The very next night but one after Lucio's strange interview with Mavis
Clare, the thunderbolt destined to wreck my life and humiliate me to the
dust, fell with appalling suddenness. No warning given!--it came at a
moment when I had dared to deem myself happy. All that day,--the last
day I was ever to know of pride or self-gratulation,--I had enjoyed life
to the full; it was a day too in which Sibyl had seemed transformed to a
sweeter, gentler woman than I had hitherto known her,--when all her
attractions of beauty and manner were apparently put forth to captivate
and enthrall me as though she were yet to be wooed and won. Or,--did she
mean to bewitch and subjugate Lucio? Of this I never thought,--never
dreamed:--I only saw in my wife an enchantress of the most voluptuous
and delicate loveliness,--a woman whose very garments seemed to cling to
her tenderly as though proud of clothing so exquisite a form,--a
creature whose every glance was brilliant, whose every smile was a
ravishment,--and whose voice, attuned to the softest and most caressing
tones appeared in its every utterance to assure me of a deeper and more
lasting love than I had yet enjoyed. The hours flew by on golden
wings,--we all three,--Sibyl, myself and Lucio,--had attained, as I
imagined, to a perfect unity of friendship and mutual understanding,--we
had passed that last day together in the outlying woods of Willowsmere,
under a gorgeous canopy of autumn leaves, through which the sun shed
mellow beams of rose and gold,--we had had an _al fresco_ luncheon in
the open air,--Lucio had sung for us wild old ballads and love-madrigals
till the very foliage had seemed to tremble with joy at the sound of
such entrancing melody,--and not a cloud had marred the perfect peace
and pleasure of the time. Mavis Clare was not with us,--and I was glad.
Somehow I felt that of late she had been more or less a discordant
element whenever she had joined our party. I admired her,--in a sort of
fraternal half-patronizing way I even loved her,--nevertheless I was
conscious that her ways were not as our ways,--her thoughts not as our
thoughts. I placed the fault on her of course; I concluded that it was
because she had what I elected to call 'literary egoism,' instead of by
its rightful name, the spirit of honourable independence. I never
considered the inflated quality of my own egoism,--the poor pride of a
'cash and county' position, which is the pettiest sort of vain-glory
anyone can indulge in,--and after turning the matter over in my mind, I
decided that Mavis was a very charming young woman with great literary
gifts, and an amazing pride, which made it totally impossible for her to
associate with many 'great' people, so-called,--as she would never
descend to the necessary level of flunkeyish servility which they
expected, and which _I_ certainly demanded. I should almost have been
inclined to relegate her to 'Grub Street,' had not a faint sense of
justice as well as shame held me back from doing her that indignity even
in my thoughts. However I was too much impressed with my own vast
resources of unlimited wealth, to realize the fact that anyone who, like
Mavis, earns independence by intellectual work and worth alone, is
entitled to feel a far greater pride than those who by mere chance of
birth or heritage become the possessors of millions. Then again, Mavis
Clare's literary position was, though I liked her personally, always a
kind of reproach to me when I thought of my own abortive efforts to win
the laurels of fame. So that on the whole I was glad she did not spend
that day with us in the woods;--of course, if I had paid any attention
to the "trifles which make up the sum of life" I should have remembered
that Lucio had told her he would "meet her no more on earth,"--but I
judged this to be a mere trifle of hasty and melodramatic speech,
without any intentional meaning.
So my last twenty-four hours of happiness passed away in halcyon
serenity,--I felt a sense of deepening pleasure in existence, and I
began to believe that the future had brighter things in store for me
than I had lately ventured to expect. Sibyl's new phase of gentleness
and tenderness towards me, combined with her rare beauty, seemed to
augur that the misunderstandings between us would be of short duration,
and that her nature, too early rendered harsh and cynical by a 'society'
education would soften in time to that beautiful womanliness which is,
after all, woman's best charm. Thus I thought, in blissful and contented
reverie, reclining under the branching autumnal foliage, with my fair
wife beside me, and listening to the rich tones of my friend Lucio's
magnificent voice pealing forth sonorous, wild melodies, as the sunset
deepened in the sky and the twilight shadows fell. Then came the
night--the night which dropped only for a few hours over the quiet
landscape, but for ever over me!
