THE STROKE OF SEKHET
The resonant strokes of great clocks boomed forth the third hour after
midnight; the sounds faded away languidly upon the heavy air, and
silence reigned once more over the sleeping city. Evarne wandering
downstairs, leaned out of the landing-window counting the tones,
listened until they had died into nothingness, then, with a shuddering
sigh, continued her way to the sitting-room.
Hour after hour throughout this seemingly endless night had she wandered
over her little house, pacing to and fro distractedly in every room in
turn. Morris Kenyon had come again into her life, and to stop her
marriage would, if necessary, ruthlessly betray her secret to Geoff. It
was beyond any possibility of doubt. That brief interview with him had
clearly shown his intention. What power had she to prevent it? He would
tell all--and then--what then? Even in imagination the results were
well-nigh insupportable. And this approaching blow would not--could
not--fall on herself alone; and in this reflection there lay a sting
potent as that of the torturing gadfly that drove Io of old wandering
over land and water seeking peace in vain.
Why, why had she ever risked this calamity? She ought to have told Geoff
the whole truth about herself directly she saw he was growing really to
care for her. But now, as an additional offence, she had been guilty of
such brazen lies; had deceived him both by words and by silences so
continually and deliberately. Her whole conduct towards him must now
appear shameful, utterly dishonourable. It was almost impossible to hope
that his affection would endure in the face of such dire discoveries, it
was quite out of the question to expect him afterwards implicitly to
believe even her strongest assertions. Strive as she might to explain
her motives, to excuse trickery that she could not deny, however
earnestly she should plead, mourn, regret, she could never do away with
these damning, irrefutable facts. What would Geoff think and say and do?
Surely his revulsion of feeling would be terrible and complete?
And if, despite all, he could not cease to care for her--why, so much
the worse for him! He who so desired to reverence where he loved could
feel but contempt, or at least mere forgiving, generous pity. In place
of trust and glad confidence--doubt, surmise, unrest. Better far for her
"dreamer" if all memory of her could fade entirely from his thoughts. To
love with the heart and despise with the intellect--it could be done.
But it was cruel suffering; it bordered on the unendurable! She herself
knew only too well the mental torture that such complex emotions imply.
Was she to be the means of forcing Geoff to acquire this bitter
knowledge?
During the passing of the weary hours her thoughts had travelled widely.
Not only had she shuddered at the revelations of that day, and sickened
with horror for the future, but memories of the hateful past had pressed
upon her with resolute persistency.
And in that retrospect it seemed that bygone days had failed to show her
the uttermost possibilities of mental anguish. Not throughout the
long-protracted pain of striving against Lucinda Belmont's successful
rivalry; not in that moment of humiliation and agony of spirit when
Morris had bade her leave him for Tony; not the year of grinding poverty
and overwork that followed--none of all this had brought the cruellest
last drops of the cup of misery so near her shrinking lips as did the
present hour. She knew now that she could taste of these final dregs by
one means only--by seeing her own deeds used as the weapon wherewith to
shatter the happiness of the man she loved far more dearly then life.
"Geoff, Geoff, forgive me!" she cried aloud, and buried her face in her
hands.
How cruel it all seemed! Could it be mere chance that so often made a
sport, a mockery, of just the highest hopes and prospects--of the
sunshine of the present--of the sweetest amidst past memories? Hot
rebellion awoke within her heart, so surely did it seem that some subtle
malignity, some deliberate spitefulness, had been at work shaping her
life from the very day of her birth, when she lost her mother, guiding
and controlling events until they culminated in this coil of torment. Or
perchance it had all been preordained by some Supreme Being as a test, a
needful trial. Yet again, may be, she, and Geoffrey too, were but
working out their own salvation, fated to endure in order to expiate
evil wrought in some forgotten existence; that she ought to be resigned,
and, rebelling no longer, to submit patiently to sorrow both for herself
and for him.
Ah, mystery of suffering! Can blind mortal eyes pierce the veil? Can a
heart torn with ardent earthly love find comfort in the shadowy dreams
of philosophers or mystics?
