GIVE HIM BACK TO ME--GIVE HIM BACK TO ME!
They seemed to have been parted for months instead of hours, so much
had they to say to each other, and so rapidly did they say it.
Rapidly?--feverishly rather. Phyllis had only to remove her hat and
smooth her hair at places, disordering it at others, in order to be all
right; but half an hour had gone by before they went downstairs, arm
in arm, after the manner of girls who have been talking feverishly and
kissing every now and again.
It was madness for Phyllis to think of tea at that hour of the night,
Ella declared; but she knew Phyllis’ fancies in the past--she knew that
what would set other girls’ nerves in motion, would only have the effect
of soothing hers. So Phyllis drank her tea and ate her cake in the
drawing room, and Ella lay back on the sofa and watched her with a
curious interest in her eyes.
“I am so glad that we are spending together in this way the last night
of our delightful week,” said Phyllis. “What a lovely week it has been!
and the charm of it is, of course, to be found in the fact that it has
been stolen from the best part of the season. In another month it would
not be nearly so delightful--everyone will be hurrying off to the river
or elsewhere.”
“Such a week is one of the incidents that a person plans but that rarely
comes off according to one’s views,” said Ella. “I told you when I set
my heart upon Hurley what my idea was.”
“And you have certainly realized it during this week. What a pity it is
that this is our last night together!”
“Do you know, Phyllis, the way you said that suggested to me that you
meant ‘What a pity it is that Herbert Courtland is not one of our party
to-night’!”
Ella was still lying on the broad pillows of the couch, her hands
clasped at the back of her head. She was still watching Phyllis through
her half-closed eyes.
“I was not thinking about Mr. Courtland in the least when I spoke. How
can you fancy that I should be so insincere? I say it is delightful for
us, you and me only, mind, to be together to-night, because we can say
just whatever occurs to us--I thought we could, you know; but since you
made that horrid suggestion I think I must take back all that I said.
It is, after all, not nearly so nice to be alone with you as one would
imagine.”
“That was, I’m afraid, the conclusion that Herbert Courtland came to
some time ago,” said Ella. “He was alone with me here--yes, for some
minutes; but he left me--he left me and found you.”
“It was so funny!” cried Phyllis. “Who would have thought of seeing such
a figure--bareheaded and in evening dress--on the road? I knew him at
once, however. And he was walking so quickly too--walking as if--as
if----”
“As if the devil were behind him--that’s how men put it,” said Ella.
“It would never do for us to say that, of course, but in this particular
case we might venture on it for the sake of strict accuracy; the devil
was behind him. He escaped from it by the aid of his good angel. Didn’t
he call you his good angel once, my Phyllis?”
“Yes, he called me so once,” said Phyllis. “But why should we talk about
Mr. Courtland? Why should we talk about anybody to-night? Dearest Ella,
let us talk about ourselves. You are of more interest to me than anyone
in the world, and I know that I am of more interest to you than to
anyone else. Let us talk about ourselves.”
“Certainly we shall talk about ourselves,” said Ella. “To begin,
I should like very much to know if you were aware that Herbert had
returned to this house after his day or two in town.”
Phyllis undoubtedly colored before she said, with a laugh:
“Didn’t you promise to talk solely about ourselves? I decline to talk on
any other topic.”
She arose from where she had been sitting before a cup of tea at a
little table that also held cake, and threw herself back in a fanciful
seat shaped like a shell.
“That being so, I should like very much to know how you learned that he
meant to return,” pursued Ella.
“You are becoming quite horrid, and I expected you to be so nice,” said
Phyllis, pouting very prettily.
“And I expected you to confide in me,” said Ella reproachfully. “I have
been watching you for some time--not merely during the past week, but
long before; and I have seen--what I have seen. He could not have told
you that he meant to return--you must have crossed each other in the
trains. How did you know, my dear girl? Let me coax it out of you.”
Phyllis made no answer for some time; she was examining, with a newly
acquired, but very intense interest, the texture of the sheen of the
blouse which she was wearing. At last she raised her eyes, and saw how
Ella was looking at her. Then she said slowly:
“I saw him in the train that was leaving when our train arrived.”
“Heavens! that is a confession!” cried Ella quite merrily.
“You forced it from me,” said Phyllis. “But why should there be any
mystery between us? I’m sure I may tell you all the secrets of my life.
Such as they are, you know them already.”
“They are safe in my keeping. My dear Phyllis, don’t you know that it
has always been my dearest hope to see you and Herbert Courtland--well,
interested in each other? I saw that he was interested in you long ago;
but I wasn’t sure of you. That is just why I was so anxious for you to
come down here for the week we have just passed. I wanted to bring you
both together. I wanted to see you in love with each other; I wanted to
see you both married.”
“Ella--Ella!”
“I wanted it, I tell you, not because I loved you, though you know that
I love you better than anyone in the world.”
“Dearest Ella!”
