by Maud Diver
CHAPTER XXIII.
"They are one and one, with a shadowy third; One near one is too far." --Browning.
Quita was troubled.
A full week had elapsed since that day so strangely compounded ofrapture and dread; of matter-of-fact service, and shy, tenderintimacies that had seemed to set a seal on the completeness of theirreunion. Yet, in the days that followed, she had been increasinglyaware of a nameless something, an indefinable constraint between them,which instinct told her would not have been there if conscience hadsurrendered all along the line.
It was not his mere avoidance, after the first, of caresses congenialto the opening phase of marriage that disconcerted her. Such emotionalreticence squared with her idea of the man. She would not have had himotherwise. They were sure of one another; and in both natures passionwas proud and fastidious. It could thrive without much lip-service.The undefined aloofness that troubled Quita was spiritual, rather thanphysical. She was conscious of walls within walls, separating her fromhis essential self; and behind these again of an unobtrusive reserveforce, whose power of endurance she could not estimate; because herdealings with Michael's shallower nature had afforded her no experienceof a moral stability free from the warp of the personal equation. Itwas as if some intangible part of him, over which she could establishno hold, stood persistently afar off,--tormented, but immovable.
She could not know that the form of opium administered during hisillness had revived and strengthened temptation when he himself wasphysically unfit to cope with it; that by her impulsive return to him,at a critical moment, she was forcing him open-eyed toward acatastrophe more lasting, more terrible for them both, than the initialharm done by her rejection of him five years ago. Reserve andself-disgust made speech on the subject seem a thing impossible; whilehis mere man's chivalry shrank from allowing her to guess that by anact of seeming reparation, she had run grave risk of putting realreparation out of her power. Once only did the love that consumed himbreak through the restraint he put upon himself in sheer self-defence.
It was the first day he had been allowed up at a normal hour; andcoming into the dining-room, he had found her alone at her easel, nearone of the long glass doors. At the sound of his step she turned hercanvas round swiftly, and came to him with a glad lift of her head. Hetook her hands in his big grasp, and kissed her forehead.
"Good morning, lass," he said. "You never told me you had brought thatwith you. Couldn't be divorced from it, eh? What's the great worknow? May I see?"
"But yes, naturally. I've been keeping it as a surprise for you. Idon't believe I should ever have got through this last fortnightwithout it. _Voila_!"
She set it facing him, and standing so with her eyes on the picture,waited eagerly for his word of praise. But as the seconds passed, andit did not come, she turned, to find him looking at her, not at thepicture; his teeth tormenting his lower lip; a suspicious film dimmingthe clear blue of his eyes. Emboldened by this last incrediblephenomenon, she came and stood close to him, yet without touching him.
"Darling, you do like it, don't you? I can't complete it till you giveme a few sittings; but then--it will be my masterpiece. I shall nevershow it, at home, though. It's too much a part of myself . . . my veryinmost self."
And he could not withhold the demonstration that such a confessionprovoked.
"Oh, my dear," he said at last, without releasing her. "You made toolittle of me once; and now you're making too much. I'm not worth itall."
She put a hand on his lips.
"Be quiet! I won't hear you when you talk so. Look properly at mypicture now. You haven't told me it's good."
"Of course it's good. Amazingly good. But . . ." he laughed, a shortcontented laugh--"it's beyond me how you could be misguided enough towaste your remarkable talent in perpetuating anything so ugly!"
Her smile hinted at superior knowledge; yet she paid his obvioussincerity the compliment of not contradicting his final statement.
"In the first place, because I love it. And in the second place,because, for all true artists, who see in form and colour just a soul'sattempts at self-expression, there is more essential beauty in certainkinds . . . of ugliness, than in the most faultless symmetry of linesand curves. One is almost tempted to say that there is no such thingas actual ugliness; that it is all a matter of understanding, of seeingdeep enough. For instance, I find that essential beauty I spoke of inMrs Olliver's face."
"Ah . . . so do I; of a rare quality."
"Well then, dear stupid, allow me to find it in yours also!"
