GARTH FINDS HIS ROSARY
Jane spent but a very few minutes in the drawing-room that evening. The
fun in progress there was not to her taste, and the praises heaped upon
herself annoyed her. Also she wanted the quiet of her own room in order
to think over that closing episode of the concert, which had taken
place between herself and Garth, behind the scenes. She did not feel
certain how to take it. She was conscious that it held an element which
she could not fathom, and Garth's last act had awakened in herself
feelings which she did not understand. She extremely disliked the way
in which he had kissed her hands; and yet he had put into the action
such a passion of reverent worship that it gave her a sense of
consecration--of being, as it were, set apart to minister always to the
hearts of men in that perfect gift of melody which should uplift and
ennoble. She could not lose the sensation of the impress of his lips
upon the palms of her hands. It was as if he had left behind something
tangible and abiding. She caught herself looking at them anxiously once
or twice, and the third time this happened she determined to go to her
room.
The duchess was at the piano, completely hidden from view by nearly the
whole of her house party, crowding round in fits of delighted laughter.
Ronnie had just broken through from the inmost circle to fetch an
antimacassar; and Billy, to dash to the writing-table for a sheet of
note-paper. Jane knew the note-paper meant a clerical dog collar, and
she concluded something had been worn which resembled an antimacassar.
She turned rather wearily and moved towards the door. Quiet and
unobserved though her retreat had been, Garth was at the door before
her. She did not know how he got there; for, as she turned to leave the
room, she had seen his sleek head close to Myra Ingleby's on the
further side of the duchess's crowd. He opened the door and Jane passed
out. She felt equally desirous of saying two things to him,--either:
"How dared you behave in so unconventional a way?" or: "Tell me just
what you want me to do, and I will do it."
She said neither.
Garth followed her into the hall, lighted a candle, and threw the match
at Tommy; then handed her the silver candlestick. He was looking
absurdly happy. Jane felt annoyed with him for parading this gladness,
which she had unwittingly caused and in which she had no share. Also
she felt she must break this intimate silence. It was saying so much
which ought not to be said, since it could not be spoken. She took her
candle rather aggressively and turned upon the second step.
"Good-night, Dal," she said. "And do you know that you are missing the
curate?"
He looked up at her. His eyes shone in the light of her candle.
"No," he said. "I am neither missing nor missed. I was only waiting in
there until you went up. I shall not go back. I am going out into the
park now to breathe in the refreshing coolness of the night breeze. And
I am going to stand under the oaks and tell my beads. I did not know I
had a rosary, until to-night, but I have--I have!"
"I should say you have a dozen," remarked Jane, dryly.
"Then you would be wrong," replied Garth. "I have just one. But it has
many hours. I shall be able to call them all to mind when I get out
there alone. I am going to 'count each pearl.'"
"How about the cross?" asked Jane.
"I have not reached that yet," answered Garth. "There is no cross to my
rosary."
"I fear there is a cross to every true rosary, Dal," said Jane gently,
"and I also fear it will go hard with you when you find yours."
But Garth was confident and unafraid.
"When I find mine," he said, "I hope I shall be able to"--
Involuntarily Jane looked at her hands. He saw the look and smiled,
though he had the grace to colour beneath his tan,--"to FACE the
cross," he said.
Jane turned and began to mount the stairs; but Garth arrested her with
an eager question.
"Just one moment, Miss Champion! There is something I want to ask you.
May I? Will you think me impertinent, presuming, inquisitive?"
"I have no doubt I shall," said Jane. "But I am thinking you all sorts
of unusual things to-night; so three adjectives more or less will not
matter much. You may ask."
"Miss Champion, have YOU a rosary?"
Jane looked at him blankly; then suddenly understood the drift of his
question.
"My dear boy, NO!" she said. "Thank goodness, I have kept clear of
'memories that bless and burn.' None of these things enter into my
rational and well-ordered life, and I have no wish that they should."
