CHAPTER XII
THE DREAM
How many times had he paced up and down the terrace? Piers could not havesaid. He had been there for hours, years, half a lifetime,waiting--waiting eternally for the summons that never came.
Could it have been only that morning that Mrs. Lorimer's urgent telegramhad reached him? Only that morning that he had parted from Crowther forthe first time in six months? It seemed aeons ago. And yet here he was inthe cold grey dusk, still waiting to be called to his wife's side.
The night was fast approaching--a bitter, cheerless night with a drivingwind that seemed to promise snow. It was growing darker every moment.Only her window shone like a beacon in the gloom. How long would he haveto wait? How long? How long?
He had brought a doctor with him in obedience to Mrs. Lorimer's message,transmitting Tudor's desire. Tudor was not satisfied. He wanted MaxwellWyndham, the great surgeon--a man still comparatively young in years buthigh in his profession--a man in whose presence--so it was said--nopatient ever died. That of course was an exaggeration--some hystericalwoman's tribute to his genius. But genius he undoubtedly possessed andthat of a very high order.
If anyone could save her, it would be Maxwell Wyndham. So Piers toldhimself each time he turned in his endless pacing and looked at thatlighted window. Tudor believed in him. And--yes, he believed in him also.There had been something in the great man's attitude, something ofarrogant self-assurance that had inspired him with confidence almostagainst his will. He had watched him saunter up the stairs with his handsthrust into his pockets and an air of limitless leisure pervading hisevery movement, and he had been exasperated by the man's deliberation andsubtly comforted at the same time. He was thankful that he had been ableto secure him.
Ah, what was that? A cry in the night! The weird, haunting screech of anowl! He ridiculed himself for the sudden wild thumping of his heart. Butwould they never call him? This suspense was tearing at the very roots ofhis being.
Away in the distance a dog was barking, fitfully, peevishly--the bark ofa chained animal. Piers stopped in his walk and cursed the man who hadchained him. Then--as though driven by an invisible goad--he pressed on,walking resolutely with his back turned upon the lighted window, forcinghimself to pace the whole length of the terrace.
He had nearly reached the further end when a sudden fragrance sweptacross his path--pure, intoxicating, exquisitely sweet. Violets! Theviolets that grew in the great bed under the study-window! The violetsthat Sir Beverley's bride had planted fifty years ago!
The thought of his grandfather went through him like a stab through theheart. He clenched his hands and held his breath while the spasm passed.Never since the night Victor had summoned Avery to comfort him, had hefelt so sick a longing for the old man's presence. For a few lingeringseconds it was almost more than he could bear. Then he turned about andfaced the chill night-wind and that lighted window, and the anguish ofhis vigil drove out all other griefs. How long had he yet to wait? Howlong? How long?
There came a low call behind him on the terrace. He wheeled, strangling astartled exclamation in his throat. A man's figure--a broad, powerfulfigure--lounged towards him. He seemed to be wearing carpet slippers, forhe made no sound. It was Maxwell Wyndham, and Piers' heart ceased tobeat. He stood as if turned to stone. All the blood in his body seemed tobe singing in his ears. His head was burning, the rest of him cold--coldas ice. He would have moved to meet the advancing figure, but he couldnot stir. He could only stop and listen to that maddening tarantellabeating out in his fevered brain.
"I say, you know--" the voice came to him out of an immensity of space,as though uttered from another world--"it's a bit too chilly for thissort of thing. Why didn't you put on an overcoat?"
A man's hand, strong and purposeful, closed upon his arm and impelled himtowards the house.
Piers went like an automaton, but he could not utter a word. His mouthfelt parched, his tongue powerless.
Avery! Avery! The woman he had wronged--the woman he worshipped somadly--for whom his whole being mental and physical craved desperately,yearning, unceasingly,--without whom he lived in a torture that was neverdormant! Avery! Avery! Was she lying dead behind that lighted window? Ifso, if so, those six months of torment had been in vain. He would end hismisery swiftly and finally before it turned his brain.
Maxwell Wyndham was guiding him towards the conservatory where a dimlight shone. It was like an altar-flame in the darkness--that place wherefirst their lips had met. The memory of that night went through him likea sword-thrust. Oh, Avery! Oh, Avery!
"Now look here," said Maxwell Wyndham, in his steady, emotionless voice;"you're wanted upstairs, but you can't go unless you are absolutely sureof yourself."
Wanted! His senses leapt to the word. Instinctively he pulled himselftogether, collecting all his strength. He spoke, and found to hissurprise that speech was not difficult.
"She has asked for me?"
"Yes; but," Wyndham's tone was impressive, "I warn you, she is notaltogether herself. And--she is very desperately ill."
"The child?" questioned Piers.
"The child never breathed." Curt and cold came the answer. "I have had toconcentrate all my energies upon saving the mother's life, and--to beopen with you--I don't think I have succeeded. There is still a chance,but--" He left the sentence unfinished.
