WE SAY GOOD-BYE
All the next day I spent in the house, most of the time in the room
with Wilder. How that man depressed me. A great fire was lit in the
library, and he sat over it with his hands on his knees and his eyes
fixed on the burning coals; the decanter of opium was standing on the
mantelpiece, a wine glass beside it, and every now and then he would
pour himself out a thimbleful and sip it.
That was a pleasant sight to have to sit and watch, but I didn't much
care. I sat in an armchair looking at my rings and the tips of my
beautiful new shoes; it was so delightful to have all these things
again; and sometimes I would look at Wilder's rounded back and his
shiny old coat, thinking how funny it was that he had given me all
these things.
Sometimes I spoke to him and he always answered, speaking in a dreamy
sort of voice. I found out that he was a spiritualist, and all the
pictures about the room were "spirit faces,"--that is what he called
them, all except the picture with "Swedenborg" written on it.
Then, after dinner, at about nine o'clock, he said that he must take
leave of me. He took me by the hand, and the whole time he was speaking
he held it, wringing it now and then till I could almost have cried out
with pain. This is what he said as well as I can remember--
"I must take leave of you now. I want you to start early in the morning
for Yorkshire; you will go to my country house at Ashworth,"--a long
pause, and I saw the drops of sweat stand out on his forehead. "'The
Gables,' that is the name of my house. You will change at Leeds and get
on a branch line; it's only an hour's journey from Leeds."
He spoke with difficulty, and caught at his breath.
"I have telegraphed for the carriage to meet you at the station."
Another pause, then speaking like a maniac, he seized both my hands.
"I am putting in your grasp the only thing I love, I am stealing a
march on Fate, boldly and desperately I commit this act, if the end is
mutual love all will be right. I shall pray without ceasing till we
meet again, good-bye, good-bye."
He was devouring my hands with kisses; then he rushed from the room.
I was almost sure now that he was mad, those spirit faces and that
opium--oh, there could scarcely be a doubt. The thought pleased me
somehow, it made me less afraid of something--something, I don't
exactly know what, a kind of horror had been haunting me all day, a
foreboding of strange and terrible things to come. We old families have
these powers of second sight, at least the north country families have.
"We old families," perhaps you are laughing at those words from _my_
mouth; well--laugh.
I went up to my bedroom, and there I found the dressing bag and the
portmanteaux all standing open and waiting to be packed. I felt just
like a robber as I put my silks and satins, bonnets and hats, boots and
shoes, in their proper places. Then I undressed and sprang into bed. I
was almost tired already of my new life, my old dreams came back to me,
would I meet someone nice to-morrow? Then I thought of Wilder and his
spirit faces, and his round back, and his opium decanter, and I laughed
till the bed shook.
And yet I liked him, this Wilder, with his strange, weary-looking face,
and his cheques and carriages and horses.
I fell asleep.