We had dined late, and, pleasantly fatigued with our day in the open
air, had retired early. I had latterly grown a heavy sleeper, and I
suppose I must have slumbered some hours, when I was awakened suddenly
as though by an imperative touch from some unseen hand. I started up in
my bed,--the night-lamp was burning dimly, and by its glimmer I saw that
Sibyl was no longer at my side. My heart gave one bound against my ribs
and then almost stood still--a sense of something unexpected and
calamitous chilled my blood. I pushed aside the embroidered silken
hangings of the bed and peered into the room,--it was empty. Then I rose
hastily, put on my clothes and went to the door,--it was carefully shut,
but not locked as it had been when we retired for the night. I opened it
without the least noise, and looked out into the long passage,--no one
there! Immediately opposite the bedroom door there was a winding oak
staircase leading down to a broad corridor, which in former times had
been used as a music-room or picture-gallery,--an ancient organ, still
sweet of tone, occupied one end of it with dull golden pipes towering up
to the carved and embossed ceiling,--the other end was lit by a large
oriel window like that of a church, filled with rare old stained glass,
representing in various niches the lives of the saints, the centre
subject being the martyrdom of St Stephen. Advancing with soft caution
to the balustrade overlooking this gallery, I gazed down into it, and
for a moment could see nothing on the polished floor but the criss-cross
patterns made by the moonlight falling through the great window,--but
presently, as I watched breathlessly, wondering where Sibyl could have
gone to at this time of night, I saw a dark tall Shadow waver across the
moonlit network of lines, and I heard the smothered sound of voices.
With my pulses beating furiously, and a sensation of suffocation in my
throat,--full of strange thoughts and suspicions which I dared not
define, I crept slowly and stealthily down the stair, till as my foot
touched the last step I saw--what nearly struck me to the ground with a
shock of agony--and I had to draw back and bite my lips hard to repress
the cry that nearly escaped them. There,--there before me in the full
moonlight, with the colours of the red and blue robes of the painted
saints on the window glowing blood-like and azure about her, knelt my
wife,--arrayed in a diaphanous garment of filmy white which betrayed
rather than concealed the outline of her form,--her wealth of hair
falling about her in wild disorder,--her hands clasped in
supplication,--her pale face upturned; and above her towered the dark
imposing figure of Lucio! I stared at the twain with dry burning
eyes,--what did this portend? Was she--my wife--false? Was he--my
friend--a traitor?
"Patience----patience!----" I muttered to myself--"This is a piece of
acting doubtless----such as chanced the other night with Mavis
Clare!----patience!----let us hear this----this comedy!" And, drawing
myself close up against the wall, I leaned there, scarcely drawing
breath, waiting for _her_ voice,--for _his_;--when they spoke I should
know,----yes, I should know all! And I fastened my looks on them as
they stood there,--vaguely wondering even in my tense anguish, at the
fearful light on Lucio's face,--a light which could scarcely be the
reflection of the moon, as he backed the window,--and at the scorn of
his frowning brows. What terrific humour swayed him?--why did he, even
to my stupefied thought appear more than human?--why did his very beauty
seem hideous at that moment, and his aspect fiendish? Hush--hush! _She_
spoke,--my wife,--I heard her every word--heard all and endured all,
without falling dead at her feet in the extremity of my dishonour and
despair!
"I love you!" she wailed--"Lucio, I love you, and my love is killing me!
Be merciful!--have pity on my passion!--love me for one hour, one little
hour!--it is not much to ask, and afterwards,--do with me what you
will,--torture me, brand me an outcast in the public sight, curse me
before Heaven--I care nothing--I am yours body and soul--I love you!"
Her accents vibrated with mad idolatrous pleading,--I listened
infuriated, but dumb. "Hush,--hush!" I told myself "This is a
comedy--not yet played out!" And I waited, with every nerve strained,
for Lucio's reply. It came, accompanied by a laugh, low and sarcastic.
"You flatter me!" he said--"I regret I am unable to return the
compliment!"
