by Maud Diver
II.
"A turn, and we stand in the heart of things." --Browning.
When Eldred Lenox sailed from India six months earlier, he would havescouted as impossible the suggestion that he might bring a wife backwith him on his return: and his uncompromising avoidance of women, fromboyhood upward, had seemed to justify him in his assurance. But Natureis inexorable. She has her own methods of accomplishing those thingsthat are necessary to a man's salvation; and behold in three months theimpossible had come to pass. The giant Mirabeau was right:--"_ce betede mot_" ought by now to be struck out of our dictionaries.
Lenox knew little of half measures: and, having succumbed,--in spite ofhimself, in spite of inherent prejudices and convictions,--he succumbedheart and soul. That which he had unduly scorned, he now undulyexalted. Only Time and the woman could lead him into the Middle Way,which is the way of truth. For beneath the surface hardness of theScot lurked the fire, the imaginative force, the proud sensitiveness ofthe Celt: a heritage from his Cornish mother, whose untimely death hadleft her two younger sons in the hands of a bachelor uncle, of red-hotCalvinistic views. Their father--a man of an altogether differentstamp--had met his boys on rare occasions, and ardently desired to knowmore of them: but an Afghan knife had ended his career before he couldfind leisure to complete their acquaintance. The history ofAnglo-India is one long chronicle of such minor tragedies.
Thus fire-eating Jock Lenox had exercised iron rule over his charges,unhampered by parental interference: had reared them in anunquestioning fear of God, and an unquestioning distrust of more thanhalf His creatures; had impressed upon them, in season and out ofseason, that woman was the one fatal element in a man's life, theauthor of nine-tenths of its tragedy, complexity, and crime.
Yet "one touch of Nature" had annulled, in three months, the work oftwenty years. So much for education!
For a while Lenox stood motionless where his wife had left him, asthough life itself were suspended until her return: for despite theglory of autumn sunshine, of leaping flames upon the hearth, the room,robbed of her presence, seemed colourless, dead.
Then, as the minutes passed and she did not reappear, restlessness tookpossession of him; sure sign that he was very deeply moved. He crossedto the open window, but even the colossal calm of the mountains failedto quell the tumult of passion in his veins. Her last words left himanxious. There could be no peace till he had interpreted them to hisfull satisfaction; and the power of interpreting a woman's words couldnot be reckoned among his attributes.
Suddenly it occurred to him that he had pocketed two unopened envelopesbefore starting for church. He drew them out; rather because he neededsome definite occupation, than because he felt curious as to theircontents. Men of his type are rarely overburdened with correspondents.
The first was a business letter. He read it with scant attention, andreturned it to his breast-pocket. The second envelope bore thehandwriting of his senior subaltern, now in England on short leave.The two men were close friends; but Eldred's last letter had beenwritten four months ago; and the envelope in his hand containedRichardson's tardy response. He broke the seal with a smile at thoughtof his subaltern's astonishment when he should learn the truth. Theletter was longer than usual; and in glancing through it hurriedly, thename Miss Maurice caught his eye. "Great Scott!" he muttered aloud;then, with quickened interest, began upon the second page, ignoring theopening.
"Wonder if you have run across the Maurices in Zermatt," wrote MaxRichardson, with no faintest prevision of the circumstances in whichthe thoughtless lines would be read by his friend. "Artists both ofthem, brother and sister; and a rather remarkable couple, I'm told.She seems to have made a hit at the Academy; and the cousins I'mstaying with are very keen about her. I happened to mention that I waswriting to a chap in Zermatt, and they begged me to ask if you hadheard or seen anything of this Miss Maurice. There's a bit of aromance about her; that's what has pricked their interest. Seems shewas engaged to Sir Roger Bennet this season. A swell in the Art patronline. Lost his heart at first sight. But evidently on closeracquaintance found her rather a handful, and too much of a Bohemian tosuit his British taste! At all events there was a flare-up oversomething about three months ago, and Sir Roger backed out, politelybut definitely. It seems that Miss Maurice was a good deal cut up.Went off to Zermatt with her brother. And now rumour has it that sheis engaged, if not married, to some other chap out there, I suppose byway of a gentle intimation to Sir Roger that he hasn't broken herheart. My cousins are eaten up with curiosity to know if it's true.Women appear to be capable of that sort of thing. But it strikes amere man as playing rather low down on a luckless devil who has doneher no harm: and I don't envy him his hasty bargain, or the repentingat leisure that's bound to follow. Lord, what fools we men are! Andhow easily we lose our heads over a woman! All except you--the GreatInvulnerable, looking down upon our folly from the superior height of asnow-peak. . . ."
