A GOOD-NIGHT MESSAGE.
Brand had nerved himself for that interview; he had determined to betray
neither surprise nor concern; he was prepared for the worst. When it was
intimated to him that hence-forth his life was to be lived out beyond
the seas, he had appeared to take it as a matter of course. Face to face
with his enemy, he would utter no protest. Then, had he not solemnly
promised to Natalie that nothing in the world should tempt him from his
allegiance? Why should he shrink from going to America, or prefer London
to Philadelphia? He had entered into a service that took no heed of such
things.
But when he had parted from Lind and Molyneux, and got out into the
sombre glare of the night-world of London, and when there was no further
need for that forced composure, he began more clearly to recognize his
position, and his heart grew heavy. This, then, was the end of those
visions of loving companionship and constant and sustaining sympathy
with which he had dared to fill the future. He had thought little of
anything that might be demanded from him so long as he could anticipate
Natalie's approval, and be rewarded with a single glance of gratitude
from the proud, dark, beautiful eyes. What mattered it to him what
became of himself, what circumstances surrounded them, so long as he and
she were together? But now a more terrible sacrifice than any he had
dreamed of had to be made. The lady of love whom the Pilgrims had sworn
to serve was proving herself inexorable indeed:
"--Is she a queen, having great gifts to give?
--Yea, these; that whoso hath seen her shall not live
Except to serve her sorrowing, with strange pain,
Travail and bloodshedding and bitterer tears;
And when she bids die he shall surely die.
And he shall leave all things under the sky,
And go forth naked under sun and rain,
And work and wait and watch out all his years."
When Lord Evelyn had asked him whether he was prepared to go to America
_alone_, he had clasped the ring that Natalie had given him, and
answered "Yes." But that was as a matter of theory. It was what he might
do, in certain possible circumstances. Now that he had to face the
reality, and bethink him of the necessity of taking Natalie's hand for
the last time, his heart sank within him.
He walked on blindly through the busy streets, seeing nothing around
him. His memory was going over the most trivial incidents connected with
Natalie, as if every look of hers, every word she had uttered, was now
become something inexpressibly precious. Were there not many things he
could carry away with him to the land beyond the seas? No distance or
time could rob him of the remembrance of that night at the opera--the
scent of white rose--her look as she gave him the forget-me-nots. Then
the beautiful shining day as they drew near to Dover, and her pride
about England, and the loosened curls of hair that blew about her neck.
On the very first evening on which he had seen her--she sitting at the
table and bending over the zither--her profile touched by the
rose-tinted light from the shade of the candle--the low, rich voice,
only half heard, singing the old, familiar, tender _Lorelei_. He felt
the very touch of her fingers on his arm when she turned to him with
reproving eyes: "_Is that the way you answer an appeal for help?_" That
poor devil of a Kirski--what had become of him? He would find out from
Reitzei; and, before leaving England, would take care that something
should be done for the luckless outcast. He should have cause to
remember all his life-long that Natalie Lind had interfered in his
behalf.
Without knowing well how he got there, Brand found himself in Curzon
Street. He walked on, perhaps with some vague notion that he might meet
Natalie herself, until he arrived at the house. It was quite dark; there
was no light in any of the windows; Anneli had not even lit the gas-jet
in the narrow hall. He turned away from the door that he felt was now
barred against him forever, and walked back to Clarges Street.
Lord Evelyn was out; the man did not know when he would be home again.
So Brand turned away from that door also, and resumed his aimless
wanderings, busy with those pictures of the past. At length he got down
to Buckingham Street, and almost mechanically made his way toward his
own rooms.
He had reached his door, however, when he heard some one speaking
within.
"I might have known," he said to himself. "That is so like Evelyn."
It was indeed Lord Evelyn, who was chatting familiarly with old Waters.
But the moment Brand entered he ceased, and a look of anxiety, and even
alarm, appeared instantly on the fine, sensitive, expressive face.
"What is the matter, Brand? Are you ill?"
"No," said the other, dropping into a chair; "only tired--and worried,
perhaps. Waters, get me a biscuit and a glass of sherry. Now, when I
think of it, I ought to feel tired--I have eaten nothing since eight
o'clock this morning."
Lord Evelyn jumped to his feet.
"Come off at once, Brand. We will go up to the Strand and get you
something to eat. Gracious goodness, it is nearly ten o'clock!"
"No, no, never mind. I have something to talk to you about, Evelyn."
"But why on earth had Waters no dinner waiting for you?"
"I did not tell him--I forgot. Never mind; I will have some supper
by-and-by. I called on you, Evelyn, about half an hour ago; I might have
known you would be here."