My heart gave a throb of relief and fierce joy,--almost I could have
joined in his ironical laughter. She--Sibyl--dragged herself nearer to
him.
"Lucio--Lucio!" she murmured--"Have you a heart? Can you reject me when
I pray to you thus?--when I offer you all myself,--all that I am, or
ever hope to be? Am I so repugnant to you? Many men would give their
lives if I would say to them what I say to you,--but they are nothing to
me--you alone are my world,--the breath of my existence!--ah, Lucio, can
you not believe, will you not realize how deeply I love you!"
He turned towards her with a sudden fierce movement that startled
me,--and the cloud of scorn upon his brows grew darker.
"I know you love me!" he said, and from where I stood I saw the cold
derisive smile flash from his lips to his eyes in lightning-like
mockery--"I have always known it! Your vampire soul leaped to mine at
the first glance I ever gave you,--you were a false foul thing from the
first, and you recognized your master! Yes--your Master!" for she had
uttered a faint cry as if in fear,--and he, stooping, snatched her two
hands and grasped them hard in his own--"Listen to the truth of yourself
for once from one who is not afraid to speak it!--you love me,--and
truly your body and soul are mine to claim, if I so choose! You married
with a lie upon your lips; you swore fidelity to your husband before
God, with infidelity already in your thoughts, and by your own act made
the mystical blessing a blasphemy and a curse! Wonder not then that the
curse has fallen! I knew it all!--the kiss I gave you on your
wedding-day put fire in your blood and sealed you mine!--why, you would
have fled to me that very night, had I demanded it,--had I loved you as
you love me,--that is, if you choose to call the disease of vanity and
desire that riots in your veins, by such a name as love! But now hear
_me_!" and as he held her two wrists he looked down upon her with such
black wrath depicted in his face as seemed to create a darkness round
him where he stood,--"I hate you! Yes--I hate you, and all such women as
you! For you corrupt the world,--you turn good to evil,--you deepen
folly into crime,--with the seduction of your nude limbs and lying eyes,
you make fools, cowards and beasts of men! When you die, your bodies
generate foulness,--things of the mould and slime are formed out of the
flesh that was once fair for man's delight,--you are no use in life--you
become poison in death,--I hate you all! I read your soul--it is an open
book to me--and it is branded with a name given to those who are
publicly vile, but which should, of strict right and justice, be equally
bestowed on women of your position and type, who occupy pride and place
in this world's standing, and who have not the excuse of poverty for
selling themselves to the devil!"
He ceased abruptly and with passion, making a movement as though to
fling her from him,--but she clung to his arm,--clung with all the
pertinacity of the loathly insect he had taken from the bosom of the
dead Egyptian woman and made a toy of to amuse his leisure! And I,
looking on and listening, honoured him for his plain speaking, for his
courage in telling this shameless creature what she was in the opinion
of an honest man, without glozing over her outrageous conduct for the
sake of civility or social observance. My friend,--my more than friend!
He was true,--he was loyal--he had neither desire nor intent to betray
or dishonour me. My heart swelled with gratitude to him, and also with a
curious sense of feeble self-pity,--compassionating myself intensely, I
could have sobbed aloud in nervous fury and pain, had not my desire to
hear more, repressed my personal excitement and emotion. I watched my
wife wonderingly--what had become of her pride that she still knelt
before the man who had taunted her with such words as should have been
beyond all endurance?
"Lucio! ... Lucio!" she whispered, and her whisper sounded through the
long gallery like the hiss of a snake--"Say what you will--say all you
will of me,--you can say nothing that is not true. I am vile--I own it.
But is it of much avail to be virtuous? What pleasure comes from
goodness?--what gratification from self-denial? There is no God to care!
A few years, and we all die, and are forgotten even by those who loved
us,--why should we lose such joys as we may have for the mere asking?
Surely it is not difficult to love even me for an hour?--am I not fair
to look upon?--and is all this beauty of my face and form worthless in
your sight, and you no more than man? Murder me as you may with all the
cruelty of cruel words, I care nothing!--I love you--love you!"--and in
a perfect passion of self-abandonment she sprang to her feet, tossing
back her rich hair over her shoulders, and stood erect, a very bacchante
of wild loveliness--"Look at me! You shall not,--you dare not spurn such
a love as mine!"