"Then," deliberated Garth, "how came you to sing THE ROSARY as if each
line were your own experience; each joy or pain a thing--long passed,
perhaps--but your own?"
"Because," explained Jane, "I always live in a song when I sing it. Did
I not tell you the lesson I learned over the CHANT HINDOU? Therefore I
had a rosary undoubtedly when I was singing that song to-night. But,
apart from that, in the sense you mean, no, thank goodness, I have
none."
Garth mounted two steps, bringing his eyes on a level with the
candlestick.
"But IF you cared," he said, speaking very low, "that is how you would
care? that is as you would feel?"
Jane considered. "Yes," she said, "IF I cared, I suppose I should care
just so, and feel as I felt during those few minutes."
"Then it was YOU in the song, although the circumstances are not yours?"
"Yes, I suppose so," Jane replied, "if we can consider ourselves apart
from our circumstances. But surely this is rather an unprofitable
'air-ball.' Goodnight, 'Master Garthie!'"
"I say, Miss Champion! Just one thing more. Will you sing for me
to-morrow? Will you come to the music-room and sing all the lovely
things I want to hear? And will you let me play a few of your
accompaniments? Ah, promise you will come. And promise to sing whatever
I ask, and I won't bother you any more now."
He stood looking up at her, waiting for her promise, with such
adoration shining in his eyes that Jane was startled and more than a
little troubled. Then suddenly it seemed to her that she had found the
key, and she hastened to explain it to herself and to him.
"Oh, you dear boy!" she said. "What an artist you are! And how
difficult it is for us commonplace, matter-of-fact people to understand
the artistic temperament. Here you go, almost turning my steady old
head by your rapture over what seemed to you perfection of sound which
has reached you through the ear; just as, again and again, you worship
at the shrine of perfection of form, which reaches you through the eye.
I begin to understand how it is you turn the heads of women when you
paint them. However, you are very delightful in your delight, and I
want to go up to bed. So I promise to sing all you want and as much as
you wish to-morrow. Now keep your promise and don't bother me any more
to-night. Don't spend the whole night in the park, and try not to
frighten the deer. No, I do not need any assistance with my candle, and
I am quite used to going upstairs by myself, thank you. Can't you hear
what personal and appropriate remarks Tommy is making down there? Now
do run away, Master Garthie, and count your pearls. And if you suddenly
come upon a cross--remember, the cross can, in all probability, be
persuaded to return to Chicago!"
Jane was still smiling as she entered her room and placed her
candlestick on the dressing-table.
Overdene was lighted solely by lamps and candles. The duchess refused
to modernise it by the installation of electric light. But candles
abounded, and Jane, who liked a brilliant illumination, proceeded to
light both candles in the branches on either side of the dressing-table
mirror, and in the sconces on the wall beside the mantelpiece, and in
the tall silver candlesticks upon the writing-table. Then she seated
herself in a comfortable arm-chair, reached for her writing-case, took
out her diary and a fountain pen, and prepared to finish the day's
entry. She wrote, "SANG 'THE ROSARY' AT AUNT 'GINA'S CONCERT IN PLACE
OF VELMA, FAILED (LARYNGITIS)," and came to a full stop.
Somehow the scene with Garth was difficult to record, and the
sensations which still remained therefrom, absolutely unwritable. Jane
sat and pondered the situation, content to allow the page to remain
blank.
Before she rose, locked her book, and prepared for rest, she had, to
her own satisfaction, clearly explained the whole thing. Garth's
artistic temperament was the basis of the argument; and, alas, the
artistic temperament is not a very firm foundation, either for a
theory, or for the fabric of a destiny. However, FAUTE DE MIEUX, Jane
had to accept it as main factor in her mental adjustment, thus: This
vibrant emotion in Garth, so strangely disturbing to her own solid
calm, was in no sense personal to herself, excepting in so far as her
voice and musical gifts were concerned. Just as the sight of paintable
beauty crazed him with delight, making him wild with alternate hope and
despair until he obtained his wish and had his canvas and his sitter
arranged to his liking; so now, his passion for the beautiful had been
awakened, this time through the medium, not of sight, but of sound.