"One to you," he admitted, smiling. "But now . . . I am in your handstill tiffin. What are you going to do with me? Read? Sing? Thedrawing-room's empty; and I haven't heard you since Kajiar."
"Do you want the Swinburne again?"
"No; by no means."
"Why not? Don't you like the song?"
"I like it far too well; and I'm not strong enough yet to stand abrutal assault upon my feelings! Come along, and give me somethingwholesome and simple. A convalescent needs milk diet mentally as wellas physically, you know!"
This was on one of his best days. But there were others,--followingupon nights of sleeplessness, and pain, and heart-searchingunspeakable, only to be alleviated by the one unfailing remedy,--whenthe strain of repression demanded by her constant presence so wroughtupon his nerves that he would get up and leave her abruptly withoutexcuse; or shut himself into his room on the empty pretext of revisingmanuscript. As a matter of fact, he spent most of the time girding atthe deliberate waste of good hours; till the consciousness of slippingdeeper into the mire and the dread of ultimate defeat became almost anobsession, aggravated by ill-health and want of rest.
Quita, who remembered well his inexhaustible capacity for keepingstill, was distressed and puzzled by these moods of restlessnessverging on irritability, whose true significance she could not guessat; though she was woman enough to know that a position merelyunsatisfactory for her, must be an actual strain on him. And as hisstrength returned, she could only hope from day to day for someallusion to the possibility of moving into their own bungalow; since itwas clear that they could not remain with the Desmonds for ever! Prideand delicacy alike withheld her from the lightest mention of thesubject. It seemed to her that she had transgressed sufficiently inboth respects already. Yet, as the days accumulated to a week, andstill he said no word, she grew definitely anxious to know what wasgoing to happen next.
But, with all its drawbacks and difficulties, this week of intimateeveryday companionship had been one of the best weeks in her life. Ithad served, above all things, to establish her conviction that thehusband she had chosen, by a lightning instinct of the brain ratherthan the heart, was in all respects a man among men. He appealed tothe artist in her by a natural dignity and distinction of person andcharacter, by a suggestion of volcanic forces warring with the asceticstrain in him yet steadfastly controlled; and above all, by a superbsimplicity and unconsciousness of self, that draws introspectivetemperaments as infallibly as the moon draws the sea.
And apart from her joy in him, she was keenly alive to hersurroundings; to the practical work going on about her; to thestimulating contact with a new type, a new atmosphere. At first shesaw little of outsiders, or indeed of any one besides her husband.John Meredith came over every day; Wyndham, though still living in thehouse, had gone back to duty; while Desmond--after one day of completecollapse, when Frank revenged herself on him by monopolising Honor--hadtaken up his work again with heightened zest, and devoted every sparehour to his wife. But the four met at meals, and in the evening, whenQuita kept all three men alert and amused by her intelligentquestionings, her frank interest in every detail of her new profession,as it pleased her to call it.
Before the week was out her pocket note-book contained a smallportrait-gallery of studies in pencil and water-colour. She sketchedDesmond's old Sikh Ressaldar, with his finely carved features, deepeyes, and vast lop-sided b
lue and gold turban; and Desmond himself inthe white uniform and long boots, which so greatly pleased her,occupied several pages.
Mounted on Shaitan's successor, she rode down with him twice to earlyparade; and sat entranced through the whole proceeding; watching thelong lines of men and horses sweeping across the open plain, wheeling,retiring, advancing, changing formation with exquisite andinstantaneous precision, in response to Meredith's brisk words ofcommand; while massed lance-heads and steel shoulder-chains flashed andwinked in the level light.
It was her first experience of meeting soldiers in the mass, on theirown ground, and the man who has faced death and dealt it out to othersappeals irresistibly to the fundamental barbaric in women. To thisfascination, Quita added the artist's reverence for the men who 'dothings,' as opposed to the men who record or express them.
She enlarged on the subject at breakfast one morning, in her usualdirect fashion; but Desmond would have none of it.
"Remember, Quita," said he, "that an artist, in the inclusive sense,when he is worth anything, stands for the strongest thing in the world. . . an idea."
