Lexy sat on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped loosely before her,
her bright head bent, her eyes fixed somberly upon nothing; and she
could see nothing—not one step of the way that lay ahead of her. She
could not think what she ought to do next. For the first time in her
life, she had a feeling of utter confusion and dismay.
“It’s because I’m so tired,” she said to herself. “I’ve never been
really tired out before.”
But that in itself was a cause for alarm. Why should she feel like
this, so exhausted and depressed? Horrible thoughts came to her. Dr.
Quelton had called her nervous, high-strung, hysterical. Was that
because he had seen in her something which she herself had never
suspected? Was she hysterical? Mrs. Enderby had laughed at her. Mr.
Houseman had gone away, satisfied with his own solution. Captain Grey,
chivalrous and kindly as he was, had obviously lost interest in her
affairs. Nobody believed in her. Was it because every one could see—
She remembered the intolerable humiliation of the day before, her wild
outburst of tears in the Queltons’ house. Even in her childhood she
had never done such a thing before.
“What does it mean?” she asked herself in terror. “What is the matter
with me? Is this whole thing just a delusion? I came here to find
Caroline, and I thought—I thought I did see her. Am I mad?”
That was the awful thing that had lain in ambush in her mind ever
since yesterday, that had haunted her restless sleep all night. She
had not admitted it, but it had been there every minute. All her
actions, all her words, to-day, had the one object of showing Mrs.
Royce and Captain Grey how entirely normal and sensible she was.
“That’s what they always do!” she whispered with dry lips.
All day, hiding her terror and weakness, talking to Mrs. Royce,
sitting at the lunch table and talking and laughing with Captain Grey,
trying to make them believe her quite cheerful and untroubled—and all
the time perhaps they knew. Perhaps they were humoring her!
She sprang up and went over to the window. The sun was beginning to
sink in a tranquil sky. It had been a beautiful day, but Lexy felt too
weary and listless to go out. She remembered now that both Captain
Grey and the landlady had urged her to do so, that they had both said
it would do her good. Then they must have noted that something was
wrong with her. What did they think it was? Did she look—
She crossed the room and stood before the mirror. The rays of the
setting sun fell upon her hair, turning it to copper and gold. It
seemed to her to shine with a strange light about her pallid little
face. Her eyes seemed enormous, somber, and terrible.
She covered her face with her hands and flung herself on the bed, sick
and desperate. She could not see any one, could not speak to any one.
When a knock came at her door, she thrust her fingers into her ears
and lay there, with her eyes shut tight, trembling from head to foot;
but the knocking went on until she could endure it no longer.
“Yes?” she said, sitting up.
“Supper’s all on the table!” said Mrs. Royce’s cheerful voice.
“I don’t want any supper to-night, thank you,” replied Lexy.
Mrs. Royce expostulated and argued for a time, but she could not
persuade Lexy even to unlock the door; and at last, with a worried
sigh, she went downstairs again.
The room was quite dark now, and the wind blowing in through the open
window felt chill; but Lexy was too tired to close the window or light
the gas. She was not drowsy. She lay stretched out, limp, overpowered
with fatigue, but wide awake, and with a curious certainty that she
was waiting for something.
There was another knock at the door, and this time Captain Grey’s
voice spoke.
“I say, Miss Moran!” he said anxiously. “You’re not ill, are you?”
“No!” she answered, with a trace of irritability. “I’m just tired.”
“But don’t you think you ought to eat something, you know? Or a cup of
tea?”
“No!” she cried, still more impatiently. “I can’t. I want to rest.”
“Can you open the door for half a moment?” he asked. “I’ve some roses
here that my sister sent to you. She wanted me to say—”
The door opened with startling suddenness. Lexy appeared, and took the
roses out of his hand.
“Thank you! Good night!” she said, and was gone again before he quite
realized what was happening.
Then he heard the key turn in the lock, and, bewildered and very
uneasy, he went away.
Lexy flung the roses down on the table, not even troubling to put them
into water.
“Anything to get rid of him!” she said to herself. “I want to be let
alone!”
She lay down on the bed again, pulling a blanket over herself.