They had reached the conservatory, and, entering, it was Piers who ledthe way. His face, as they emerged into the library, was deathly, but hewas absolute master of himself.
"I believe there is a meal in the dining-room," he said. "Will you helpyourself while I go up?"
"No," said Wyndham briefly. "I am coming up with you."
He kept a hand upon Piers' arm all the way up the stairs, deliberatelyrestraining him, curbing the fevered impetuosity that urged him with agrim insistence that would not yield an inch to any chafing for freedom.
He gave utterance to no further injunctions, but his manner was eloquentof the urgent need for self-repression. When Piers entered his wife'sroom, that room which he had not entered since the night of Ina'swedding, his tread was catlike in its caution, and all the eagerness wasgone from his face.
Then only did the doctor's hand fall from him, so that headvanced alone.
She was lying on one side of the great four-poster, straight andmotionless as a recumbent figure on a tomb. Her head was in deep shadow.He could see her face only in vaguest outline.
Softly he approached, and Mrs. Lorimer, rising silently from a chairby the bedside, made room for him. He sat down, sinking as it wereinto a great abyss of silence, listening tensely, but hearing not somuch as a breath.
The doctor took up his stand at the foot of the bed. In the adjoiningroom sat Lennox Tudor, watching ceaselessly, expectantly, it seemed toPiers. Behind him moved a nurse, noiselessly intent upon polishingsomething that flashed like silver every time it caught his eye.
Suddenly out of the silence there came a voice. "If I go down tohell,--Thou art there also. If I take the wings of the morning--the wingsof the morning--" There came a pause, the difficult pause ofuncertainty--"the wings of the morning--" murmured the voice again.
Piers leaned upon the pillow. "Avery!" he said.
She turned as if some magic moved her. Her hands came out to him,piteously weak and trembling. "Piers,--my darling!" she said.
He gathered the poor nerveless hands into a tight clasp, kissing thempassionately. He forgot the silent watcher at the foot of the bed, forgotlittle Mrs. Lorimer hovering in the shadows, and Tudor waiting with thenurse behind him. They all slipped into nothingness, and Avery--hiswife--alone remained in a world that was very dark.
Her voice came to him in a weak whisper. "Oh, Piers, I'vebeen--wanting you so!"
"My own darling!" he whispered back. "I will never leave you again!"
"Oh yes, you will!" she answered drearily. "You always say that, but youare always gone in the morning. It's only a dream--only a dream!"
He slipped his arms be
neath her and drew her to his breast. "It is not adream, Avery," he told her very earnestly. "I am here in the flesh. I amholding you."
"I know," she said. "It's always so."
The weary conviction of her tone smote cold to his heart. He gathered hercloser still. He pressed his lips to her forehead.
"Avery, can't you feel me?" he said.
Her head sank against his shoulder. "Yes--yes," she said. "But you havealways done that."
"Done what, darling?"
"Imposed your will on mine--made me feel you." Her voice quivered; shebegan to cry a little, weakly, like a tired child. "Do you remember--whatyou said--about--about--the ticket of leave?" she said. "You leave yourdungeon--my poor Piers. But you have to go back again--when the leave hasexpired. And I--I am left alone."
The tears were running down her face. He wiped them tenderly away.
"My dearest, if you want me--if you need me,--I will stay," he said.
"But you can't," she said hopelessly. "Even to-night--even to-night--Ithought you were never coming. And I went at last to look for you--behindyour iron bars. But, oh, Piers, the agony of it! And I couldn't reach youafter all, though I tried so hard--so hard."
"Never mind, my darling!" he whispered. "We are together now."
"But we shan't be when the morning comes," sobbed Avery. "I know it isall a dream. It's happened so many, many times."
He clasped her closer, hushing her with tender words, vowing he wouldnever leave her, while the Shadow of Death gathered closer about them,threatening every instant to come between.
She grew calmer at last, and presently sank into a state ofsemi-consciousness lying against his breast.
Time passed. Piers did not know how it went. With his wife clasped in hisarms he sat and waited, waited--for the falling of a deeper night or thecoming of the day--he knew not which. His brain felt like a stoppedwatch; it did not seem to be working at all. Even the power to sufferseemed to have left him. He felt curiously indifferent, strangelysubmissive to circumstances,--like a man scourged into the numbness ofexhaustion. He knew at the back of his mind that as soon as his vitalityreasserted itself the agony would return. The respite could not last, butwhile it lasted he knew no pain. Like one in a state of coma, he was noteven aware of thought.
It might have been hours later, or possibly only minutes, thatMaxwell Wyndham came round to his side and bent over him, a quiethand on his shoulder.
"You had better lay her down," he said. "She won't wake now."
"What?" said Piers sharply.
The words had stabbed him back to understanding in a second. He glared atthe doctor with eyes half-savage, half-frightened.
