I LEAVE EDEN
[Illustration: I SEEM TO SEE ... A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN IN A BLUE DRESS
SITTING UNDER A FRUIT TREE]
Clear as I am on a thousand little points that concern my first
meeting with Margarita, my mind is a perfect blank when I try to
recall the events of the next half hour. We must, of course, have left
the rock, for I have a dim recollection of drinking healths in that
dear old room and signing our names to something. But on what order we
left it, of what we spoke, if we spoke at all, and how we at last
found ourselves alone, I do not know. And yet it seems to me that some
one--was it I?--discussed remedies for insomnia with some one else,
and that some third person assured us that nothing but a complete
change of scene could be of any lasting benefit. And my reason assures
me that Tip and I and the telegraph operator must have been these
three, for I seem to see, as if through a dim haze, a beautiful woman
in a blue dress sitting under a fruit tree, with a dog's head in her
lap, a flaming handful of nasturtiums in her belt, and a man lying at
her feet, with his hand in hers and his eyes fixed on her face. This
could hardly have been Roger, one would think, for Roger was not a
demonstrative man, and certainly not likely to have been so under
these circumstances ... and yet, if not Roger, who could it have been?
After that I remember well enough. Caliban was to row the telegrapher
back, as he had brought him over, and as the haggard little fellow
advanced to say his good-byes, Margarita and Roger appeared from
somewhere to receive them. He shook her hand cordially and tried
honestly not to stare too admiringly at her.
"This has been a great pleasure, Mrs. Bradley, a real pleasure to me,"
he said, "aside from the romance and--and so forth, you understand. It
isn't often I can get off like this in the daytime, and I shouldn't
wonder if the air and the water and all made me sleep a little
to-night! I little thought when Mr. Bradley asked for an hour of my
time to-day that I should be going to the wedding of the Miss Prynne I
had heard so much about."
Tip and I glanced irrepressibly at each other, wondering if this
suggestion would commend itself to Roger. But he, I think, had paid no
attention to the words, and his smile was merely kindly and polite. So
the sleepless one rowed away, the richer by a box of good cigars, and
Tip and I were left to plan our own departure.
For mine, at any rate, Roger seemed in no hurry. When Tip assured him
that he must, without fail, catch the next possible train, he got a
schedule and arranged for a short drive across country to a tiny
station that profited by the summer residence of a railroad magnate,
and could connect him with an otherwise impossible express; but me he
urged to stop on in terms so unmistakably sincere that I saw he really
wanted a few more hours of my company, at least; and as I found that a
milk-train stopped at the village at ten that night, and had learned
from experience that much might be accomplished with a banknote and a
cigar and an obliging brakeman, I was glad enough to stay on, and with
a curious feeling of return to the actual world I pushed out across
the beach with Roger and Margarita, who dropped on the sand with the
great dog at their feet. I joined them quietly and we sat, hardly
speaking, for at least three long, golden hours. They drew me, a
naturally rather talkative person, into one of their deep peaceful
silences, and just because there was so much to say, we wisely left it
unsaid, and rested like the animals (or the angels, maybe?) in a rich
content.
It was then that I understood the vital principle of the Friends'
Meeting House, and realised how much of the heat and vulgarity of life
the best Quaker tradition buries under the cool, deep waves of its
invaluable Silence. To such artists in life the lack of speech is not
repression--far from it. Myself, I have never lived more generously
than in that wonderful afternoon, and the few hours that came
afterward were mere by-play.
Later Caliban brought us a picnic supper on the beach and then Roger
wrote some letters, gave me many instructions for his partner, listed
the matters to be put off for a week and those to be sent to him for
personal attention (precious few, these!) and agreed to my suggestion
that when he returned to town my mother should meet them and take
Margarita in charge for the purchases that must be made before the
year of travel he intended to take with his wife--lucky fellow, whose
lap Fate had filled with all her gifts!
He was to let me know when he would come and I was to forward his
mother's answer to the letter he had written her; most of their
intercourse of late had been of this sort, for his uncle's recent
death had opened again the vexed question of Boston residence and his
inability to comply with her unreasonable demands had strained anew
relations never very close, humanly considered. The unfortunate early
years of family restraint, the lack of all those weak and tender
intimacies, not uncommon in New England families, had borne their
legitimate fruit, and my mother's gentle passionate heart froze at the
mere thought of Madam Bradley's icy reserve, while to me, I own, she
was never more than an unpleasant abstraction.
And then the time came and Caliban pulled the boat across and I
pressed Margarita's hand and stood up to go. Roger took both my hands
and wrung them.
"I couldn't speak about the ring, Jerry," he said, quickly and very
low, "it's no use trying. But you understand?"
"That's all right, Roger," I muttered hastily, "it's the best use I'm
likely to make of it. Good-bye, old fellow. God bless you, Roger," and
I stumbled into the boat.
Caliban pulled hard at the oars and we slid away. I looked at them
once. For a full minute--dear fellow--he stared wistfully after me
(oh, Roger, you'll never forget, never, I know! Twenty-five years are
over and gone to-night, and the close, unrivalled companionship of
them, and I am alone from now on--but you'll not forget!) and then
they turned to each other and I was no more than a speck on the
evening water. "Put your back into it, man; get along, can't you?" I
growled to Caliban. We shot ahead and left them to each other, alone
under the heavy, yellow moon and the close, secret stars.
PART FOUR
IN WHICH THE STREAM WINDS THROUGH A
SULLEN MARSH AND BECOMES A BROOK
Alas for this unlucky womb!
Alas the breasts that suckled thee!
I would ha' laid thee in thy tomb
Or e'er that witch had wived with thee!
Alas my son that grew so strong!
Alas those hands I stretched to th' bow!
Or e'er thou heardst that wanton's song,
I'd shot thee long ago and long,
Through the black heart that's shamed me so!
_Sir Hugh and the Mermaiden._