Dead silence followed her outburst,--and I stared in fascinated awe at
Lucio as he turned more fully round and confronted her. The expression
of his countenance struck me then as quite unearthly,--his beautiful
broad brows were knitted in a darkling line of menace,--his eyes
literally blazed with scorn, and yet he laughed,--a low laugh, resonant
with satire.
"Shall not!--dare not!" he echoed disdainfully--"Woman's words,--woman's
ranting!--the shriek of the outraged feminine animal who fails to
attract, as she thinks, her chosen mate. Such a love as yours!--what is
it? Degradation to whosoever shall accept it,--shame to whosoever shall
rely upon it! You make a boast of your beauty; your mirror shows you a
pleasing image,--but your mirror lies!--as admirably as you do! You see
within it not the reflection of yourself, for that would cause you to
recoil in horror, ... you merely look upon your fleshly covering, a
garment of tissues, shrinkable, perishable, and only fit to mingle with
the dust from which it sprang. Your beauty! I see none of it,--I see
You! and to me you are hideous, and will remain hideous for ever. I hate
you!--I hate you with the bitterness of an immeasurable and unforgiving
hatred,--for you have done me a wrong,--you have wrought an injury upon
me,--you have added another burden to the load of punishment I carry!"
She made a forward movement with outstretched arms,--he repulsed her by
a fierce gesture.
"Stand back!" he said--"Be afraid of me, as of an unknown Terror! O
pitiless Heaven!--to think of it!--but a night ago I was lifted a step
nearer to my lost delight!--and now this woman drags me back, and
down!--and yet again I hear the barring of the gates of Paradise! O
infinite torture! O wicked souls of men and women!--is there no touch of
grace or thought of God left in you!--and will ye make my sorrows
eternal!"
He stood, lifting his face to the light where it streamed through the
oriel window, and the moonbeams colouring themselves faintly roseate as
they filtered through the painted garments of St Stephen, showed a
great and terrible anguish in his eyes. I heard him with amazement and
awe,--I could not imagine what he meant by his strange words,--and it
was evident by her expression, that my reckless and abandoned wife was
equally mystified.
"Lucio,"--she murmured--"Lucio, ... what is it ... what have I done?--I
who would not wound you for the world?--I who but seek your love, Lucio,
to repay it in full with such fond passion and tenderness as you have
never known! For this and this only, I married Geoffrey,--I chose your
friend as husband because he was your friend!" (O perfidious woman!)
"and because I saw his foolish egotism--his pride in himself and his
riches,--his blind confidence in me and in you;--I knew that I could,
after a time, follow the fashion of many another woman in my set and
choose my lover,--ah, my lover!--I had chosen him already,--I have
chosen you, Lucio!--yes, though you hate me you cannot hinder me from
loving you,--I shall love you till I die!"
He turned his gaze upon her steadily,--the gloom deepening on his brows.
"And after you die?" he said--"Will you love me then?"
There was a stern derision in his tone which appeared to vaguely terrify
her.
"After death! ..." she stammered.
"Yes,--after death!" he repeated sombrely--"There _is_ an after;--as
your mother knows!" A faint exclamation escaped her,--she fixed her eyes
upon him affrightedly. "Fair lady," he went on--"your mother was, like
yourself, a voluptuary. She, like you, made up her mind to 'follow the
fashion' as you put it, as soon as her husband's 'blind' or willing
confidence was gained. She chose, not one lover but many. You know her
end. In the written but miscomprehended laws of Nature, a diseased body
is the natural expression of a diseased mind,--her face in her last days
was the reflex of her soul. You shudder?--the thought of her
hideousness is repellent to your self-conscious beauty? Yet the evil
that was in her is also in you,--it festers in your blood slowly but
surely, and as you have no faith in God to cure the disease, it will
have its way--even at the final moment when death clutches at your
throat and stops your breathing. The smile upon your frozen lips then
will not be the smile of a saint, believe me, but of a sinner! Death is
never deceived, though life may be. And afterwards ... I ask again, will
you love me, do you think? ... when you know WHO I am?"