Lenox read no further. The last words enraged him, like a blow betweenthe eyes, and set the blood hammering in his temples. It would seem,at times, that Fate selects with fiendish nicety the psychologicalmoment when her arrows will strike deepest, and stick fastest. Thus,when his thirst was at its height, Lenox found the cup dashed from hislips; and that by the hand of his best friend:--a master-stroke ofOlympian comedy.
With a curse he flung the letter on to the table.
Wounded love, wounded pride, and baulked desire so clashed in him thatclear thought was impossible. He only knew that he had beendeliberately deceived, the most intolerable knowledge to a manincapable of deceit: and with the knowledge all the natural savage inhim sprang to life. If Richardson had appeared before him in theflesh, it is doubtful whether he could have stayed his hand: the moreso, since he believed that the man had written the truth: that thisgirl--whom it seemed that he had wooed with quite unnecessaryreverence--had taken the best he could give, and utilised it as a meresalve for her wounded vanity.
He understood now why her heart had proved more difficult of accessthan her hand. He had believed it unawakened; had dreamed, as loverswill, of warming it into life with the fire of his own great love: andlo, he found himself forestalled by this execrable man in England.Clearly he had been a fool;--an infatuated fool! He stabbed himselfwith the epithet: and a vivid memory of his uncle's stock cynicismsturned the knife in the wound. All the prejudices and tenets of hisyouth rushed back upon him now: an avenging host, mocking at hisdiscomfiture; narrowing his judgment; blinding him to the woman's pointof view.
And while he still stood battling with himself in a vain effort toregain his shaken self-control, the bedroom door opened, and his wifecame quickly towards him.
His changed aspect arrested her: and the sight of her facing him thus,with the sunlight in her eyes and on her hair, her young purity ofoutline emphasised by the simplicity of her dress, so stirred hissenses, that, in defiance of pride, the whole heart of him went out toher, claiming her for his own. But it is at just such crises thathabit reveals itself as the hand of steel in a silken glove; and beforeshe could open her lips, Jock Lenox had stretched out a ghostly armfrom his grave in Aberdeen, and shut to the door of his nephew's heart.
Quita glanced hurriedly from the discarded letter to her husband's face.
"My dear, . . . what has gone wrong? You look terrible. Have you hadbad news?"
The irony of the question brought a smile to his lips.
"Yes. I have had bad news. Read it for yourself." And he pushed theletter towards her.
"Why? Who is it from?"
"A friend of mine, in England, who seems to know a good deal more aboutyou than I do."
"What on earth do you mean?" she asked sharply.
"You know well enough what I mean. Read that letter if your memoryneeds refreshing."
Her first instinct was indignant refusal. Then curiosity conquered.Besides, she wanted above all things to gain time: and while she read,her husband watche
d her keenly, with God knows what of forlorn hope athis heart.
But a twisted truth is more formidable than a lie; and intuition warnedQuita that Lenox was in no mood to appreciate the fine shades ofdistinction between the literal facts and Max Richardson's freetranslation of the same. His frankly masculine comments fired hercheeks; and at the sight Lenox could restrain himself no longer.
"By Heaven! You care for that fellow still!" he broke out hotly. "Andyou had the effrontery to take those solemn words on your lips thismorning, with the love of . . . another man in your heart!"
Quita Lenox, whatever her failings, lacked neither spirit nor courage.She threw back her head, and faced his anger bravely.
"How dare you say such things to me? I . . . don't care for him. I--Ihate him!"
"Proof conclusive. Indifference kills hatred. No doubt you wanted toconvince yourself, and him, that you were indifferent; and to that endyou must needs crucify the first man who comes handy. An admirablesample of feminine justice!"
"Eldred, . . . you have no right to speak like that. I won't hear you."
"I have every right; and you shall hear me. It was one thing to knowthat you could not give me all I wanted at the start. One hoped to setthat right, in time. But to accept me because another man's defectionhad piqued your vanity, . . . God knows how you could dare to do it!I see now why you found me unlike an ordinary lover. No doubt thatother fellow--curse him--took full advantage of his privilegedposition: while to me you seemed a thing so sacred that I hardly daredlay a hand on you. I might have known that a man who is fool enough toput a woman on a pedestal, is bound to pay a long price for his folly."