Lord Evelyn paused for a second or two, while Waters came in and went
out again. Then he said,
"I can tell by your face, Brand, that something has happened."
"Nothing that I had not foreseen."
"Did you consent or refuse?"
"I refused."
"Well?"
"Then, as I knew he would, he suggested that I might as well get ready
to start for America as soon as possible."
Brand was speaking in a light and scornful way; but his face was
careworn, and his eyes kept turning to the windows and the dark night
outside, as if they were looking at something far away.
"About Natalie?" Lord Evelyn asked.
"Oh, he was frank enough. He dropped all those roundabout phrases about
the great honor, and so forth. He was quite plain. 'Not to be thought
of.'"
Lord Evelyn remained silent for some time.
"I am very sorry, Brand," he said at length; and then he continued with
some hesitation--"Do you know--I have been thinking that--that though
it's a very extreme thing for a man to give up his fortune--a very
extreme thing--I can quite understand how the proposal looked to you
very monstrous at first--still, if you put that in the balance as
against a man's giving up his native country and the woman whom he is in
love with--don't you see--the happiness of people of so much more
importance than a sum of money, however large--"
"My dear fellow," said Brand, interrupting him, "there is no such
alternative--there never was any such alternative. Do you not think I
would rather give up twenty fortunes than have to go and bid good-bye to
Natalie? It is not a question of money. I suspected before--I know
now--that Lind never meant to let his daughter marry. He would not
definitely say no to me while he thought I could be persuaded about this
money business; as soon as I refused that, he was frank and explicit
enough. I see the whole thing clearly enough now. Well, he has not
altogether succeeded."
His eye happened to light on the ring on his finger, and the frown on
his face lifted somewhat.
"If I could only forget Lind; if I could forget why it was that I had to
go to America, I should think far less of the pain of separation. If I
could go to Natalie, and say, 'Look at what we must do, for the sake of
something greater than our own wishes and dreams,' then I think I could
bid her good-bye without much faltering; but when you know that it is
unnecessary--that you are being made the victim of a piece of personal
revenge--how can you look forward with any great enthusiasm to the new
life that lies before you? That is what troubles me, Evelyn."
"I cannot argue the matter with you," his friend said, looking down, and
evidently much troubled himself. "I cannot help remembering that it was
I let you in for all this--"
"Don't say that, Evelyn," Brand broke in, quickly. "Do you think I would
have it otherwise? Once in America, I shall no doubt forget how I came
to go there. I shall have something to do."
"I--I was going to say that--that perhaps you are not quite fair to
Lind. You impute motives that may not exist."
Lord Evelyn flushed a little; it was almost as if he were excusing or
defending one he had no particular wish to defend; but all the same,
with some hesitation, he continued,
"Consider Lind's position. Mind, your reading of his conduct is only
pure assumption. It is quite possible that he would be really and
extremely surprised if he knew that you fancied he had been allowing
personal feelings to sway his decision. But suppose this--suppose he is
honestly convinced that you would be of great service in America. He has
seen what you can do in the way of patient persuading of people. I know
he has plenty around him who can do the risky business--men who have
been adventurous all their lives--who would like nothing better than to
be commissioned to set up a secret printing-press next door to the
Commissary of Police in St. Petersburg. I say he has plenty of people
like that; but very few who have persistence and patience enough to do
what you have been doing in the north of England. He told me so himself.
Very well. Suppose he thinks that what you have been doing this man
Molyneux can carry on? Suppose, in short, that, if he had no daughter at
all, he would be anxious to send you to the States?"
Brand nodded. There was no harm in letting his friend have his theory.
"Very well. Now suppose that, having this daughter, he would rather not
have her marry. He says she is of great service to him; and his wish to
have her with him always would probably exaggerate that service,
unconsciously to himself, if it were proposed to take her away. That is
only natural."
Brand again assented.
"Very well. He discovers that you and she are attached to each other.
Probably he does not consider it a very serious affair, so far; but he
knows that if you remain in London it would probably become so. Now,
Natalie is a girl of firm character; she is very gentle, but she is not
a fool. If you remained in London she would probably marry you, whether
her father liked it or not, if she thought it was right. He knows that;
he knows that the girl is capable of acting on her own judgment. Now put
the two things together. Here is this opportune service on which you can
be sent. That, according to his view, will be a good thing of itself; it
will also effectually prevent a marriage which he thinks would be
inexpedient. Don't you see that there may be no personal revenge or
malice in the whole affair? He may consider he is acting quite rightly,
with regard to the best interests of everybody concerned."
"I am sick of him, Evelyn--of hearing of him--of thinking of him," Brand
said, impatiently. "Come, let us talk of something else. I wish the
whole business of starting for America were over, and I had only the
future to think about."