Evarne flung herself upon the couch, pressing her face despairingly into
the cushions. And in the blackness arose, clear and distinct, a mental
vision of that little Temple of Sekhet far away in the land of Egypt.
How minutely could she recall the terrifying aspect of the goddess who
held dominion over Love, over its joy and its cruelty. Almost with the
vividness of reality could she see those ominous features--that flat
head with its receding brow, beneath which no wise benevolence, no
tender charity could ever find place. And in the mental picture, the
narrow gleaming eyes seemed reading the agony of her spirit with
malicious deliberation, the long lips were parted over sharp teeth with
a devilish smile of amusement and gratification.
She started erect and gazed around the familiar room, seeking to clear
her mind of such spectres. But the train of thought was not to be got
rid of so easily.
Surely those long-dead priests of Egypt had been verily inspired when
they represented this divinity under the guise of a cat-headed creature?
Ah, "Crusher of Hearts" supreme, with your sheer delight in torturing
all that falls helplessly within your power--with your eyes that have
the gift of seeing clearly how and where to strike when the vision of
all others is dulled! But they should have given you cat's paws,
Sekhet--cruel, tearing talons concealed in sheaths softer than velvet!
There was surely the "Mark of the Beast" upon this fate that had
befallen her. After so many years of dull monotony, to be allowed once
again to behold prospects of the truest happiness--to enjoy so brief a
spell of love and joy--just a taste of life's sweetest possibilities.
Then this crushing blow, this darkening of the heavens, this blight upon
the earth, this upheaval of the depths!
She moved restlessly around the room for a few minutes, then wandered
upstairs again. She longed for the temporary forgetfulness of sleep, but
how vain to seek it with a mind in so wild a turmoil. The very
atmosphere seemed stifling. Half lifting aside the dressing-table that
stood before the window, she flung wide the lower sash, and bringing a
chair, rested her folded arms upon the sill and gazed into the night.
Out of doors all was quiet and peaceful indeed. The moon still rode
high, flinging clear-cut fantastic shadows upon road and pavement. No
sound was to be heard, no human being to be seen.
Yet the mere sight of the street brought a fresh pang to her already
overburdened heart. While Philia was away posing at the Polytechnic Art
class that evening there had come a knock at the door which Evarne had
disregarded entirely. A second rap was treated with like contempt; the
outside world with its demands was non-existent to her that night. But
the current of her thoughts had been disturbed, and at the third attempt
she became sufficiently interested in this perseverance to stand
concealed by the window-curtains to watch who went away.
After a time a figure had appeared and walked slowly down the street. It
was Geoff himself. He had driven home with her at five o'clock, and
here, but a few hours later, was apparently already anxious for fresh
news. To see the road, brought this little incident vividly to her
memory. Was she to lose such care and devotion? And to think that
Geoff--with all his kindness and unfailing tenderness towards the
weakest living thing, his trust and his true love for herself--was to be
nothing more than one of Sekhet's innumerable victims!
She dragged down the blind sharply, to shut out the sight of the road,
then made up her mind at least to lie down and strive to sleep. But
early risers were already abroad before her eyelids even closed, and she
seemed scarcely to have lost consciousness before Philia aroused her.
The old woman had not been as blind to the girl's troubled state as
Evarne supposed. Far from sleeping complacently all night, she had lain
awake long, listening to the gentle footsteps in the house, grieving
over the sorrow that had so evidently descended upon the one who was
dearest to her of all the world. Thus her voice was quite apologetic as
she called out--
"I'm sorry to wake yer, my pet, but I've let yer sleep as long as ever
is possible if you're goin' to be at that studio by nine. It's jist on
eight o'clock already."
"I'll get up at once," Evarne answered, and she went so far towards
carrying out her good intention as to immediately sit up in bed. But as
the memory of the events of the previous day came upon her, she promptly
sank down again with a renewal of despair.
