XXVIII
MEDEA'S LITTLE HOUR
When Coira O'Hara came to herself from the moment's swoon into which shehad fallen, she rose to her knees and stared wildly about her. Sheseemed to be alone in the place, and her first thought was to wonder howlong she had lain there. Captain Stewart had disappeared. She rememberedher struggle with him to prevent him from firing at Ste. Marie, and sheremembered her desperate agony when she realized that she could not holdhim much longer. She remembered the accidental discharge of the revolverinto the air; she remembered being thrown violently to the ground--andthat was all.
Where was her father, and where was Ste. Marie? The first questionanswered itself, for as she turned her eyes toward the west she sawO'Hara's tall, ungainly figure disappearing in the direction of thehouse. She called his name twice, but it may be that the man did nothear, for he went on without pausing and was lost to sight.
The girl became aware of something which lay on the ground near her,half in and half out of the patch of silver moonlight. For some momentsshe stared at it uncomprehending. Then she gave a sharp scream andstruggled to her feet. She ran to the thing which lay there motionlessand fell upon her knees beside it. It was Ste. Marie, his face upturnedto the sky, one side of his head black and damp. Stewart had not shothim, but that crashing blow with the clubbed revolver had struck himfull and fair, and he was very still.
For an instant the girl's strength went out of her, and she dropped laxacross the body, her face upon Ste. Marie's breast. But after that shetore open coat and waistcoat and felt for a heart-beat. It seemed to herthat she found life, and she began to believe that the man had only beenstunned.
Once more she rose to her feet and looked about her. There was no one tolend her aid. She bent over the unconscious man and slipped her armsabout him. Though Ste. Marie was tall, he was slightly built, by nomeans heavy, and the girl was very strong. She found that she couldcarry him a little way, dragging his feet after her. When she could gono farther she laid him down and crouched over him, waiting until herstrength should return. And this she did for a score of times; but eachtime the distance she went was shorter and her breathing came withdeeper gasps and the trembling in her limbs grew more terrible. At thelast she moved in a sort of fever, an evil dream of tortured body andreeling brain. But she had got Ste. Marie up through the park to theterrace and into the house, and with a last desperate effort she hadlaid him upon a couch in a certain little room which opened from thelower hall. Then she fell down before him and lay still for a long time.
When she came to herself again the man was stirring feebly and mutteringto himself under his breath. With slow and painful steps she got acrossthe room and pulled the bell-cord. She remained there ringing until theold Justine, blinking and half-dressed, appeared with a candle in thedoorway. Coira told the woman to make lights, and then to bring waterand a certain little bottle of aromatic salts which was in her roomup-stairs. The old Justine exclaimed and cried out, but the girl flew ather in a white fury, and she tottered away as fast as old legs couldmove once she had set alight the row of candles on the mantelshelf. ThenCoira O'Hara went back to the man who lay outstretched on the low couch,and knelt beside him, looking into his face. The man stirred, and movedhis head slowly. Half-articulate words came from his lips, and she madeout that he was saying her name in a dull monotone--only her name, overand over again. She gave a little cry of grief and gladness, and hid herface against him as she had done once before, out in the night.
The old woman returned with a jug of water, towels, and the bottle ofaromatic salts. The two of them washed that stain from Ste. Marie'shead, and found that he had received a severe bruise and that the fleshhad been cut before and above the ear.
"Thank God," the girl said, "it is only a flesh wound! If it were afracture he would be breathing in that horrible, loud way they alwaysdo. He's breathing naturally. He has only been stunned. You may go now,"she said. "Only bring a glass and some drinking-water--cold."
So the old woman went away to do her errand, returned, and went awayagain, and the two were left together. Coira held the salts-bottle toSte. Marie's nostrils, and he gasped and sneezed and tried to turn hishead away from it, but it brought him to his senses--and doubtless to agood deal of pain. Once when he could not escape the thing he broke intoa fit of weak cursing, and the girl laughed over him tenderly and lethim be.
Very slowly Ste. Marie opened his eyes, and in the soft half-light thegirl's face was bent above him, dark and sweet and beautiful--near, sonear that her breath was warm upon his lips. He said her name again inan incredulous whisper:
"Coira! Coira!"
And she said, "I am here."
But the man was in a strange border-land of half-consciousness and hisears were deaf. He said, gazing up at her:
"Is it--another dream?"
And he tried to raise one hand from where it lay beside him, but thehand wavered and fell aslant across his body. It had not the strengthyet to obey him. He said, still in his weak whisper:
"Oh, beautiful--and sweet--and true!"
The girl gave a little sob and hid her face.
"A goddess!" he whispered. "'A queen among goddesses!' That's--what thelittle Jew said. 'A queen among goddesses. The young Juno before--'" Hestirred restlessly where he lay, and he complained: "My head hurts!What's the matter with my head? It hurts!"
She dipped one of the towels in the basin of cold water and held it tothe man's brow. The chill of it must have been grateful, for his eyesclosed and he breathed a little satisfied "Ah!"