I was myself startled at his manner of putting this strange question;--I
saw her lift her hands beseechingly towards him, and she seemed to
tremble.
"When I know who you are!" she repeated wonderingly--"Do I not know? You
are Lucio,--Lucio Rimânez--my love,--my love!--whose voice is my
music,--whose beauty I adore,--whose looks are my heaven" ...
"And Hell!" he interposed, with a low laugh--"Come here!"
She went towards him eagerly, yet falteringly. He pointed to the
ground,--I saw the rare blue diamond he always wore on his right hand,
flash like a flame in the moonrays.
"Since you love me so well,"--he said--"Kneel down and worship me!"
She dropped on her knees--and clasped her hands,--I strove to move,--to
speak,--but some resistless force held me dumb and motionless;--the
light from the stained glass window fell upon her face, and showed its
fairness illumined by a smile of perfect rapture.
"With every pulse of my being I worship you!" she murmured
passionately--"My king!--my god! The cruel things you say but deepen my
love for you,--you can kill, but you can never change me! For one kiss
of your lips I would die,--for one embrace from you I would give my
soul! ..."
"Have you one to give?" he asked derisively--"Is it not already disposed
of? You should make sure of that first! Stay where you are and let me
look at you! So!--a woman, wearing a husband's name, holding a
husband's honour, clothed in the very garments purchased with a
husband's money, and newly risen from a husband's side, steals forth
thus in the night, seeking to disgrace him and pollute herself by the
vulgarest unchastity! And this is all that the culture and training of
nineteenth-century civilization can do for you? Myself, I prefer the
barbaric fashion of old times, when rough savages fought for their women
as they fought for their cattle, treated them as cattle, and kept them
in their place, never dreaming of endowing them with such strong virtues
as truth and honour! If women were pure and true, then the lost
happiness of the world might return to it,--but the majority of them are
like you, liars, ever pretending to be what they are not. I may do what
I choose with you, you say? torture you, kill you, brand you with the
name of outcast in the public sight, and curse you before Heaven--if I
will only love you!--all this is melodramatic speech, and I never cared
for melodrama at any time. I shall neither kill you, brand you, curse
you, nor love you;--I shall simply--call your husband!"
I stirred from my hiding-place,--then stopped. She sprang to her feet in
an insensate passion of anger and shame.
"You dare not!" she panted--"You dare not so ... disgrace me!"
"Disgrace you!" he echoed scornfully--"That remark comes rather late,
seeing you have disgraced yourself!"
But she was now fairly roused. All the savagery and obstinacy of her
nature was awakened, and she stood like some beautiful wild animal at
bay, trembling from head to foot with the violence of her emotions.
"You repulse me,--you scorn me!" she muttered in hurried fierce accents
that scarcely rose above an angry whisper--"You make a mockery of my
heart's anguish and despair, but you shall suffer for it! I am your
match,--nay your equal! You shall not spurn me a second time! You ask,
will I love you when I know who you are,--it is your pleasure to deal in
mysteries, but I have no mysteries--I am a woman who loves you with all
the passion of a life,--and I will murder myself and you, rather than
live to know that I have prayed you for your love in vain. Do you think
I came unprepared?--no!" and she suddenly drew from her bosom a short
steel dagger with a jewelled hilt, a _curio_ I recognized as one of the
gifts to her on her marriage; "Love me, I say!--or I will stab myself
dead here at your feet, and cry out to Geoffrey that you have murdered
me!"
She raised the weapon aloft,--I almost sprang forward--but I drew back
again quickly as I saw Lucio seize the hand that held the dagger and
drag it firmly down,--while, wresting the weapon from her clutch he
snapped it asunder and flung the pieces on the floor.
"Your place was the stage, Madam!" he said--"You should have been the
chief female mime at some 'high-class' theatre! You would have adorned
the boards, drawn the mob, had as many lovers, stagey and private as you
pleased, been invited to act at Windsor, obtained a payment-jewel from
the Queen, and written your name in her autograph album. That should
undoubtedly have been your 'great' career--you were born for it--made
for it! You would have been as brute-souled as you are now,--but that
would not have mattered,--mimes are exempt from chastity!"
