The Great Amulet

by Maud Diver

  CHAPTER XXI.

  "Here the lost hours the lost hours renew."--Rossetti.

  "It progresses, doesn't it?"

  "It does more than that. It lives. You've transfigured it in these fewdays; and I like your knack of emphasising essentials without jarring theharmony of the whole. You ought to make your mark as a portrait painterin time."

  "I've done so already . . more or less," Quita answered modestly,stepping backward, with tilted head, to get a better view of herachievement. It was the study of Lenox, which, for all her perturbation,she had packed as tenderly as if it were a live thing; and which alonehad made life endurable for the past three days. Her easel had been setup in the dining-room, where she could work without fear of chanceintruders, who gravitated either to the drawing-room or the study: and onthis fourth morning after her arrival, she was standing at it withDesmond, who had looked in for a word with her before starting for theLines. "If you were to go home now," she added, after a pause, "youwould find the name Quita Maurice not quite unknown in artistic circles.But they'll never see this, though it's going to be the best thing I'vedone yet; because . . ."

  "Yes, naturally, . . because . . ."

  "How nice you are!" she said simply. "One needn't dot the i's, and crossall the t's with you. Of course it's very incomplete still. Asuggestive study is the most one can achieve from memory. So you mustn'tjudge it as a portrait,--yet. It's just a daring experiment that noright-minded artist would have attempted. But it's come out better thanI thought possible. And I'm glad you like my work."

  "I do; no question. I'm no critic, though; only a soldier, with a tastefor most kinds of art. It's full of latent vigour; rugged without beingrough, like Lenox himself. A fine bit of weathered rock, eh? I am onlyafraid that after feasting your eyes on this, the original may give yousomething of a shock at first sight."

  "Is he so terribly changed . . in one month?"

  "Well, think what he's been through. Concussion and cholera have knockedsome of the vigour out of him; and he looks years older, for the timebeing. But you mustn't let that upset you. It's not unusual aftercholera; and in a week he'll be looking more like himself again."

  Then the truth dawned on her.

  "Captain Desmond,--are you telling me all this because . . ?"

  "Yes . . again, because . . . !" he answered, smiling.

  "To-day?"

  "As soon as you please."

  She gave a little gasp; then shut her lips tightly.

  "Do you mean . . have you actually told him?" she murmured with avertedeyes.

  "Yes."

  "And did he--is he----?"

  "It's not for me to say." Desmond seemed equal to any amount ofincoherence this morning. "You'll find out for yourself in no time."

  "Oh dear!"

  "Is it as dreadful as all that?"

  "In some ways,--yes. It takes my breath away."

  "Try and get it back before you go in to him," he counselled her kindly."And keep some sort of hold on yourself--for his sake. Don't trouble himabout results, unless he broaches the subject. It we can keep clear ofthe worry element, just getting hold of you again may do him a power ofgood."

  Then,--creature of moods and impulse that she was,--she turned on himspontaneously, both hands outflung.

  "_Mon Dieu_, what a friend you have been to us both! Thank you athousand times, for everything. I know you hate it. But if I kept it inany longer, I should burst!"

  "Just as well you let it out, then," Desmond answered, laughing, andgrasping the proffered hands. "I must be off now. Good luck to you,Quita. You're worthy of him."

  For some minutes after he had gone Quita stood very still, trying to gether breath back, as he had suggested: a less simple affair than itseemed, on the face of it. For although she had taken the plunge, in animpulse of despair, a week ago, she had only grasped the outcome in allits bearings during the past three days, throughout which she had beenacutely aware of Eldred's presence on the farther side of her barred andbolted door. He had told her plainly that, until he felt quite sure ofhimself, he dared not take her back. Yet now, by her own unconsideredact, she was forcing upon him, at the least, a public recognition oftheir marriage; an acknowledgment that might make further separationdifficult, if not impossible, for the present. All her pride andindependence of spirit revolted against this unvarnished statement offact; and the memory of Michael's random remark heightened her nervousapprehension. Yet, on the other hand, Love--who is a bornpeace-maker--argued that, after all, he might not be sorry to have hishand forced by so clear a proof of all that she was ready to do andsuffer on his behalf. An argument strongly reinforced by her originaldetermination to overrule his scruples, and help him in the struggle thatloomed ahead.

  In this fashion Love and Pride tossed decision to and fro, as they havedone in a hundred heart-histories; till common-sense stepped in with thereminder that Eldred was waiting; and that by now retreat was out of thequestion. The thought roused her to a more normal state of confidenceand courage. Putting away palette and brushes, she covered up hercanvas: and because, for all her artistry, she was very much a woman,went straightway--not to her husband's door--but to her own mirror! Thevision that looked out at her was by no means discouraging: a demurevision, in a simple, unconventional gown of green linen, with a Puritancollar, and a wide white ribbon at the waist. A few superfluous touchesto her hair, and equally superfluous tweaks to the bow of her ribbonbelt, wrought some infinitesimal improvement in the picture, which nomere man, hungering for the sight and sound of her, would be the leastlikely to detect. Then half a dozen swift steps brought her to his door:the one that communicated with the dining-room.