"No, no!" said Wyndham gently. "I don't mean that. She is asleep. She isbreathing. But she will rest better if you lay her down."
The absolute calmness with which he spoke took effect upon Piers. Heyielded, albeit not very willingly, to the mandate.
They laid her down upon the pillow between them, and then for manyseconds Wyndham stood, closely watching, almost painfully intent. Pierswaited dumbly, afraid to move, afraid to speak.
The doctor turned to him at last. "What about that meal you spoke of?Shall we go down and get it?"
Piers stared at him. "I am not leaving her," he said in a quick whisper.
Wyndham's hand was on his shoulder again--a steady, compelling hand. "Ohyes, you are. I want to talk to you," he said. "She is sleepingnaturally, and she won't wake for some time. Come!"
There was nothing peremptory about him, yet he gained his end. Piersrose. He hung for a moment over the bed, gazing hungrily downwards uponthe shadowy, motionless form, then in silence turned.
Tudor had risen. He met them in the doorway, and between him and theLondon doctor a few words passed. Then the latter pushed his hand throughPiers' arm, and drew him away.
They descended the wide oak stairs together and entered the dining-room.Piers moved like a man dazed. His companion went straight to the tableand poured out a drink, which he immediately held out to Piers, lookingat him with eyes that were green and very shrewd.
"I think we shall save her," he said.
Piers drank in great gulps, and came to himself. "I say, I'm beastlyrude!" he said, with sudden boyishness. "For goodness' sake, helpyourself! Sit down, won't you?"
Maxwell Wyndham seated himself with characteristic deliberation ofmovement. He had fiery red hair that shone brazenly in the lamplight.
"I can't eat by myself, Sir Piers," he remarked, after a moment. "And itisn't particularly good for you to drink without eating either, in yourpresent frame of mind."
Piers sat down, his attitude one of intense weariness. "You really thinkshe'll pull through?" he said.
"I think so," Wyndham answered. "But it won't be a walk over. She will beill for a long time."
"I'll take her away somewhere," said Piers. "A quiet time at the seawill soon pick her up."
Maxwell Wyndham said nothing.
Piers glanced at him with quick impatience. "Don't you advise that?"
The green eyes countered his like the turn of a swordblade. "Certainlyquiet is essential," said Wyndham enigmatically.
Piers made a chafing movement. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," very calmly came the answer, "that if you really value yourwife's welfare, you will let someone else take her away."
It was a straight thrust, and it went home. Piers flinched sharply. Butin a moment he had recovered himself. He was on guard. He looked atWyndham with haughty enquiry.
"Why do you say that?"
"Because her peace of mind depends upon it." Wyndham's answer came withbrutal directness. "You will find, when this phase of extreme weaknessis past, that your presence is not desired. She may try to hide it fromyou. That depends upon the kind of woman she is. But the fact willremain--does remain--that for some reason best known to yourself, sheshrinks from you. I am not speaking rashly without knowledge. When awoman is in agony she can't help showing her soul. I saw your wife'ssoul to-day."
Piers was white to the lips. He sat rigid, no longer looking at thedoctor, but staring beyond him fixedly at a woman's face on the wall thatsmiled and softly mocked.
"What did she say to you?" he said, after a moment.
"She said," curtly Wyndham made reply,--"it was at a time when shecould hardly speak at all--'Even if I ask for my husband, don'tsend--don't send!'"
"Yet you fetched me!" Piers' eyes came swiftly back to him; they shonewith a fierce glint.
But Wyndham was undismayed. "I fetched you to save her life," he said."There was nothing else to be done. She was in delirium, and nothing elsewould calm her."
"And she wanted me!" said Piers. "She begged me to stay with her!"
"I know. It was a passing phase. When her brain is normal, she will haveforgotten."
Piers sprang to his feet with sudden violence. "But--damn it--she is mywife!" he cried out fiercely.
Maxwell Wyndham leaned across the table. "She is your wife--yes," hesaid. "But isn't that a reason for considering her to the very utmost?Have you always done that, I wonder? No, don't answer! I've no right toask. Only--you know, doctors are the only men in the world who know justwhat women have to put up with, and the knowledge isn't exactlyexhilarating. Give her a month or two to get over this! You won't besorry afterwards."
It was kindly spoken, so kindly that the flare of anger died out of Pierson the instant, and the sweetness dormant in him--that latent sweetnessthat had won Avery's heart--came swiftly to the surface.
He threw himself down again, looking into the alert, green eyes withan oddly rueful smile. "All right, doctor!" he said. "I shan't go toher if she doesn't want me. But I've got to make sure she doesn't,haven't I? What?"
There was a wholly unconscious note of pathos in the last word that sentthe doctor's mouth up at one corner in a smile that was more pitying thanhumorous. "I should certainly do that," he said. "But I'm afraid you'llfind I've told you the beastly truth."
"For which I am obliged
to you," said Piers, with a bow.
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