and embarrassment in her present
position. Her husband followed close behind, large, heavily built, with
clean-shaven face, patient, saddened, strikingly controlled. Mrs
Ingram, watching from the hall beneath, felt a smarting of the eyes as
she looked at that face, and remembered the torpid complacence of the
days that were gone!
The next couple were in appearance perhaps the most normal of any. A
man too alert and supple to be yet classed as middle-aged, a pretty,
soft-eyed woman, with humorous lips, and a graceful head poised at an
angle which suggested an agreeable touch of coquetry; a woman whose
spirit remained young; a woman who retained the power to charm, though
the dreaded forty hovered but a few years ahead.
And then, last of all, sweeping downwards with the indefinable air of
those accustomed to high places, came the guests of honour, the Rt.
Hon. Hereward Lowther, and Lilith, his wife. The Minister was smiling,
and the smile showed him at his best. A physiognomist would have read
in his face a curious mingling of weakness and strength but the old
shadow was replaced by a radiant complacence, and there was a touch of
obvious though perfectly good-natured condescension in his bearing as he
surveyed the group in the hall. He was ready to be all that was
agreeable to his wife's old friends, but he expected that in their turn
they would appreciate the honour paid by his presence.
As for Lilith herself, a murmur of incredulity arose from the watchers
as she stepped into sight, so extraordinarily like the Lilith of old did
she appear. The pale hair was twisted round the head in identically the
same fashion as of yore, the white satin dress, with the swathing of
tulle round the shoulders, followed the same natural lines. There was
no glitter of gems, but Val Lessing noticed with a thrill of remembrance
that round her throat there were ropes of pearls,--lustrous, shimmering
pearls, for which a man might venture his life. In the shaded light of
the lamps there were no lines to be seen on the quiet face. It seemed
impossible to believe that fifteen long years had passed by since that
white-robed figure had last descended that staircase!
A few moments of merry greetings and laughter, of introductions by host
and hostess, and then the house-party once more formed into pairs, filed
into the dining-room, and took their places round the festive board.
It was a long and elaborate meal which followed, and in the drawing-room
afterwards the guests found a delightful entertainment provided for
their benefit. The days were over when dancing appealed as an ideal
manner of passing the time; to-night the guests sat still and were
amused by others, and as the hour of twelve drew nigh, watched the
performance of an exquisite little masque of the seasons, in which the
old year and the new played the leading characters.
More than one person suspected the authorship of that masque, and
recognised another instance of Mrs Ingram's generalship, in tuning the
minds of the hearers to a desired note, before the moment of the
conference arrived.
They stood together in the great hall, hand in hand, waiting for the
striking of the hour from the church tower, men and women, where before
had stood youths and maidens; together, as the last note died away, they
turned back to the fire, and seated themselves in the circling chairs,
but when they were all seated there were still two chairs which remained
vacant. To the majority of the company the presence of these chairs
appeared the most meaningless of incidents; two only of the number
divined their significance,--Rupert Dempster and the Squire's stout,
prosaic-looking wife. As usual it was the woman who put her thoughts
into words:
"Ah, poor Claudia! poor Meriel!" she sighed softly. "How little we
thought that they would be absent when we met again! And such tragic
fates... That beautiful Claudia! Can you remember how she sat that
night, making her naughty, audacious speeches, and looking so sweet and
bewitching all the time that one could not believe that she meant half
she said. But she _did_, or how could she have married that man?
Meriel was staying with her, at the time that she first--found out! She
persuaded her to see the specialist. Claudia _dared_ not tell her
husband. To the very last she braved it out. One would not have
expected her to have such courage! And when he did know, he went
straight away and never saw her again. She would see no one. She lived
alone with her nurses until the end. Poor Claudia! She wished for
great riches, and she got them, but--"
"Pound bitterness to her soul! Yes. That is the reward of seeking the
worthless thing," Mrs Ingram said quietly. "Claudia had a few years
given to her to taste the power of money, and a few years more to test
its helplessness. She learned many lessons, poor child, in that hidden
room. I sent for one of her nurses after she died. The woman cried
bitterly when she spoke of her. She said she had never had a patient
who was more thoughtful and considerate. I was thankful to know that
the poor child had had someone with her who really loved and
sympathised."