  It opened on to a curtain, about which there still clung a faintsuggestion of carbolic.

  "Eldred?" she said softly. And the voice she had last heard through thehiss of rain, and the crash of broken branches, answered: "Come in."

  She pushed aside the curtain, and stood so, paralysed by a nervousnessaltogether new to her.

  He lay on a Madeira lounge-chair, with pillows at his back. Every bonein his face, every line scored by the graving-tools of conflict and pain,showed cruelly distinct in the morning light. At sight of her, he triedto speak; but the muscles of his throat rebelled: and he simply held outhis arms. Then, in one rush, she came to him: and as he laid hands onher, drawing her down on to a spare corner of his chair, she leanedforward and buried her face in the soft flannel of his coat.

  Nothing but silence becomes the great moments of life; and for a longwhile he held her thus, without power or desire of speech. All his man'sstrength melted in him at the faint fragrance of her hair; at theexquisite yielding of her figure, as she lay palpitating against him; atthe yet more exquisite assurance that the love he had gained was a thingbeyond estimation, a thing indestructible as the soul itself. For hervery surrender was quick with the vitality that was her crowning charm.

  And she, feeling the tremor that ran through him as he kissed theblue-veined hollow of her temple,--the only space available--exulted inthe belief that love had triumphed over bloodless scruples once and forall.

  "Quita," he whispered at length, "what possessed you to face thatnightmare of a journey alone?"

  "You possessed me." She made no attempt to lift her head.

  "But, my darling, you ought not to have come. You ought not to be here.You know that."

  "Yes. I know it. Are you . . angry, that I am here?"

  "Angry? My God! It's new life to me. Your voice, just the music of it,gets into my head like wine. Look up, lass. I love your hair, everywisp and thread of it. But I am waiting for something more."

  The appeal was irresistible; and she looked up, accordingly, setting herhands lightly on his shoulders. The change wrought in him by illness andmental struggle pierced her like a physical pang; and her eyes fellbefore the yearning in his, the revelation of chained-up forces, andemotions straining at the leash. Then, still keeping her lids closed,sh
e tilted her head backward, her lips just parted; and again, as on thatnight of enchantment at Kajiar, they were swept beyond the boundaries ofspace and time; beyond the stumbling-blocks, the pitiful limitations ofearth.

  But limitations are as indispensable to life on our bewildering planet asbread and meat. The wine of ecstasy can only be taken in small doses, ata price.

  Quita sat upright at last, on the spare corner of her husband's chair,flushed, smiling, and not a little tremulous. Stumbling-blocks andlimitations loomed again on the horizon. But for the present she wouldhave none of them. Eldred was not angry. He wanted her--supremely:--howsupremely, his lips had just been telling her in language more primitive,more forcible than speech.

  And now he lay merely watching her, still retaining her hands, drinkingin the penetrating charm of her, as a parched traveller drinks at aroadside spring.

  "Well?" he asked presently. "After all that--what next? There's therub."

  "Need we spoil these first heavenly moments together by looking for rocksahead, _mon cher_? Captain Desmond begged me to keep the 'worry element'at arm's-length."

  "Dear old Desmond! He's made of gold. But now that you are here, you'vegot to be explained. And there's only one way to explain you--Mrs Lenox!"

  Her face quivered.

  "Eldred, I won't be explained . . that way, unless . . you really wishit. Only Mrs Olliver and Major Wyndham know about me: and now I've seenyou, and feel sure there's no more danger, I can easily go back toDalhousie and stay there, till you . . till you're more ready for me."

  "Can you though?" He pressed her hands. "And do you believe I amcapable of packing you off to-morrow?"

  "I don't know. I think you'd prefer not to. But I believe you arecapable of doing anything, once you're convinced it's right."

  "Dearest, indeed I'm not." He spoke with sudden vehemence. "If I were,we might be clear of this unholy tangle by now. But since you'vehonoured me by plunging into hell fire on my account, I can't let you goagain . . . yet."

  The last word fell like a drop of cold water on the hope that glowed ather heart. But she chose to ignore it.

  "Well then?"

  He raised one hand, and laid it lightly on her breast, feeling for hiddentreasure. Then his fingers closed on the two rings; and he smiled.

  "Since you seem to have forgiven the ill-tempered chap who gave youthose, you might do worse than have 'em out, and wear them--by way ofexplanation!"

  Her own hand went up to them, instinctively, and closed over his.

  "I'll take them out now, at once, if you'll promise to put the weddingone on, yourself, with the proper words."

  "What? Not the whole blessed service?"