When she had given him his fill of song, and allowed him to play some
of her accompaniments, he would be content, and that disquieting look
of adoration would pass from those beautiful brown eyes. Meanwhile it
was pleasant to look forward to to-morrow, though it behooved her to
remember that all this admiration had in it nothing personal to
herself. He would have gone into even greater raptures over Madame
Blanche, for instance, who had the same timbre of voice and method of
singing, combined with a beauty of person which delighted the eye the
while her voice enchanted the ear. Certainly Garth must see and hear
her, as music appeared to mean so much to him. Jane began planning
this, and then her mind turned to Pauline Lister, the lovely American
girl, whose name had been coupled with Garth Dalmain's all the season.
Jane felt certain she was just the wife he needed. Her loveliness would
content him, her shrewd common-sense and straightforward, practical
ways would counterbalance his somewhat erratic temperament, and her
adaptability would enable her to suit herself to his surroundings, both
in his northern home and amongst his large circle of friends down
south. Once married, he would give up raving about Flower and Myra, and
kissing people's hands in that--"absurd way," Jane was going to say,
but she was invariably truthful, even in her thoughts, and substituted
"extraordinary" as the more correct adjective--in that extraordinary
way.
She sat forward in her chair with her elbows on her knees, and held her
large hands before her, palms upward, realising again the sensations of
that moment. Then she pulled herself up sharply. "Jane Champion, don't
be a fool! You would wrong that dear, beauty-loving boy, more than you
would wrong yourself, if you took him for one moment seriously. His
homage to-night was no more personal to you than his appreciation of
the excellent dinner was personal to Aunt Georgina's chef. In his
enjoyment of the production, the producer was included; but that was
all. Be gratified at the success of your art, and do not spoil that
success by any absurd sentimentality. Now wash your very ungainly hands
and go to bed." Thus Jane to herself.
* * * * *
And under the oaks, with soft turf beneath his feet, stood Garth
Dalmain, the shy deer sleeping around unconscious of his presence; the
planets above, hanging like lamps in the deep purple of the sky. And
he, also, soliloquised.
"I have found her," he said, in low tones of rapture, "the ideal woman,
the crown of womanhood, the perfect mate for the spirit, soul, and body
of the man who can win her.--Jane! Jane! Ah, how blind I have been! To
have known her for years, and yet not realised her to be this. But she
lifted the veil, and I passed in. Ah grand, noble heart! She will never
be able to draw the veil again between her soul and mine. And she has
no rosary. I thank God for that. No other man possesses, or has ever
possessed, that which I desire more than I ever desired anything upon
this earth, Jane's love, Jane's tenderness. Ah, what will it mean? 'I
count each pearl.' She WILL count them some day--her pearls and mine.
God spare us the cross. Must there be a cross to every true rosary?
Then God give me the heavy end, and may the mutual bearing of it bind
us together. Ah, those dear hands! Ah, those true steadfast eyes! ...
Jane!--Jane! Surely it has always been Jane, though I did not know it,
blind fool that I have been! But one thing I know: whereas I was blind,
now I see. And it will always be Jane from this night onward through
time and-please God--into eternity."
The night breeze stirred his thick dark hair, and his eyes, as he
raised them, shone in the starlight.
* * * * *
And Jane, almost asleep, was roused by the tapping of her blind against
the casement, and murmured "Anything you wish, Garth, just tell me, and
I will do it." Then awakening suddenly to the consciousness of what she
had said, she sat up in the darkness and scolded herself furiously.
"Oh, you middle-aged donkey! You call yourself staid and sensible, and
a little flattery from a boy of whom you are fond turns your head
completely. Come to your senses at once; or leave Overdene by the first
train in the morning."