“Not because I knew that you and he would be happy, but because I wished
to snatch my own soul from perdition. I think it is safe now--but oh,
my God! it is like the souls of many other mortals--saved in spite of
myself! Phyllis, you have been my salvation. You are a girl; you cannot
understand how near a woman may go to the bottomless pit through the
love of a man. You fancy that love lifts one to the heaven of heavens;
that it means purity--self-sacrifice. Well, there is a love that means
purity; and there is a love that means self-sacrifice. Self-sacrifice:
that is, that a woman is ready to sacrifice herself--her life--her
soul--for the man whom she loves. I tell you--I, who know the truth--I,
who have been at the brink. It is not that the pit is dear to us; it
is that the man is dear to us, and we must go with him,--wherever he
goes,--even down into hell itself with him.”
“Oh, Ella, Ella! this is the love of the satyr. It is not the love of
the one who is made in the image of God.”
“Let it be what it is; it is a power that has to be reckoned upon so
long as we remain creatures of the earth, earthy.”
“It is a thing that we should beat into the earth from which it came.”
The girl had sprung to her feet, and was speaking with white face and
clenched hands. “Down into the earth”--she stamped upon the floor--“even
if we have to throw our bodies into the grave into which we trample it.
Woman, I tell you that the other love,--the love which is the truth,--is
stronger than the love of the satyr.”
“Is it? is it, Phyllis? Yes, sometimes. Yes; it was a word that you
spoke in his hearing that saved him--him--Herbert--and that saved me
that night when I came to you--when I waited for you--you did not know
anything of why I came. I will tell you now--”
“No, no, no! Oh, Ella! for God’s sake, tell me nothing! I think I know
all that I want to know; and I know that you had strength given to you
by God to come to me that night. I had not to go to you. But I have come
to you to-night. We are together, you and I; and we are the same as when
we were girls together--oh, just the same! Who shall come between us,
Ella?”
“Who? Who? You came here to save me. I knew it. But you had saved me
before you came. Phyllis, in this very room I was alone with him. I was
mad--mad with jealousy at the thought of losing him--though I knew that
I had lost him--I was mad! The passion breathed from the roses--the
twilight full of the memories of the spring we spent together in
Italy--all took possession of my heart--my soul. I whispered to him to
come to me--to come to me. And he came.”
The cry the girl gave, as she covered her face with her hands and
dropped back into her chair, was very pitiful.
“He came to me--but only one step--one little step, Phyllis; then there
came before his eyes a vision of your face--he felt your hand--cool as
a lily--upon his wrist--he heard your voice speaking into his ear; he
turned and fled--fled through that window--fled from the demon that had
taken possession of this room--I said so to you.”
“Thank God--oh, Ella, thank God!”
“That is my cry--thank God--thank God; and yet--and yet--God help me!
I feel ready to throw myself at your feet and say ‘Give him back to me!
Give him back to me!’”
She had stood with her hands clasped above her head at her first
utterance of that imploration--“Give him back to me!” Then she threw
herself on her knees and passionately caught both the girl’s hands in
her own, crying, “Give him back to me!”
Phyllis flung her arms about her neck, and bowed her own head down to
the shoulder of the woman whom she loved and pitied.
And then----
Then through the silence of the house--the hour was almost
midnight--there sounded the loud and continuous ringing of a bell.
It was only the usual visitors’ bell of the house; but its effect at
that hour was startling--shocking!
The two women were on their feet, waiting in silence, but with wildly
beating hearts, for what was coming--they felt that something terrible
was coming. The bell had an ominous jangle. They heard the footsteps of
the one servant who remained up to put out the lights, going to answer
the summons of the bell--they heard a man’s voice speaking in a low tone
in the hall--they heard a man’s steps approach the door of their room.
The door opened, and Mr. Ayrton appeared before them.
He closed the door slowly, and stood there staring not at his daughter,
but at Ella Linton. On his face was an expression that Phyllis had never
seen on it before. It frightened her. She could not speak.
He stood there, with his eyes fixed upon Ella Linton--rigid--silent as a
figure that symbolizes Death.
The silence became appalling.
“For God’s sake speak, if you are living!” cried Ella in a whisper
tremulous with terror.
He did not speak--he stood there, staring at her.
“What does he mean? What does he mean?” said the woman, after another
dreadful pause. “Why does he stand there, Phyllis, staring at
me? Why----Oh, my God! I see it--I see it on his face--my
husband--Stephen--dead--he is dead--you came to bring the news to
me. Look, Phyllis, he cannot say ‘No’--he would say ‘No’ unless I had
guessed the truth--he would say it--he would have some pity. Is it the
truth? Man--speak--say yes, or no--for God’s sake! for God’s sake!”
She had taken half a dozen rapid steps to him and grasped him by the
arm, gazing into his face.
He bowed his head.
She flung his arm from her, and burst into a laugh.
“Ah, Phyllis! I see it all now. He was the man I loved--I know it
now--he was the man I loved. It was for him I cried out just now--‘Give
him back to me--give him back to me!’”
The wild shriek with which she cried the words the second time rang
through the house. She fell upon her knees, clutching at Phyllis’ hand
as before, and then, making a motion as if about to rise, she fell
back and lay with her white face turned to the ceiling, her white arms
stretched limply out on each side of her like the arms of a crucified
woman.
Servants came with restoratives.