There was a tense silence. The pathos of Claudia's fate lay heavy upon
those who remembered her in the flush of her youthful triumph, and with
that other name, too, was the connection of tragedy.
"And Meriel! Meriel wished for happiness," Francis Manning said slowly.
"She was shipwrecked, wasn't she, when she was sailing to India with
some friends?"
"With Geoffrey Sterne and his wife," Val Lessing told him. "My sister
kept up a correspondence with her for some years, and I heard from her.
They had both been at school with Mrs Sterne. She appeared to lose her
health after the marriage, but while Meriel was paying her first visit
it was discovered that the real trouble was--drink! There's no harm
speaking of it now, for later on it became public property, but at the
time they hoped for a cure, and the great object was to let no one
suspect. She was fond of Meriel and begged her to stay on, in the place
of a hired nurse, and Meriel was a lonely creature. She told my sister
that she was thankful to find someone who needed her. But she had a
hard time. All the trouble, and isolation, and patience,
and--_Hastiness_, for nothing! It was a hopeless case, and grew
steadily worse and worse. Meriel left off writing during that time, but
my sister said that even before that her letters had grown awfully
sad... Then they sailed for India, I suppose to try what the change
would do, and there was a collision. Some of the passengers got away in
boats and were saved--Meriel refused to leave. Some of the passengers
told how they had seen Sterne trying to persuade her; but she would not
leave."
There was another silence. With one accord the guests looked at Mrs
Ingram, and she recognised the meaning of that look, shook her head, and
held out her hands with a gesture of helplessness.
"You are thinking that my theory has failed, and that Meriel found none
of the happiness for which she longed. Yes! it sounds like it. Her
youth spent in isolation, with a drunken woman as companion, and the
result of it all--failure! I don't deny it, dear people. I don't
argue. On the surface it's a pitiful tale, but we know only the
surface. No one can read the secrets of Meriel's heart. She was happy
in one thing, at least--that the time of her loneliness was short, and I
think there are none among you who will deny that Meriel is happy _now_.
Whatever may be your creeds, you will agree that such brave, unselfish
giving is a garnering of wealth for the life that is to come. We may be
satisfied that Meriel has come into her kingdom!" She paused just for a
moment, then with a challenging smile turned towards Val Lessing, who
sat on her right. The conversation had taken a pensive turn, and with
the generalship of a born hostess she was ready to switch it back into a
livelier channel. Among all the couples who were present none looked
more absolutely sane and satisfied than Val and his wife. Val could
obviously be trusted to give a cheerful report.
"Well, Val, what have you to tell us? Was fate kind or unkind enough to
lead you through any perilous seas before you reached your present very
sunshiny haven?"
Val bent his head in acknowledgment of the compliment. There was a
tinge of embarrassment on his face; he glanced across the hearth at his
wife, and as quickly averted his eyes.
"W-e-ll," he said slowly, "I think I may say that it _was_! I had an
experience of er--what appeared at the time to be a very--er--acute
danger. It lasted for some four or five weeks, and then was--er--
relieved in a somewhat remarkable manner. You will excuse the details.
I have only to confess that the experience taught me the most useful
lesson of my life--to appreciate the blessings of safety! I don't deny
that in the course of that experience there were moments of excitement
which I intensely enjoyed, but on the whole I discovered that it is much
more agreeable to live in peace." He paused for a moment, and into his
eyes there leaped a delightful smile. "I may add," he said dryly, "that
my wife has relieved me of one great dread. She is good enough to
provide a spice of uncertainty, which makes it impossible that I shall
ever have to complain of monotony in life!"
Everyone looked at Delia, and Delia flicked her long eyelashes, and
stared into space with an expression of angelic innocence. But a dimple
dipped in her cheek. Delia at thirty-eight was still a minx. There was
more than one man in the room who envied Lessing the possession of his
delightful wife!
The general laugh subsided, and Mrs Ingram turned to the Squire's wife.