"It mustn't hurt to-night," said he. "To-night at two--by the littledoor in the garden wall. And he's coming with us. The young fool iscoming with us.... So she and I go out of each other's lives.... Coira!"he cried, with a sudden sharpness. "Coira, I won't have it! Am I goingto lose you ... like this? Am I going to lose you, after all ... nowthat we know?"
He put up his hand once more, a weak and uncertain hand. It touched thegirl's warm cheek and a sudden violent shiver wrung the man on thecouch. His eyes sharpened and stared with something like fear.
"_Real!_" he cried, whispering. "Real? ... Not a dream?"
"Oh, very real, my Bayard!" said she. A thought came to her, and shedrew away from the couch and sat back upon her heels, looking at the manwith grave and sombre eyes. In that moment she fought within herself abattle of right and wrong. "He doesn't remember," she said. "He doesn'tknow. He is like a little child. He knows nothing but that we two--arehere together. Nothing else. Nothing!"
His state was plain to see. He dwelt still in that vague border-landbetween worlds. He had brought with him no memories, and no memoriesfollowed him save those her face had wakened. Within the girl a greatand tender passion of love fought for possession of this little hour.
"It will be all I shall ever have!" she cried, piteously. "And it cannotharm him. He won't remember it when he comes to his senses. He'll sleepagain and--forget. He'll go back to _her_ and never know. And I shallnever even see him again. Why can't I have my little sweet hour?"
Once more the man cried her name, and she knelt forward and bent abovehim. "Oh, at last, Coira!" said he. "After so long! ... And I thought itwas another dream!"
"Do you dream of me, Bayard?" she asked.
And he said: "From the very first. From that evening in theChamps-Elysees. Your eyes, they've haunted me from the very first. Therewas a dream of you," he said, "that I had so often--but I cannot quiteremember, because my head hurts. What is the matter with my head? Iwas--going somewhere. It was so very important that I should go, but Ihave forgotten where it was and why I had to go there. I remember onlythat you called to me--called me back--and I saw your eyes--and Icouldn't go. You needed me."
"Ah, sorely, Bayard! Sorely!" cried the girl above him.
"And now," said he, whispering.
"Now?" she said.
"Coira, I love you," said the man on the couch.
And Coira O'Hara gave a single dry sob.
She said: "Oh, my d
ear love! Now I wish that I might die after hearingyou say that. My life, Bayard, is full now. It's full of joy andgratefulness and everything that is sweet. I wish I might die beforeother things come to spoil it."
Ste. Marie--or that part of him which lay at La Lierre--laughed with afine scorn, albeit very weakly. "Why not live instead?" said he. "Andwhat can come to spoil our life for us? _Our life!_" he said again, in awhisper. A flash of remembrance seemed to come to him, for he smiled andsaid, "Coira, we'll go to Vavau."
"Anywhere!" said she. "Anywhere!"
"So that we go together."
"Yes," she said, gently, "so that we two go together." She tried with adesperate fierceness to make herself like the man before her, to putaway, by sheer power of will, all memory, the knowledge of everythingsave what was in this little room, but it was the vainest of all vainefforts. She saw herself for a thief and a cheat--stealing, for love'ssake, the mere body of the man she loved while mind and soul wereabsent. In her agony she almost cried out aloud as the words saidthemselves within her. And she denied them. She said: "His mind may beabsent, but his soul is here. He loves me. It is I, not that other. CanI not have my poor little hour of pretence? A little hour out of all alifetime! Shall I have nothing at all?"
But the voice which had accused her said, "If he knew, would he say heloves you?" And she hid her face, for she knew that he would not--evenif it were true.
"Coira!" whispered the man on the couch, and she raised her head. In thehalf darkness he could not have seen how she was suffering. Her face wasonly a warm blur to him, vague and sweet and beautiful, with tendereyes. He said: "I think--I'm falling asleep. My head is so very, veryqueer! What is the matter with my head? Coira, do you think I might bekissed before I go to sleep?"
She gave a little cry of intolerable anguish. It seemed to her that shewas being tortured beyond all reason or endurance. She felt suddenlyvery weak, and she was afraid that she was going to faint away. She laidher face down upon the couch where Ste. Marie's head lay. Her cheek wasagainst his and her hair across his eyes.
The man gave a contented sigh and fell asleep.
Later, she rose stiffly and wearily to her feet. She stood for a littlewhile looking down upon him. It was as if she looked upon the dead bodyof a lover. She seemed to say a still and white and tearless farewell tohim. Her little hour was done, and it had been, instead of joy,bitterness unspeakable: ashes in the mouth. Then she went out of theroom and closed the door.
In the hall outside she stood a moment considering, and finally mountedthe stairs and went to her father's door. She knocked and thought sheheard a slight stirring inside, but there was no answer. She knockedtwice again and called out her father's name, saying that she wished tospeak to him, but still he made no reply, and after waiting a littlelonger she turned away. She went down-stairs again and out upon theterrace. The terrace and the lawn before it were still checkered withsilver and deep black, but the moon was an hour lower in the west. Alittle cool breeze had sprung up, and it was sweet and grateful to her.She sat down upon one of the stone benches and leaned her head backagainst the trunk of a tree which stood beside it and she remained therefor a long time, still and relaxed, in a sort of bodily and mentallanguor--an exhaustion of flesh and spirit.