Her face brightened with interest.
"That's true. But unhappily great art doesn't necessarily imply greatcharacter, and great action does. That's why the world's heroes havenearly always been men of action; and always will be."
"Ah, now you've given yourself away neatly!" Desmond cried, like agreat schoolboy. "Where would your heroes be a hundred years aftertheir death, but for the men who immortalise them on canvas, and inprint? Would the effect of their noble living be one-half asfar-reaching, if it remained unrecorded? It's no case for comparison,any more than the eternal man and woman question. They are diverse;and the world has equal need of both. So there's consolation for usall!"
"Well played, Desmond!" Lenox remarked, smiling and nodding across thetable at his wife.
"I surrender at discretion," she admitted sweetly. "But still, beingan artist, I take off my hat to men of action, and always shall."
"Good luck for the men of action!" Desmond retorted, with an amusedglance at Lenox, as they rose from the table.
By now cholera and fever were dying out slowly, like spent fires. TheInfantry had come in from camp; and the Battery was expected backshortly, only two fresh cases having occurred. Then, as Honor began tomend, people dropped in again at tea-time, eager for news of her; andQuita discovered how widely and deeply she was beloved. Little MrsPeters disappeared behind a very crumpled handkerchief while trying toexpress her feelings; and the Chicken blew his nose vigorously whenQuita announced that Honor would soon be allowed into the drawing-roomfor tea.
She was getting used to her new name now. Officers of all ranks cameto call on her as a 'bride'; an embarrassing attention which she wouldgladly have dispensed with in the circumstances, since Eldred baselydeserted her on each occasion; and she was introduced to Norton, whoinspected her critically and flagrantly, as a possible stumbling-blockto a promising career. Altogether, she was beginning to see India in anew perspective. Hitherto, in her aimless wanderings with Michael, shehad merely looked on at its vast and varied panorama of life; hadstudied it with the detached interest of the outsider. Now she feltherself absorbed into the brotherhood of those who worked and sufferedfor the great country of her husband's service; who were as flies onthe wheels of its complex mechanism; and who heartily loved or hatedit, as the case might be.
At last, after a week of devoted nursing, Honor was allowed to make herfirst appearance in the drawing-room; and Desmond invited a 'selectfew' to tea for the occasion. Wyndham stood alone on the hearth-rugwhen she entered, her husband supporting her with his arm. She wasvisibly thinner; and her face was almost as colourless as the sweepingfolds of her tea-gown. Otherwise her beauty had reasserted itselftriumphantly; and Wyndham caught his breath as he came towards her.
She gave him both her hands; and he held them closely for a longmoment. Then, obeying a rare and imperative impulse, he bent down andtouched them with his lips. A faint colour tinged Honor's cheeks."Dear Paul," she said under her breath: and Desmond, leading her to thesofa, established her in a nest of cushions, with a light covering forher feet, just as Quita and Lenox came in, closely followed by MaxRichardson in uniform.
He had come in from camp not an hour ago; and had ridden over withoutchanging, in his zeal to shake hands with Lenox and his wife. Theformer had endured his congratulations and delight at the news with thebest grace he could muster; and had avoided a word with him alone. Nowhe drew up a chair and sat down by Honor: while Quita, pricked to apassing jealousy by his instant gravitation to her, moved off with MaxRichardson, talking and laughing as if she had known him for years. Itwas not her habit to waste time in preliminaries.
"They'll get on splendidly, those two," Honor said, smiling as shewatched them.
"I'll be glad if they do," Lenox answered without enthusiasm; and hereyes scanned his face.
"You aren't getting on splendidly, though. You look worn to a shadow.I'm afraid it's been difficult."
"Hideously difficult."
"And you ought both to be so happy, now of all times . . ."
"Yes. That's the exquisitely refined torment of it."
"You haven't been sleeping?"
"No . . . nothing to speak of. But don't give yourself a headache onmy account, dear lady. Desmond would never forgive me! I'm a toughcustomer. I shall pull through somehow."