But although lamentation and fear were permissible in the night hours,
with the morning must come a renewal of courage and energy--so she told
herself, at least; and with the determination of acting up to this
resolution, sprang lightly out of bed, and, crossing the room, drew up
the blind.
But either the energy of her uprising after such a night, or the sudden
blaze of morning light, rendered her suddenly dizzy. She shut her eyes
and leant for a moment on the dressing table. When she opened them again
the first thing she saw was her own reflection in the mirror. She
surveyed it with stern disapproval. What a sight she was, with pale
cheeks and those blue circles under the eyes! She looked every whit as
ugly as she felt--dazed and sleepy and silly. Suddenly she made up her
mind to stay at home. There was no real need to call upon her resources
until the evening brought the interview with Morris. She would avoid the
unnecessary effort of concealing her distress and anxiety from Geoff.
She went out on to the landing, and, leaning over the banisters, called
for Philia. The old woman opened the door of the kitchen, from whence
issued the hissing sound of frying.
"Bring me up a cup of tea--nice and strong. I don't want anything to
eat. I'm not going to the studio this morning."
Then returning to her room, she sat down and wrote to Geoff.
"DEAREST OF ALL,
"Will you mind very much if I don't come to-day? I have had such
a restless night, it has made me look so ugly I don't want you
to see me. There's vanity! Really, I do feel quite unwell--not
actually ill, you know, but not up to posing. I feel sure I
should only break more precious vases, so I had better not come,
though it is hard not to see you for a whole day, my Geoff.
"Your lazy
"EVARNE."
As she took the tea from Philia's hands she gave her the note.
"Send this by district messenger. Go at once, there's a dear."
"Won't yer tell me what's the matter, my pet? It's all troublin' me, it
is, straight."
"There's nothing to worry about in a bad night, is there, now? When you
come back don't wake me. I'm going to sleep again if I can."
But Evarne did not leave it to chance. When she had nearly finished her
tea she produced a tiny blue bottle from the drawer of the
washing-stand, carefully counted out five-and-twenty drops, shook her
cup round several times, then swallowed tea and chlorodyne together to
the last dreg. Lowering the blind she got back into bed and was soon
fast asleep.
It was three o'clock before she descended to the sitting-room. On the
table was a cluster of sweet-peas and roses, together with a note.
"Did Mr. Danvers send these?" she inquired, as she tore open the
envelope.
"'E brought 'em 'imself. My gosh, dearie, 'e is properly careful of you.
'E knocked so soft I 'ardly 'eard 'im, and 'e looked that worried."
"So I've already started to grieve him," reflected Evarne grimly, as she
proceeded to read his letter.
"MY POOR PRECIOUS DARLING,
"I can't tell you how terrible it is to me to think of you as
weak and suffering ... my bright-eyed, rosy-lipped Evarne. And I
feel that really it is all my fault in one way and another....
I'm sure it is not surprising that yesterday should have upset
you.... It's a delicate, sensitive soul, I know, for all the
glorious vitality of the flesh. Only get well quickly, my best
and dearest, and I'll guard you better in future. Get strong
quickly, for my sake, who love you so, and you shall have
permission to smash every vase in the studio to your heart's
content ... you darling!
"GEOFF."
She put this little note in the bosom of her gown, as she went out to
the kitchen in response to Philia's call to dinner.
After the little meal she got out her drawing materials, and made some
pretence at working. But her pencil moved almost mechanically over the
paper as her mind rehearsed all she could possibly find to say to
Morris--the pleas, the arguments she could place before him to turn him
from his present purpose. Slowly though time crept, she watched its
steady progress with dismay, and as the afternoon waned there arose
within her an ever-increasing fear, not so much of the interview that
loomed ahead, as of its result. She tried to force herself to think only
hopefully regarding its issue, but all the time in her innermost
consciousness she seemed to know that failure was a foregone conclusion.
How futile to strive to alter Morris's set determination--above all
when, for once in his life, he would be able to flatter himself that he
was standing firm in the cause of right and justice.