There came shambling footsteps upon the turf, and the old Micheladvanced into the moonlight from the gloom of the trees, emittingmechanical and not very realistic groans. He had been hard put to it tofind any one before whom he could pour out his tale of heroism andsuffering. Coira O'Hara looked upon him coldly, and the gnome groanedwith renewed and somewhat frightened energy.
"What is the matter with you?" she asked. "Why are you about at thishour?"
The old Michel told his piteous tale with tears and passion, protestingthat he had succumbed only before the combined attack of twenty armedmen, and exhibiting his wounds. But the girl gave a brief and mirthlesslaugh.
"You were bribed to tell that, I suppose," said she. "By M. Ste. Marie?Yes, probably. Well, tell it to my father to-morrow! You'd better go tobed now."
The old man stared at her with open mouth for a breathless moment, andthen shambled hastily away, looking over his shoulder at intervals untilhe was out of sight.
But after that the girl still remained in her place from sheer wearinessand lack of impulse to move. She fell to wondering about Captain Stewartand what had become of him, but she did not greatly care. She had afeeling that her world had come to its end, and she was quiteindifferent about those who still peopled its ashes--or about all ofthem save her father.
She heard the distant sound of a motor-car, and at that sat up quickly,for it might be Ste. Marie's friend, Mr. Hartley, returning from Paris.The sound came nearer and ceased, but she waited for ten minutes beforerapid steps approached from the east wall and Hartley was before her.
He cried at once: "Where's Ste. Marie? Where is he? He hasn't tried towalk into the city?"
"He is asleep in the house," said the girl. "He was struck on the headand stunned. I got him into the house, and he is asleep now. Of course,"she said, "we could wake him, but it would probably be better to let himsleep as long as he will if it is possible. It will save him a greatdeal of pain, I think. He'll have a frightful headache if he's wakenednow. Could you come for him or send for him to-morrow--toward noon?"
"Why--yes, I suppose so," said Richard Hartley. "Yes, of course, if youthink that's better. Could I just see him for a moment?" He stared atthe girl a bit suspiciously, and Coira looked back at him with a littletired smile, for she read his thought.
"You want to make sure," said she. "Of course! Yes, come in. He'ssleeping very soundly." She led the man into that dim room where Ste.Marie lay, and Hartley's quick eye noted the basin of water and thestained towels and the little bottle of aromatic salts. He bent over hisfriend to see the bruise at the side of the head, and listened to thesleeper's breathing. Then the two went out again to the moonlit terrace.
"You must forgive me," said he, when they had come there. "You mustforgive me for seeming suspicious, but--all this wretched business--andhe is my closest friend--I've come to suspect everybody. I was unjust,for you helped us to get away. I beg your pardon!"
The girl smiled at him again, her little, white, tired smile, and shesaid: "There is nothing I would not do to make amends--now that Iknow--the truth."
"Yes," said Hartley, "I understand. Arthur Benham told me how Stewartlied to you all. Was it he who struck Ste. Marie?"
She nodded. "And then tried to shoot him; but he didn't succeed in that.I wonder where he is--Captain Stewart?"
"I have him out in the car," Hartley said. "Oh, he shall pay, you may besure!--if he doesn't die and cheat us, that is. I nearly ran the carover him a few minutes ago. If it hadn't been for the moonlight I wouldhave done for him. He was lying on his face in that lane that leads tothe Issy road. I don't know what is the matter with him. He's only halfconscious and he's quite helpless. He looks as if he'd had a stroke ofapoplexy or something. I must hurry him back to Paris, I suppose, andget him under a doctor's care. I wonder what's wrong with him?"
The girl shook her head, for she did not know of Stewart's epilepticseizures. She thought it quite possible that he had suffered a stroke ofapoplexy as Hartley suggested, for she remembered the half-mad state hehad been in.
Richard Hartley stood for a time in thought. "I must get Stewart back toParis at once," he said, finally. "I must get him under care and in asafe place from which he can't escape. It will want some managing. If Ican get away I'll come out here again in the morning, but if not I'llsend the car out with orders to wait here until Ste. Marie is ready toreturn to the city. Are you sure he's all right--that he isn't badlyhurt?"
"I think he will be all right," she said, "save for the pain. He wasonly stunned."
And Hartley nodded. "He seems to be breathing quite naturally," said he."That's arranged, then. The car will be here in waiting, and I shallcome with it if I can. Tell him when he wakes." He put out his hand toher, and
the girl gave him hers very listlessly but smiling. She wishedhe would go and leave her alone.
Then in a moment more he did go, and she heard his quick steps downthrough the trees, and heard, a little later, the engine of themotor-car start up with a sudden loud volley of explosions. And so shewas left to her solitary watch. She noticed, as she turned to goindoors, that the blackness of the night was just beginning to graytoward dawn.
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Jason: A Romance Page 28