"If you could only bring yourself to talk it over with Theo," she urgedin a lower tone, as he came towards them with Mrs Peters, who flungshyness to the winds, and fairly took Honor's breath away by kissingher on both cheeks.
Desmond's 'select few' amounted to less than a dozen. Honor's sofa wasthe centre of attraction; and her sympathetic spirit thrilled inresponse to the friendliness that glowed, like a jewel, at the heart ofeveryday talk and laughter. For the past fortnight of pain and stressseemed to have drawn them all indefinably closer to one another: whichis the true mission of pain and stress in this very human world.
Later in the evening there were light sports on the Cavalryparade-ground, which Meredith, Desmond, and Olliver were bound toattend; Wyndham and half a dozen others remaining behind.
Courtenay, on his way to the door, remarked to Lenox that a shortouting would do him no harm; and Quita, who chanced to be standing athis elbow, pressed lightly against him.
"Drive me down, dear," she said softly. "I should love it." And sincehe had avoided her for the greater part of the morning, he could notwell refuse.
"I like your 'Dick,' Eldred," she informed him, as they bowled alongthe wide straight road. "He is _bon garcon_, through and through. Notbrilliant, perhaps: but quick, appreciative, and he can talk."
"Yes: Dick's a real good sort. Glad you approve of him. And as fortalking . . . _you_ could draw conversation out of a stone wall!"
"I don't always succeed with the one I am leaning against just now!"
"Well, I'll swear it's not your fault if you fail," he answered,smiling down upon her with such unfathomable sadness in his eyes, thatshe cried out involuntarily, between vexation and despair--
"Oh, _mon Dieu_, is it always going to be like this between us? Isthere nothing I can do to make you happy again?"
"Nothing just at present, worse luck," he said grimly, looking straightahead: for in the face of such an appeal he could hardly confess hisdesperate need to be left alone. "It's a question of time, as I toldyou, and my own strength of will. But if the situation becomes toointolerable for you, there is always the last resort of oversteppingthe limit, and setting you free for good."
Quita could not know how cruelly ill he had slept since her coming, norhow little a man tortured by insomnia can be held responsible for hisutterances; and the significance of his last words so startled her thatshe clutched his arm.
"Eldred . . . Eldred, promise me you'll never even think of such athing . . . never!"
He winced under her touch. "Quita, remember where we are,"
he saidsharply; and she dropped her hand.
"But all the same, promise me . . what I asked; or I shall never havean easy moment."
"It might come to seem the kindest thing one could do for you," hepersisted, still without looking at her. But fear gave her courage tostrike deep while the chance of speech was hers.
"It would never be anything less than an act of cruelty and cowardice.Remember that. I am ready to put up with everything . . . everythingrather than lose you, now."
"If that's the truth, lass," he said with sudden gentleness, "you mayset your mind at rest. I promise."
"Thank you, _mon cher_."
Then they fell silent till the parade-ground came in sight.
This, their first appearance together in public, was something of anordeal to both; and at the last minute Quita's courage evaporated.
"Eldred . . . stop, please," she said suddenly. "I'm shy of them all;and I don't want to talk to them just now."
"Thank the Lord for that!" he answered so fervently, that they bothlaughed aloud; and there is nothing like laughter for clearing the air.
"Take me for a drive," she suggested. "Show me your bungalow . . . ourbungalow, will you?"
He hesitated. It seemed he was only to exchange one ordeal foranother. "It's a ramshackle, comfortless place, Quita," he objected."Wouldn't it be better to wait till . . till I can have it decentlyfitted up for you? Or you might like to pick another one."
"But no. I want that one; and I want to see it first just as you livedin it, please."
"Very well. If you wish it."
An officious chowkidar opened doors for them with a great clatter ofbolts, and an elaborate air of being very much on the spot; and theystepped straight from the verandah into the one room Lenox hadfurnished besides the bedroom. It looked desolate, and smeltuninhabited; but Quita inspected the horns, the rugs, the sketches,even the handful of books left on the writing-table, with eagerinterest; and Eldred, stationed on the hearth-rug, answered her runningfire of questions a little vaguely, because he was listening moreintently to her voice than to what it said!
