THE DWELLER ALONE
"Well, Sarah Brown, here we are," said the witch, her Byronic hair
flying as she sat perilously on the rail of the deck. The distant flying
buttresses of New York were supporting a shining sky, and north and east
lay the harbour and sea, and many ships moving with the glad gait of
home-comers after perilous voyaging.
Every minute upon the sea is a magic minute, but the voyage of the witch
and Sarah Brown had been unmarked by any supernatural activities on the
part of the witch. She had been more or less extinguished by the
presence of five hundred Americans, not one of whom had ever heard the
word "magic" used, except by advertisers in connection with their wares.
Miss Ford had been left behind, cured for ever of nerve-storms. She had
become unexpectedly engaged to Mr. Bernard Tovey while looking for a
porter on Lime Street Station, Liverpool, and had returned with him to
London to celebrate the event by means of a Super-Wednesday. The Mayor
also had failed to embark. Indeed the unfortunate man had not been
heard of since his seizure on the night of the fire, and I believe that
the London police are still trying to arrest him as a German spy.
"Here we are," said the witch to Sarah Brown. "At least, I suppose this
City on its Tiptoes is New York. Do you think I ought to call the
attention of the Captain to that largish lady on our left, who seems to
be marooned upon a rock, and signalling to us for help?"
"That is the Statue of Liberty," said three neighbouring Americans in
chorus.
"How d'you mean--Liberty?" asked the witch.
The three Americans froze her with three glances.
"America is the home of Liberty," they said all together.
"Oh yes, of course, how stupid of me," said the witch. "I ought to have
remembered that every country is the Home of Liberty. Such a pity that
Liberty never seems to begin at home. Every big shop in London, you
know, is labelled Patronised by Royalty, yet I have bought haberdashery
by the hour without running across a single queen. I suppose if you
didn't have this big label sticking up in your harbour, you Americans
might forget that America is the Home of Liberty. I know quite a lot
about America from a grey squirrel who rents my may-tree on Mitten
Island. It is a long time since he came over, but he still chitters with
a strong New England accent. He came away because he was a socialist. I
gather America is too full of Liberty to leave room for socialism, isn't
that so? My squirrel says there are only two parties in America,
Republicans and Sinners--at least I think that was what he said--and
anybody who belongs to neither of these parties is given penal servitude
for life. So I understood, but I may be wrong. I am not very good at
politics. Anyway, my squirrel had to leave the Home of Liberty and come
to England, so as to be able to say what he thought. I wish I were there
too. Sarah Brown, I don't yet know why you brought me here."
"I brought you here to escape the Law," said Sarah Brown.
"How d'you mean--escape the Law? Didn't you know that all magic lives
and thrives on the wrath of the Law? Have you forgotten our heroic
tradition of martyrdom and the stake? Isn't the world tame enough
already? What do you want Magic to become? A branch of the Civil
Service?"
"I spent all I had in bringing you here," said Sarah Brown. "I left all
I loved to bring you here. I am as if dead in England now. Nobody there
will ever think of me again, except as a thing that has been heard the
last of."
The witch looked kindly at her. "You know," she said, "when you first
told me to go away, after Harold made that bad landing on a policeman, I
thought perhaps you were a sort of cinema villainess, driving me away
from my house and heritage. At first I thought of arguing the matter,
but then I remembered that villains always have a rotten time, without
being bullied and persecuted by the rest of us. Besides solid things are
never worth fighting over. So I have been patient with you all this
time, and have fallen in courteously with all your fiendish plans--as I
thought--and now I am glad I was patient, for I see you meant well.
Dear Sarah Brown, you did mean well. How sad it is that people who have
once lived in the House of Living Alone can never make a success of
friendship. You say you left all you loved--what business have you with
love? Thank you, my dear, for meaning so well, and for these fair days
at sea. But I mustn't stay with you. I mustn't set foot on this land--I
can smell cleverness and un-magic even from here. I must go back to my
little Spring island, and my parish of Faery...."
"Ah, witch, don't leave me, don't leave me like this, ill and bewildered
and so far from home...."
"How can you ever be far from home, you, a dweller in the greatest home
of all. Did you think you had destroyed the House of Living Alone? Did
you think you could escape from it?"
Sarah Brown said nothing. She watched the witch call Harold her
Broomstick to her, and adjust the saddle and tighten the strap round his
middle. She watched her mount and embark upon the sunny air. The three
Americans were talking politics, and did not notice anything but each
other. The witch alighted for a moment on one spike of the crown of
Liberty, and climbing carefully down on to the lady's parting, was seen
by Sarah Brown to bend down till her head hung apoplectically upside
down, and gaze long and curiously into that impassive bronze eye.
Presently she remounted Harold, and, with a flippant and ambiguous
gesture of her foot, launched herself eastward. She disappeared without
looking back.
The dock was reached. Sarah Brown collected David her Dog, and Humphrey
her Suit-case. Hers was a very wieldy family. An official asked her
something, using one side of his mouth only to do so, in the alarming
manner of American officials.
"I cannot hear you," said Sarah Brown. "I am stone deaf."
And she stepped over the threshold of the greater House of Living Alone.
THE END
_Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, _Edinburgh._