THE TRUMPETER
I rose from the arm-chair, and I stood, I remember, sucking in my
underlip and staring at the floor. Then I turned to the wardrobe, and
took out my great sealskin cloak. I threw it round me and it reached to
my feet. I wished to conceal my clothes, why, I did not exactly know,
but it seemed to me that they ought to be hidden from everyone but
Geraldine.
Then I opened the bedroom door softly and peeped into the passage. No
one--not a sound. I stole down the corridor to the head of the great
staircase, and peeped over into the hall, the lamps were not yet lit.
Then I came down the staircase so softly that you might have thought me
a shadow only for the faint, silvery jingle of the spurs. I entered
the corridor, and the heavy silk curtain fell behind me. Then I found
myself standing at the right hand door with my hand pressed to my
heart. No actor about to enter before his audience could have felt
the nervousness I felt. My heart seemed gone mad. Then I dropped my
sealskin cloak and my nervousness fell with it. I tossed my hair back,
felt the hilt of my sword, and without knocking, I turned the door
handle and entered.
The figure of a girl stood at the open window; she was gazing out at
the dusk-stricken garden. Then she turned and saw me. I heard her
breath caught back, and I saw in her hand a white rose.
Did I cross the room? I must have crossed it, but I have no
recollection of doing so. I knew nothing of the world or the things in
the world, save a face that was trying to hide itself on my shoulder,
and a voice that was whispering "You have come." Yes, one other thing I
knew. A beetle passed by out somewhere in the garden, and the dreamy
and mournful boom of his wings mixed sadly with my intoxication,
seeming like a voice from long ages ago.
Oh, that meeting in the grey autumn dusk, that voice repeating over and
over again the words "You have come." When shall I hear those words
again? Never. There is no perhaps for me, I know in some strange way
that I shall hear those words again--never. And the fault is mine.