Neale could not sleep. Of course he could not sleep. Sleep was for fools
with nothing to think about. But Neale had ... such things to think
about!
She had let him in. She had let him in. He stood in the holy of holies
and knew that he was welcome.
Now he knew the meaning of her look that first evening on the roof. Now
he knew why, up there under the ilex trees that morning, her dear eyes
had been for an instant wild as if with fright when he drew near. And
yet, even before she had let him in, her eyes had softened from fright
to quiet trust as he looked down at her, had softened to that look,
_her_ look, which thrust him through and through with love for her.
He turned impatiently back and forth on his bed, seeing, everywhere he
looked, those liquid dark eyes, that sweet, sweet mouth, till he held
his empty arms out longingly in the dark. His desire was like a fire. He
knew such pain as he had not dreamed of, and he would not for any price
have lost an instant of that pain. Had he ever said he was an unlighted
torch? He was flaming now, to his last fiber.
Presently he got up, lighted his candle and dressed. It was impossible
to lie still with this fire of life blazing in him. He would be beside
himself by dawn, if he had not worked some of it off. He let himself out
carefully into the corridor, and walked down to her door. There, before
it were her shoes, her little, dusty shoes which had brought her back to
him. He picked one up and held it in his hand. He stroked it like
something alive. The dust on it was dear to him.
When he stepped out into the silent, deserted piazza a church clock
struck two, boomingly. The night air was cool on his cheek. The great,
starlit dusky sky, spacious over his head, was none too large to hold
the greatness in his heart that night. It filled all space to the last
dim, shining star. He set off at random, anywhere, not noticing where
his feet took him, up one street and down another--blindly, as he had
lived. And yet somehow he had found his goal.
The splash of water struck on his ear. He saw in the starlight the dim
sheen and sparkle of a fountain--Trevi. He stood still to think of what
it reminded him--Madison Square and Martha.
His heart went out to Martha as he stood there. He thought of her not
with embarrassment, as the woman he had loved before he met Marise. He
had not loved her. He thought of Martha tenderly, calmly, with deep
gratitude. He owed all this to her. She had saved him from the
second-rate, dingy life he had been so dingily ready to accept. She had
somehow divined that there must be something else. Something else! Neale
was shaken at the thought! Why, now, this instant, if some one struck
him down dead as he stood there, he would have lived more, known more of
the joy and sacredness of love than after forty years with Martha. He
wished he knew how to pray, so that he could pray that Martha too might
know it.
And then, with a rush, Martha was gone from his mind, and Marise stood
there, Marise, looking up at him with piteous, frightened eyes that
softened to trust, to quiet trust.
He set off swiftly, swinging his arms and talking to himself. How could
he be worthy of such a trust! He _would_ be worthy of it. By God, he
would give her a square deal. A square deal such as no other woman ever
had! The whole of his heart, his respect, his honor. He would share his
life with her loyally, as with an equal ... no hidden thoughts, no
half-way openness, no dark corners of compromise, no secret chambers
kept for himself. All the great gates flung open to welcome her into her
own home.
He flung his arms wide, and looked up at the stars, which were beginning
faintly to grow dim against the whitening sky.
His passion seized on him now and shook him till he was faint with it.
When it passed for a little, he turned back towards the east, towards
the Pincian hill where he had so often walked with her, where he had
seen her that morning. The shade of the ilex trees was full of her
presence to him. He was far from there, half across the city. As if it
were a goal he had set himself, he began to hasten, to lengthen his
stride, to let out some of the strength that boiled up in him like a
geyser.
It did him good to walk furiously fast, to tire himself a little. His
thoughts grew less wild, his heart stopped leaping and pounding. She had
looked frightened because she was afraid of love, poor darling, as she
was of life. He would show her what love could be. He would wash all
that old poison of doubt and distrust and fear out of her life with the
ocean of his love. They would live together so openly, so honestly, so
naturally, that she could forget wholly all the sick, morbid impressions
that her life had left on her, that she would come to trust and love
life and love and nature, with its serene progression of birth, growth,
death, even the decay which is only preparation for another birth.
Why, that was something he could _do_ for her! He had something to give
her, something she needed, something to match a little the golden
treasure she poured out on him with her every glance. It was incredible
good fortune! How under the sun could a man, a poor, plain, ordinary
human being, live so that he might be worthy of such transcendent good
fortune?
He was swinging up the long steps now, the dawn white and clear about
him. Here was where he had turned that morning and saw her standing afar
off, bright under the black shade, come back to him! Here was where he
had been near enough to see her face, her brows drawn together, the
seeking look in her eyes. He had always thought Marise's eyes seemed to
be looking for something. Here was where he had seen that they looked
frightened. And now he stood on the very spot where she had stood, and
he saw again her eyes soften into quiet trust.
If somehow she might find in him what she was looking for! His heart
stood still in awe.
He looked out over the sleeping city, its roofs and domes and towers
coming palely into the new day; and he saw her dark eyes soften from
fright to quiet trust.
God! Suppose he had never lived, never known Marise! The sweat stood out
on him at the thought.
If she could ... if she could look into his face and find that life had
put there what she sought.
The sun rose magnificently and cast over all the world a flood of golden
light.
Neale stood in it, praising and magnifying God, who had sent him into
life.