Ronald Morelle on the hearthrug before his electric radiator watched
the fiery little wave that moved along the surface of the element.
In such moments of complete detachment, when his mind was free from
the encumbrance of active thought, he received strange impressions.
They were not memories, he told himself, any more than are those
faces which grow and fade in the darkness just between sleeping and
waking. They were whisps of dreams that were born and dissolved in a
fraction of time. He had seen such clouds grow instantly above the
lake of Geneva, and watching them from the terraces of Caux, had of a
sudden missed them, even as he watched.
So these impressions appeared and vanished. There was one that was
distinct and more frequent than any other. It was of a hut, long and
narrow. Two broad sloping benches ran down each side and these, at
night, were packed with sleeping men. The door to the hut was very
solid and was locked by a soldier--he could sometimes hear the swish
of the soldier's boots as he paced the gravel path surrounding the
hut. Once a man had died--Ronnie helped to carry him out. It was a
plague that had struck the island--island? Yes, it was an island, in
the tropics, for the nights were very hot and the plants luxurious.
"There is a ring--will M'sieur require me?"
"Yes, stay, François."
Ronnie jumped up and dusted his trousers. Another second, and he was
halfway across the room.
"I'm so glad that I came, Ronnie: it wasn't that Christina insisted:
I wanted to see you, dear."
How pale, how ill she looked, he thought, with a sinking heart. She
was going away somewhere, for she was dressed for travelling.
"Beryl, my dear, you are not well?"
"Oh, I'm well enough, Ronnie," she glanced back at the door. She
expected that any moment Steppe would come--he would guess. There
was a train to be caught too--the madness of this visit!
He held both her hands in his.
"Beryl, they tell me you are going to be married--that isn't right,
Beryl, is it?"
She nodded.
"But Beryl--" he stopped. "I saw you once and I was cruel, wasn't I?"
"What is the use of talking about it? Ronnie, I hope you are going
to be a better man than you have been. I admire you so much for
defending that poor girl. You are trying to be different now."
"I think so."
"And--I'm believing you, Ronnie. It is not easy to give up that
life? Won't you want to go back to it again?"
He smiled.
"I will take away from thee the desire of thine eyes, with a stroke,
yet neither shalt thou mourn nor weep."
She looked at him fearfully.
"Ronnie, how solemn you are--and you are so strong too--I feel it.
Ronnie, I am married!"
He bent his head as though he had not heard her.
"I was married today to Steppe. Oh God, it is awful, Ronnie, awful!"