  At the note of dismay in his voice her laughter rang out, clear andnatural; a silver sound, that pierced him with its poignant sweetness.

  "Darling idiot! Of course not. I only meant the 'ring' words for luck.Though if I could have my own way, I'd like the whole thing over again,to make it feel more real. All that seems to have happened to a not veryadmirable girl I once knew, in another life."

  "Does it indeed?" he asked, smiling upon her in great contentment. "Irather admired that girl myself! But believe me, Quita, it's all realenough to satisfy us both. 'There's no discharge in that war.' And youdon't get a human man to go through the ordeal of that service exceptunder severe stress of circumstance! If I couldn't recapture you anyother way, I'd do it . . with alacrity. Not unless."

  "But who will do the explaining to the station at large?"

  "Desmond and his wife will gladly do that much for us." He was about toadd that his chief friend knew already: but decided that it would behardly fair on Dick to 'give him away.'

  "And where did it all happen?" she demanded, dimpling with enjoyment."In Dalhousie?"

  "I imagine so."

  "You mustn't imagine. We must have all the details clear, so as to lieconsistently!"

  "Well then, to account for our abruptness, we'll decide that I lost myheart to you at home, some time ago; and rediscovered you by chance inDalhousie."

  She laughed again, from pure exuberance of happiness.

  "That's capital! I'll explain it all to Mrs Desmond; and she shall dothe rest."

  While they talked, she had succeeded in extricating her rings; and nowshe dropped them into his open palm:--the gold band of Destiny, and thehoop of sapphires and diamonds that he had chosen with such elaboratecare, and presented to her with such awkward, palpitating shyness nearlysix years ago.

  "Put them on, please," she said softly, thrusting out her wedding finger."'For better for worse; for richer for poorer; in sickness and in health;till death us do part.'"

  On the last words she lifted her head. He caught the gleam of tears onher lashes, and slipped the ring on to her finger; uttering the tripleasseveration with a suppressed fervour rarely to be heard at the altarrails. Then the second hoop was added; and, still keeping possession ofthe fettered hand, he sat silent a moment, looking down at hisachievement with an absurd sense of satisfaction. Quita was looking atit also, wondering if he could hear the hammering of her heart.

  "Now we are really married," she murmured as simply as a child.

  "Weren't we before?" he asked, on a note of amusement.

  "I suppose so. It didn't feel like it."

  "And does it feel more like it now?"

  "Not much, yet. But it will, in time."

  "Yes. In _time_."

  The pause, and the emphasis smote her. But again she ignored the cloudno bigger than a man's hand; defying its power to veil her sunlight.

  "The proper thing after a wedding is . . to kiss your wife," she remarkeddemurely, without looking up.

  "Is it? I don't remember doing so last time."

  "You never did; and it's bad luck not to. That's why everything wentwrong! You were too shy; and . . your first wife didn't much like thatsort of thing."

  "My second wife will have to put up with it, whether she likes it ornot!" he answered, drawing her towards him by dear and delicious degrees."We won't play fast and loose with our luck this time."

  An abrupt knock at the door startled her out of his arms; and the curtainwas pushed aside by Desmond:--a strangely transfigured Desmond, with setjaw, and desperate eyes.

  "My dear man . ." Lenox began. But an intuition of catastrophe past theshow of speech made him break off short.

  Then Desmond spoke, in a voice thick and unlike his own.

  "Sorry to spoil things by interrupting you in this way. But one had totell you. It's Honor . . ."

  He could get no further: but his eyes were terribly eloquent; and thesilence held them all as in a vice. The awakening woman in Quita gaveher courage to break it.

  "May I go to her?" she pleaded. "And help her . . if one can?"

  Though the plea was addressed to Desmond, she glanced first at Lenox, andread approval in his eyes.

  But Desmond shook his head.

  "That's my business," he answered quietly. He had mastered his voice bynow. "I want you to take over charge here. It's a sharp attack. Ishan't leave her again, till . . . it's over."

  And before either of them knew how to answer him, the curtain had fallenheavily behind him.

  Overwhelming tragedy, striking across their golden hour like a nakedsword, wrenched them out of themselves.

  Without a word Quita knelt down beside her husband, bowing her foreheadon the back of his hand. Women of her temperament are little given tothe habit of prayer: and her rare communings with the Hidden Soul ofThings more often took the form of wordless aspiration, than of directpetition or praise. But now her uplifted soul went out in a passionateappeal to the Great Giver, and the great Taker Away, for the life of thewoman whom she had hated so heartily less than three months ago.

  And Lenox lay looking straight before him, stroking her hair soothinglyfrom time to time.

  "Desmond is a strong man, a very strong man," he said, as if speaking tohimself. "But there's a flaw i
n his armour just above the heart; and Ibelieve that if any real harm comes to that wife of his, he'll go topieces, like a wheel with the centre knocked out."