"So much for Danger!" she said smiling. "Now, Juliet, what have you to
report of Adventure? Your friends will remember how impatiently you
were straining at your bonds. Has the adventure really come along?"
More than one of the listeners felt it an effort at that moment to
repress a smile, so exceedingly unadventurous was the appearance of the
portly dame. Perhaps she felt the covert amusement, for there was a
note of defiance in her voice as she took up the challenge.
"Yes, it _did_," she said emphatically. "It most certainly did, and I
have to thank you, dear Mrs Ingram, for making me--er--_receptive_--so
that when the opportunity arose, I was ready to take it. Before our
talk here fifteen years ago, I had drifted into the belief that nothing
adventurous or interesting could ever happen to me, and that I must just
resign myself to be bored. After that I changed my way of thinking, and
expected the chance to come. I am like Mr Lessing--I prefer not to
give you any details, but I think I am quite safe in saying that no
other woman ever met her husband in the extraordinary circumstances
under which I met mine. It was very adventurous indeed, and we were
engaged--oh, at once, and married in a month, and after my husband's
service abroad we settled down in the dear old house where we are still
living with our six children." She paused, and looked around with a
warning air. "Please don't murmur sympathetically! Whenever I say
`six,' people always murmur sympathetically, and it's so misplaced.
It's just what we wanted--_lots_ of little heads round the table. Five
sturdy boys, and one little girl."
"Well, at any rate, you can't have much adventure now!" It was Mrs
Francis Manning who spoke, the faint Cockney twang of her voice sounding
discordantly in contrast to the cultured tones of her companions.
"Children are such a tie. We have four, and I never seem to have a free
hour. And to live in the country, too. It's a good thing you had some
adventure when you were young, for there's no chance of it now."
"I deny it!" cried Juliet, hotly. "I deny it. Can anything in the
world be more adventurous than to start a new home, and a new
generation, to have six young lives entrusted to one to train for the
world's service? Think what those six lives may mean, multiplying into
fresh lives, spreading influence wherever they go! There are no such
adventures in life, as marriage and parent-ship, if one can only see
them in the right light, and keep on seeing..." She gave a little
laugh, half shy, half apologetic, a trifle ashamed of her own intensity.
"Ah, well! it's adventurous enough to have a pack of boys who ate
learning to ride, learning to shoot, trying to copy everything that
their father can do to-day, hobbling home almost every day of the week
with cuts and bruises, and breaks and sprains. I have all the adventure
that I need, and,--what shall I say? Only this, that I enjoy it even
more than I expected!"
She stopped, panting, and her husband smiled at her across the room, and
silently clapped his hands. "I beg to second the motion!" he said
gravely, and there was a general stir of laughter. It was pleasant to
meet a couple of the good old-fashioned type which was yearly becoming
more rare. Every person in the room felt a sincere respect for Captain
and Mrs Antony Maplestone.
"Well, of course--if you put it like that," said Mrs Manning
doubtfully, "I'm sure I've always done my best to be a good mother, and
the girls go to school now, which makes it easier, but with the boy
being blind--well, naturally, it's a tie! My husband tells me he wished
for Comfort, and there's no doubt but he's got it. We're not rich, of
course, but comfortable, quite comfortable. He's only to express a
wish, and it's there for him, and I keep a first-rate cook. But as I
said to him only to-day, he doesn't give himself a chance. Always
slaving and worrying for someone else, particularly for the boy, even
now when he is getting quite big, and able to do for himself. It's
wonderful how clever blind people become! Of course we all want to be
helpful, but, as I say, there _is_ a medium course, and everyone notices
how Frank has altered these last years. If you remember he used to be
quite stout--"
"Please, Marion! Spare my blushes. I am perfectly well, and my
greatest pleasure is looking after the boy." Francis Manning spoke with
quiet self-possession, nevertheless his hearers divined a hidden wound,
and unanimously forbore from comment, but those who had known the man
fifteen years before, marvelled at the change which had come over his
whole personality. It was more than a change; it was a transfiguration.