In the action of breaking the dagger, and in the intense bitterness of
his speech he had thrust her back a few paces from him, and she stood
breathless and white with rage, eyeing him in mingled passion and
terror. For a moment she was silent,--then advancing slowly with the
feline suppleness of movement which had given her a reputation for grace
exceeding that of any woman in England, she said in deliberately
measured accents--
"Lucio Rimânez, I have borne your insults as I would bear my death at
your hands, because I love you. You loathe me, you say--you repulse
me,--I love you still! You cannot cast me off--I am yours! You shall
love me, or I will die,--one of the two. Take time for thought,--I leave
you to-night,--I give you all to-morrow to consider,--love me,--give me
yourself,--be my lover,--and I will play the comedy of social life as
well as any other woman,--so well that my husband shall never know. But
refuse me again as you have refused me now, and I will make away with
myself. I am not 'acting,'--I am speaking calmly and with conviction; I
mean what I say!"
"Do you?" queried Lucio coldly--"Let me congratulate you! Few women
attain to such coherence!"
"I will put an end to this life of mine;" she went on, paying no sort of
heed to his words--"I cannot endure existence without your love, Lucio!"
and a dreary pathos vibrated in her voice--"I hunger for the kisses of
your lips,--the clasp of your arms! Do you know--do you ever think of
your own power?--the cruel, terrible power of your eyes, your speech,
your smile,--the beauty which makes you more like an angel than a
man,--and have you no pity? Do you think that ever a man was born like
you?" he looked at her as she said this, and a faint smile rested on his
lips--"When you speak, I hear music--when you sing, it seems to me that
I understand what the melodies of a poet's heaven must be;--surely,
surely you know that your very looks are a snare to the warm weak soul
of a woman! Lucio!--" and emboldened by his silence, she stole nearer to
him--"Meet me to-morrow in the lane near the cottage of Mavis Clare...."
He started as if he had been stung--but not a word escaped him.
"I heard all you said to her the other night;" she continued, advancing
yet a step closer to his side--"I followed you,--and I listened. I was
well-nigh mad with jealousy--I thought--I feared--you loved her,--but I
was wrong. I never do thank God for anything,--but I thanked God that
night that I was wrong! She was not made for you--I am! Meet me outside
her house, where the great white rose-tree is in bloom--gather one,--one
of those little autumnal roses and give it to me--I shall understand it
as a signal--a signal that I may come to you to-morrow night and not be
cursed or repulsed, but loved,--loved!--ah Lucio! promise me!--one
little rose!--the symbol of an hour's love!--then let me die; I shall
have had all I ask of life!"
With a sudden swift movement, she flung herself upon his breast, and
circling her arms about his neck, lifted her face to his. The moonbeams
showed me her eyes alit with rapture, her lips trembling with passion,
her bosom heaving, ... the blood surged up to my brain, and a red mist
swam before my sight, ... would Lucio yield? Not he!--he loosened her
desperate hands from about his throat, and forced her back, holding her
at arm's length.
"Woman, false and accurséd!" he said in tones that were sonorous and
terrific--"You know not what you seek! All that you ask of life shall be
yours in death!--this is the law,--therefore beware what demands you
make lest they be too fully granted! A rose from the cottage of Mavis
Clare?--a rose from the garden of Eden!--they are one and the same to
me! Not for my gathering or yours! Love and joy? For the unfaithful
there is no love,--for the impure there is no joy. Add no more to the
measure of my hatred and vengeance!--Go while there is yet time,--go and
front the destiny you have made for yourself--for nothing can alter it!
And as for me, whom you love,--before whom you have knelt in idolatrous
worship--" and a low fierce laugh escaped him--"why,--restrain your
feverish desires, fair fiend!--have patience!--we shall meet ere long!"
I could not bear the scene another moment, and springing from my
hiding-place, I dragged my wife away from him and flung myself between
them.
"Let me defend you, Lucio, from the pertinacities of this wanton!" I
cried with a wild burst of laughter--"An hour ago I thought she was my
wife,--I find her nothing but a purchased chattel, who seeks a change of
masters!"