Suddenly his thoughts were checked by a vivid sense of having livedthrough this identical scene before; of standing near a fireplacewatching her light-hearted explorations. But where? When? Then, likea dash of cold water, came enlightenment. It was at the Kiffel AlpHotel, on the day of their wedding; and the bitterness of the lostyears between, with their final heritage of evil, flowed over him likethe sluggish waters of a dead sea.
Quita was hesitating on the threshold of the bedroom now; and an insaneconviction came upon him that if she went in there he would lose heragain, as on that earlier day. It was all sheer brain-sickness, andlack of sleep, but at the moment it was horribly real.
"May one look at the other rooms too?" she asked. "I want to see whichwould do best for my studio!"
"Look into every hole and corner, if it amuses you, dearest," heanswered; but made no attempt to accompany her.
When at last she reappeared, the nightmare feeling took him afresh. Hefelt certain she would come straight up to him, and lay hold of thelapels of his coat. And this she actually did; lifting a glowing faceto his.
"Eldred," she began, exactly as before . . . and it was more than hecould stand. The oppression of her nearness set the blood rushing inhis ears; and taking her hands from their resting-place he put her fromhim, almost an arm's-length, as though the better to look into her eyes.
"Well?" he asked, with an attempt at lightness that rang false. "Isyour Highness quite satisfied with it all?"
But she was not to be deceived. Her cheeks flamed; and she almostsnatched away her hands.
"Yes. I am quite satisfied," she said, in a changed voice. "And Ithink it's high time we went back."
Then she left him, a shade too rapidly for dignity, and sprang into thecart, before he could get near enough to help her up.
"Quita . . . why did you do that? What's wrong?" he asked, lamelyenough as he gathered up the reins.
"Need you add insult to injury by asking that?" she flashed out, angrytears pricking her eyeballs. "I'm wrong. You're wrong. Everything'swrong. I ought never to have come here . . . before I was wanted."
He made no comment on that. It was not a question to be discussed inthe open road, with a _sais_ jogging on the tail-board behind; and nomore was said till they reached home.
Then, as Eldred pressed the reins under the clip, he said in a quiettone of command: "Stay where you are, please, till I can get round."And for all the rebellion in her blood, she obeyed.
He lifted her out bodily, and drew her into the hall. It was empty andalmost dark: and before she guessed his intent, his lips had touchedhers lightly, with a quick sigh that told of passion held in check.But she broke away from him, unappeased, and shut herself into her room.
She was relieved to find that a sprinkling of the tea party--theOllivers, Norton, and Richardson--had stayed to dinner. Olliver washer partner; and evinced his appreciation of the fact by chaffing herlaboriously throughout the meal; the one form of conversation shefrankly detested.
But Richardson sat on her right, and, in Olliver's phraseology, "madethe running with her all the time." For good, single-hearted Maxfrankly admired her. His conscience pricked him more acutely than ithad yet done at thought of his own responsibility for the wasted years;and he longed for a chance to say as much to his friend. But Lenox wasnot in a mood to talk about his wife; and Richardson got no word inprivate with him throughout the evening.
Frank Olliver left early; and as Desmond half-lifted his wife from thesofa, Quita came up and said good-night also. She had been watchingthese two with reawakened interest throughout the afternoon andevening, and wondering whether she and Eldred could ever arrive at suchperfect community of heart and mind.
In passing her husband, she laid butterfly finger-tips upon hiscoat-sleeve. "Good-night, _mon ami_," she said, just framing the wordswith her lips: and before he could get a square look at her, she wasgone.
When the three men were left alone, Wyndham drank his 'peg' standing,and departed; but Desmond took Lenox by the arm.
"Come into the dufta[1] for half an hour," he said. "I've hardlyspoken to you since Monday; and I think we have a thing or two to talkover."
Lenox submitted with a smile of resigned amusement, and the study doorclosed behind them.
[1] Study.