"That is not likely," said Lord Evelyn, gently. "You cannot cut
yourself away from everything like that. There will be _some_ memories."
Waters here appeared with a tray, and speedily placed on the table a
lobster, some oysters, and a bottle of Chablis.
"There you are, Evelyn; have some supper."
"Not unless you have some."
"By-and-by--"
"No, now."
So the two friends drew in their chairs.
"I have been thinking," said Lord Evelyn--with a slight flush, for he
was telling a lie--"I have been thinking for some time back I should
like to go to America for a year or two. There are some political phases
I should like to study."
Brand looked at him.
"You never thought of it before to-night. But it is like you to think of
it now."
"Oh, I assure you," said the other, hastily, "there are points of great
interest in the political life of America that one could only properly
study on the spot--hearing the various opinions, don't you know--and
seeing how the things practically work. I should have gone long before
now, but that I dreaded the passage across. When do you go?"
"It is not settled yet."
"What line shall you go by?"
"I don't know."
Lord Evelyn paused for a moment; then he said,
"I'll go with you, Brand."
Well, he had not the heart even to protest; for he thoroughly understood
the generous friendship that had prompted such an offer. He might
remonstrate afterward; now he would not. On the contrary, he began to
speak of his experience of the various lines; of the delight of the
voyage to any one not abnormally sensitive to sea-sickness; of the
humors of the bagmen; of the occupations and amusements on board; of
dolphins, fog-horns, icebergs, rope-quoits, grass-widows, and the
chances of poker. It was all a holiday excursion, then? The two friends
lit their cigars and went back to their arm-chairs. The tired and
haggard look on George Brand's face had for the moment been banished.
But by-and-by he said, rather absently,
"I suppose, hereafter, Natalie and you will have many a talk over what
has happened. And you will go there just as usual, and spend the
evening, and hear her read, or listen to her singing with the zither. It
seems strange. Perhaps she will be able to forget altogether--to cut
this unhappy episode out of her life, as it were." Then he added, as if
speaking to himself, "No, she is not likely to forget."
Lord Evelyn looked up.
"In the mean time, does she know about your going?"
"I presume not--not yet. But I must see her and tell her unless, indeed,
Lind should try to prevent that too. He might lay injunctions on her
that she was not to see me again."
"That is true," his friend said. "He might command. But the question is
whether she would obey. I have known Natalie Lind longer than you have.
She is capable of thinking and acting for herself."
Nothing further was said on this point; they proceeded to talk of other
matters. It was perhaps a quarter of an hour afterward--close on eleven
o'clock--that Waters knocked at the door and then came into the room.
"A letter for you, sir."
A quick glance at the envelope startled him.
"How did you get it?" he said instantly.
"A girl brought it, sir, in a cab. She is gone again. There was no
answer, she said."
Waters withdrew. Brand hastily opened the letter, and read the following
lines, written in pencil, apparently with a trembling hand:
"Dearest,--I spent this evening with Madame Potecki. My father came for
me, and on the way home has told me something of what has occurred. It
was for the purpose of telling me that you and I must not meet
again--never, never. My own, I cannot allow you to pass a single night,
or a single hour, thinking such a thing possible. Have I not promised to
you? When it is your wish to see me, come to me: I am yours. Good-night,
and Heaven guard you!
"NATALIE."
George Brand turned to his friend.
"This," said he; but his lip trembled, and he stopped for a second. Then
he continued: "This is a message from her, Evelyn. And I know what poor
old Calabressa would say of it, if he were here. He would say: 'This is
what might have been expected from the daughter of Natalie Berezolyi!'"
"She knows, then?"
"Yes," said he, still looking at the hastily written lines in pencil,
"and it is as you imagined. Her father has told her we must not see
each other again, and she has refused to be bound by any such
injunction. I rather fancy she thinks he must have conveyed the same
intimation to me; at all events, she has written at once to assure me
that she will not break her promise to me. It was kindly meant; was it
not? I wish Anneli had waited for a second."
He folded up the letter and put it in his pocket-book: it was one more
treasure he should carry with him to America. But when, later on, Evelyn
had left, he took it out again, and re-read again and again the
irregular, hurried, pencilled lines, and thought of the proud, quick,
generous spirit that had prompted them. And was she still awake and
thinking? And could her heart hear, through the silence of the night,
the message of love and gratitude that he sent her? "_Good-night, and
Heaven guard you!_" It had been a troubled and harassing day for him;
but this tender good-night message came in at the close of it like a
strain of sweet music that he would carry with him into the land of
dreams.