Downstairs she could hear Mrs. Royce moving about in the kitchen, and
Captain Grey’s singularly agreeable voice talking to the landlady. It
seemed to her that they were in a different world, and that she was
shut outside, in a black and terrible solitude.
“If I can only sleep!” she thought. “Perhaps, in the morning—”
She was beginning to feel a little drowsy now. How heavenly it would
be to sleep, even for a little while! To sleep and to forget!
The wind was blowing through the dark little room, bringing to her the
perfume of the roses—a wonderful fragrance. It was wonderful, but
almost too strong. It was too strong. It troubled her.
“I’ll put them out on the window sill,” she murmured. “It’s such a
queer scent!”
But she was too tired, too unspeakably tired. She didn’t seem able to
get up, or even to move. She sighed faintly, and closed her eyes. The
wind blew, strong and steady, heavy with that sweet and subtle odor.
* * * * *
“Look out!” cried Mr. Houseman. “She’s going about!”
Lexy laughed, and ducked down into the cockpit while the boom swung
over. The little sailboat was flying over the sunny water like a bird.
There was not a cloud in the pure bright sky, not a shadow in her
joyous heart.
“I am so glad you came!” she said.
“Of course I came,” he answered. “I had to swim all the way from
India.”
“Mercy!” cried Lexy. “That must have been dreadful! But why?”
Mr. Houseman leaned forward and whispered solemnly:
“There was a tempest in a teapot.”
This frightened her.
“Do you think there’s going to be another one?” she whispered back.
“Sure to be!” said he. “Don’t you see how dark it’s getting?”
It was getting very dark. Lexy couldn’t see his face now.
“Hold my hand!” he shouted, and she reached out for it; but she
couldn’t find him at all.
“Mr. Houseman!” she cried.
There was no answer. She stared about her, numb with terror. What was
it that rustled like that? What were these black, tall things that
were standing motionless about her on every side?
“I’ve been dreaming,” she said to herself. “I’m in my own room, of
course. If I go just a few steps, I’ll touch the wall. I’m awake
now—only it’s so dark!”
And what was it that rustled like that—like leaves in the wind? What
were these black, still forms about her? Trees? No—they couldn’t be
trees.
In a wild panic she moved forward. Her outstretched hand touched
something, and she screamed. The scream seemed to run along through
the dark, leaping and rolling over the ground like a terrified animal.
She tried to run after it, stumbling and panting, until her shoulder
struck violently against something, and she stopped.
And into her sick and shuddering mind her old sturdy courage began to
return. She tried to breathe quietly. She struggled desperately
against the awful weakness that urged her to sink down on the ground
and cover her eyes.
“No!” she said aloud. “I won’t! I’m here! I’m alive! I will
understand! I will see!”
She was able now to draw a deep breath, and the horrible fluttering of
her heart grew less. She stood motionless, waiting. It was coming back
to her, that immortal, unconquerable spirit of hers. The anguish and
the strange fear were passing.
“I’m here,” she said. “I’m in a wood somewhere. These are trees. What
I hear are only the leaves in the wind. I don’t know where it is, or
how I got here; but I’m alive and well. I can walk. I can get out of
it.”
She moved forward again, quietly and deliberately. Her eyes were more
accustomed to the darkness now, and she made her way through the
trees, looking always ahead, never once behind her.
“The wood must end somewhere,” she said. “The morning will have to
come some time. All I have to do is to go on.”
Patter, patter, patter, like little feet running behind her.
“Only the leaves on the trees,” said Lexy. “All I have to do is to go
on.”
And she went on. Sometimes a wild desire to run swept over her, but
she would not hasten her steps, and she would not look behind. The
primeval terror of the forest pressed upon her, but she cast it away.
Alone, lost, in darkness and solitude, she kept her hold upon the one
thing that mattered—the honor and dignity of her own soul.
“I’m not afraid,” she said.
And then she saw a light. At first she thought it was the moon, but it
hung too low, and it was too brilliant. Even then she would not run.
She went on steadily toward it. In a few minutes she stepped out of
the woodland upon a road—a hard, asphalt road with lights along it. It
was quite empty, it was unfamiliar to her, but she would have gone
down on her knees and kissed the dust of it. It was a road, and all
roads lead home.