He was lashing himself more mercilessly than he lashed her: and in thetorment of his spirit he did not pause to consider the possible effectof his words on a recklessly impulsive woman.
"Really . . . you are insufferable!" she retorted, her breath comingshort and quick. "I have a little pride also; and you had better stopbefore you push me too far. For I tell you frankly, I don't careenough for you to stand this sort of treatment at your hands."
The counter-stroke stung like a lash. The lines about his mouthhardened, and he straightened himself sharply.
"Pity you were not more frank with me twenty-four hours ago. Then wemight both have been spared this morning's ironical service. However,the thing is done now. . . ."
"Indeed, it's not done!" she flashed out defiantly. "I have no notionof being your wife on sufferance, I assure you. We are only on thethreshold as yet. We need not go a step farther unless we choose. Andafter what you have said to me, . . . I do not choose."
For an instant the man was stunned into silence; then, in a desperateimpulse, took a step towards her.
"Quita, . . . you don't realise what you are saying? Nothing can alterthe fact that we are man and wife, now and always."
She motioned him from her with an imperious gesture.
"Don't touch me, please. I do realise, perfectly, that we are not freeto make any more dangerous experiments. But we are at least free tolive and work independently of one another. Of course I know that youcan compel me to remain with you,"--her colour deepened on thewords.--"But I know also that you have too much chivalry, too muchpride, to force yourself upon me against my wish."
"By God, yes!" he answered from between his teeth. "And . . . what isyour wish, may I ask?"
For the first time she hesitated, and lowered her eyes.
"I believe our wishes are identical," she said.
"No need to trouble about mine. You can put them out of courtaltogether."
His tone spurred her to instant decision.
"My wish is to go back to Zermatt at once, by the funicular; and . . .that we should not see one another again. I will accept nothing fromyou. I can earn my own living, as I have done till now. Thank God,Michael is too blessedly Bohemian to make a fuss, or be horrified atthings. He will simply be overjoyed to get me back."
She turned from him hastily; and he stood, like a man paralysed,watching her go. On the threshold of the bedroom door she looked back.
"Don't think of writing to me, or of trying to patch up areconciliation between us," she said on a softened note. "Mendedthings are never reliable. I can neither forget nor forgive what youhave said to me to-day, and when you have had time to think thingsover, you will probably feel thankful that I had the courage to leaveyou."
The soft closing of the door roused him, and he sprang forward with hername on his lips. Then Pride gripped him; Pride, and the habit ofself-mastery hammered into him by his redoubtable uncle. The fact thatour spirits thus live and work, deathlessly, in the lives and hearts ofthose with whom we have come into contact, is a form of immortality tooseldom recognised by man.
In the silence that followed, Lenox looked blankly round the emptyroom:--the room where they should have spent their first eveningtogether. Then the irony, the finality of it all, overwhelmed him, andhe sank upon the nearest chair. "What have I done? . . . My God, whathave I done?" he breathed aloud. And it is characteristic of the manthat, for all his grinding sense of injury, he blamed himself morebitterly than he blamed his wife.
His eye fell on the letter, which, had it contained a bombshell, couldscarce have wrought more damage in so short a space of time. Tearingit across and across, he flung it into the fire, and derived a gloomysatisfaction from watching it burn. But though paper and ink werereduced to ashes, neither fire nor steel could annihilate the wingedwords, thoughtlessly penned, that had altered the course of two lives.
Footsteps in the bedroom brought Lenox again to his feet.
He flung the door open, expecting--he knew what.
An apathetic hotel porter was removing Quita's trunk: and nothing thathad been said or done in the last half-hour had hurt him so keenly asthis insignificant item:--the touch of commonplace that levels allthings.
With a gesture he indicated his own portmanteau. "Take that also," hesaid, and strode out of the room.
At least he had the right to shield her from comment. To allappearance they must leave the place together! and he settled hisaccount with the smiling manageress, adding simply: "Madame has had badnews."
He took a later train down the hill; deposited his trunk in a hotelbedroom; and spent his wedding-night under the stars; walking,ceaselessly, aimlessly, to deaden the ache at his heart.
Next morning he despatched half a dozen lines to Richardson disowningall knowledge of Miss Maurice's concerns: and three weeks later hesailed from Brindisi without seeing his wife again.