What trumpet-call had sounded in this man's ears to rouse him from his
sleep?
Mrs Ingram looked around and met the glance of John Malham,
millionaire, leaning back in his chair with his head supported on his
hand. Of all the men in the room he looked the most worn and exhausted,
and she wondered if perchance at this very moment his tired brain was
evolving another Titan scheme by which fresh coffers could be added to
his store. Her smile had more of pity than envy as she addressed him:
"Mr Malham, it is unnecessary to ask your report! All the world knows
how you have succeeded. It only remains for your old friends to
congratulate you, and wish you a continuance of your success."
"Thanks very much, Mrs Ingram. It is a great pleasure to be here, and
to meet you all again. I only wish I could have managed to make a
longer stay."
Malham was obviously ill at ease, obviously annoyed when his wife took
up the strain, and in her flat voice proceeded to enlarge on her
husband's marvellous powers. With the obvious intention of avoiding the
ordeal he bent forward towards Juliet, and pointing to a miniature which
hung from her neck, said in a low voice, "Is that one of the six? The
little girl? May I see?"
Juliet beamed broadly as she held out the pearl-rimmed case containing a
pretty round young face. "And you? How many have you?"
"None," he said shortly, and Juliet hurried to retrieve her mistake.
"Yes. That's the girl. A great pet, of course. I called her Celia.
Her father thought it too fanciful, but he had had his own way about the
boys, so I insisted on it. It's such a pretty name, so sweet and
winsome--don't you think so? And uncommon. One meets so many Gladyses
and Phyllises, but so seldom a Celia. Did you ever know a Celia?"
She looked at him, and the motherly smile faded at sight of his tortured
face.
"Yes. I knew a Celia," he said thickly, and Juliet looked hurriedly in
another direction, her heart leaping to a swift conclusion.
"He loved a girl called Celia, and she died, and he married Lady Anne
for her position. All his success has not brought him happiness. Oh,
the poor, _poor_ man!"
Meantime Lady Anne's voice had trailed into silence, and Rupert Dempster
was answering Mrs Ingram's unspoken summons. Like Manning he had but
little to say, but there was all the difference in the world in his
manner of saying it.
"I wished for Eve," he said simply. "Here she is!" and again he slipped
his hand through his wife's arm. As a matter of course he had seated
himself by her side; as a matter of course Eve had looked for his
coming. For all their friendliness and courtesy, there was about these
two an air of detachment from their surroundings, an air of living apart
in a world of their own, fenced round with an ambuscade through which no
darts could pass. The affectionate camaraderie of the Lessings and
Maplestones was a good and pleasant thing to witness, but the bond which
bound these two was finer, more exalted.
Eve's eyes were deep and luminous at that moment, but their beautiful
glance held no remembrance of her companions. All her thought was for
her man.
"Ah, Rupert, yes! you have gained your wish!" Mrs Ingram said deeply.
She looked at the two as they sat side by side, and a reflection of
their own radiance showed in her own face. "It was a great wish," she
said, "a wish that was worth while, for your treasure can never be taken
away. Death itself is powerless to divide your souls. Dear Rupert, I
am glad for you. We are all glad! It is good to have you among us
to-day..."
Hereward Lowther bent forward in his seat, the firelight playing on his
eager, animated face. Throughout the evening he had worn an air of
expectancy, and now he burst eagerly into speech.
"Mrs Ingram, I have to thank you for a tremendously interesting
evening. My wife told me that she had a special reason for wishing to
accept your invitation. I understood that we were to celebrate some
sort of anniversary, but as old friends you will remember that she is
chary of words, and I was entirely ignorant of its nature. I have been
intensely interested in the history of the various wishes, but I confess
that my chief feeling has been curiosity. Please tell me! What was my
wife's wish?"
Mrs Ingram looked at the corner by the fireplace where for the last
hour a white figure sat, silent, immovable, her face shadowed by an
outstanding beam. Even so fifteen years ago had the girl Lilith
Wastneys watched and waited, until at her hostess's summons she had
moved softly forward to make her extraordinary pronouncement. The
remembrance of that moment was vivid in the minds of her old friends, as
Mrs Ingram answered:
"Lilith," she said deliberately, "wished for Power."
The next moment the silence was broken by a peal of laughter. It was
Hereward Lowther who laughed, giving way to a gust of amusement with the
boy-like unrestraint which still characterised his moods. He threw back
his head, he clasped his knees, he opened his mouth and let the loud
ha-ha's echo through the hall. In a very paroxysm of amusement he
repeated the word, over and again, and between each repetition, swayed
with fresh laughter.
"Power! Lilith? Lilith wished for Power? Of all the inexplicable
wishes! I might have guessed for months but I should never have guessed
that. Lilith? the most humble and retiring of women. Look at her now!
That's where she would always be, if she were not driven forward,--
hiding in some out-of-the-way corner. And you tell me that she wished
for _Power_? When was that--fifteen years ago? And we have been
married for twelve... How extraordinarily she must have changed!"
Through eight different minds the reflection was passing, how
extraordinarily Lilith remained the same, but it did not become mere
friends to contradict the verdict of a husband, so they remained silent,
and, his outburst of amusement over, Hereward Lowther vouchsafed a more
serious attention to the problem.
"Well!" he said thoughtfully, "we may say that vicariously she has
gained her wish. As my wife--" He checked himself as though fearful of
seeming to boast, and added quickly, "I should be delighted to feel that
I have been able to provide Lilith with anything for which she wished!"
Lilith bent forward and sent him a smile of acknowledgment. Then her
eyes travelled round the circle and rested on her hostess's face. The
two women looked at one another long and steadily and a flush rose into
Mrs Ingram's cheeks.
"I think," she said quietly, "I must reckon Lilith among my successes.
Mr Lowther, may I tell you how proud my husband and I feel to number
you among our guests to-night? Ordinary people who can only stand by
and watch feel a profound gratitude to workers like yourself, who are
types of all that is honourable and disinterested. England owes you a
great debt to-day."
Every man present joined in a murmur of assent, for though political
opinions differed, one and all acknowledged the singleness of Lowther's
aim. Across one or two minds flitted a remembrance of the tragic
eclipse which had marked the statesman's early career, but in each case
the remembrance brought with it an increased admiration. Not one man in
a thousand would have had the power to climb out of so deep a ditch!
And now, one by one, the nine histories had been discussed, and the
company instinctively drew their chairs nearer the fire, watching with
questioning eagerness the eloquent face of the woman whose words had had
so large a bearing on their lives. Here she was, an old woman now, worn
to the point of breaking, yet vital, as ever, with the flame of an
encompassing sympathy.
"Ah, dear people," she sighed, "dear people, it is so good to meet you
again! I am so grateful to you for coming. The remembrance of this
night will be company for me during many quiet days. I shall have much
to think over, but at present I am conscious only of one thing--that my
prophecy is true, is almost _terribly_ true! We are only faintly
beginning to understand the real power of steady, concentrated will.
The thing that a man aims for, with a strong, single, undeviating aim,
that thing, sooner or later, _a man can have_! So much is certain, but
I blame myself for not insisting more upon the initial question. _Is it
worth while_? Oh, dear people, so often our ambitions are _not_ worth
while. An aim which is to ride dominant over every call, an aim for
which all hindrances are to be cast aside, must needs have a spiritual
nature, if it is to satisfy a spiritual being. In the days to come,
teach your children the importance of this great decision; teach them
their power, but be sure, be very sure, to teach them to think long and
earnestly, lest in their blindness they choose the dross, and go
starving all their days!"
John Malham leaned back in his chair, so that his face was in the
shadow. Francis Manning's eyes gazed deeply into space. Across the
silence broke the harp-like tones of Eve Dempster's voice:
"Mrs Ingram, you have gained your own wish. It is written in your face
that it was worth while. Will you tell us what it was?"
The hostess looked down at her thin, locked hands. Her voice trembled,
as she slowly recited her answer, dwelling with eloquent emphasis on one
of the earlier words:
"I have--Learned--in whatever state I am, therewith to be Content!"
The End.