Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli

by Marie Corelli

  “Yes, Priscilla?”

  “I’m thinkin’ my time is drawin’ short, dear lad!” she said, slowly— “I’ve got a call, an’ I’ll not be much longer here! That’s a warnin’ for me—”

  “A warning? Priscilla, what do you mean?”

  Drawing in her needle and thread, she pricked it through the linen she held and looked full at him.

  “Didn’t ye hear it?” she asked.

  A sudden chill crept through the young man’s blood, — there was something so wan and mournful in her expression.

  “Dear Priscilla, you are dreaming! Hear what?”

  She lifted one brown wrinkled hand with a gesture of attention.

  “The crying of the child!” she answered— “Crying, crying, crying!

  Crying for me!”

  Robin held his breath and listened. The wind had for the moment lessened in violence, and its booming roar had dropped to a moaning sigh. Now and again there was a pause that was almost silence, and during one of these intervals he fancied — but surely it was only fancy! — that he actually did hear a faint human cry. He looked at Priscilla questioningly and in doubt, — she met his eyes with a fixed and solemn resignation in her own.

  “It’s as I tell you,” she said— “My time has come! It’s for me the child is calling — just as she used to call whenever she wanted anything.”

  Robin rose slowly and moved a step or two towards the door. The storm was gathering fresh force, and heavy rain pattered against the windows making a continuous steely sound like the clashing of swords. Straining his ears to close attention, he waited, — and all at once as he stood in suspense and something of fear, a plaintive sobbing wail crept thinly above the noise of the wind.

  “Priscilla! … Priscilla!” There was no mistaking the human voice this time — and Priscilla got up from where she sat, though trembling so much that she had to lean one hand on the table to steady herself.

  “Ye heard THAT, surely!” she said.

  Robin answered her by a look. His heart beat thickly, — an awful fear beset him, paralysing his energies. Was Innocent dead? Was that pitiful wail the voice of her departed spirit crying at the door of her childhood’s home?

  “Priscilla! … Oh, Priscilla!”

  The old woman straightened her bent figure and lifted her head.

  “Mister Robin, I must answer that call!” she said— “Storm or rain, we’ve no right to sit here with the child’s voice crying and the old house shut and barred against her! We must open the door!”

  He could not speak — but he obeyed her gesture, and went quickly out of the kitchen into the adjacent hall, — there he unbarred and unlocked the massive old entrance door and threw it open. A sheet of rain flung itself in his face, and the wind was so furious that for a moment he could scarcely stand. Then, recovering himself, he peered into the darkness and could see nothing, — till all at once he became vaguely aware of a small dark object crouching in one corner of the deep porch like a frightened animal or a lost child. He stooped and touched it — it was wet and clammy — he grasped it more firmly, and it moved under his hand shudderingly and lifted itself, turning a white face up to the light that streamed out from the hall — a face wan and death-like, but still the face he had ever thought the sweetest in the world — the face of Innocent! With a loud cry of mingled terror and rapture, he caught her up and held her to his heart.

  “Innocent! — My little love! — Innocent!”

  She made no answer — no sort of resistance. Her little body hung heavily in his arms — her head drooped helplessly against his shoulder.

  “Priscilla!” he called— “Priscilla!”

  Priscilla was already beside him — she had hurried into the hall directly she heard his exclamation of fear and amazement, and now as she saw him carrying the forlorn little burden tenderly along she threw up her hands with a piteous, almost despairing gesture.

  “God save us all! — It’s the child herself!” she exclaimed— “Mercy on the poor lamb! — what can have happened to her? — she’s half drowned with rain!”

  As quickly as Robin’s strong arms could bear her, she was carried gently into the kitchen and laid in Robin’s own deep arm-chair by the fire. Roused to immediate practical service and with all her superstitious terrors at an end, old Priscilla took off a soaked little velvet hat and began to unfasten a wet mass of soft silk that clung round the fragile little figure.

  “Go and bar the door fast, Mister Robin, my dear!” she said, looking up at the young man’s pale, agonised face,— “We don’t want any one comin’ in here to see the child in trouble! — besides, the wind’s enough to scare a body to death! Poor lamb, poor lamb! — where she can have come from the good Lord only knows! It’s for all the world like the night when she was left here, long ago! Lock and bar the door, dearie, and get me some of that precious old wine out of the cupboard in the best parlour.” Here her active fingers came upon the glittering diamond pendant in the shape of a dove that hung by its slender gold chain round Innocent’s neck. She unclasped it, looking at it wonderingly — then she handed it to Robin who regarded it with sombre, grudging eyes. Was it a love-gift? — and from whom?

  “And while you’re about helping me,” went on Priscilla— “you might go to the child’s room and fetch me that old white woolly gown she used to wear — it’s warm and soft, and we’ll put it on her and wrap her in a blanket when she comes to herself. She’ll be all right presently.”

  Like a man in a moving dream he obeyed, and while he went on his errands Priscilla managed to get off some of the dripping garments which clung to the girl’s slight form as closely as the wrappings of a shroud. Chafing the small icy hands, she smoothed the drenched fair hair, loosening its pins and combs, and spreading it out to dry, murmuring fond words of motherly pity and tenderness while the tears trickled slowly down her furrowed cheeks.

  “My poor baby! — my pretty child!” she murmured— “What has broken her like this? — The world’s been too rough for her — I misdoubt me if her fancies about love an’ the like o’ that nonsense aren’t in the mischief, — but praise the Lord that’s brought her home again, an’ if so be it pleases Him we’ll keep her home!”

  As she thought this, Innocent suddenly opened her eyes. Beautiful, wild eyes that stared at her wonderingly without recognition.

  “Amadis!” The voice was thin and faint, but exquisitely tender. “Amadis! How kind you are! Ah, yes! — at last! — I was sure you did not mean to be cruel — I knew you would come back and be good to me again! My Amadis! — You ARE good! — you could not be anything else but good and true!” She laughed weakly and went on more rapidly— “It is raining — yes! Oh, yes — raining very much! — such a cold, sharp rain! I’ve walked quite a long way — but I felt I must come back to you, Amadis! — just to ask you once more to say a kind word-to kiss me…”

  She closed her eyes again and her head fell back on the pillow of the chair in which she lay. Priscilla’s heart sank.

  “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about, poor lamb!” she thought,— “Just wandering and off her head! — and fancying things about that old French knight again!”

  Here Robin entered, and stood a moment, lost in a maze of enchanted misery at the sight of the pitiful little half-disrobed figure in the chair, till Priscilla took the white garment he had been sent to fetch out of his passive hand.

  “There, dear lad, don’t look like that!” she said. “Go, and come back in a few minutes with the wine — we’ll be ready for you then. Cheer up! — she’s opened her pretty eyes once — she’ll open them again directly and smile at you!”

  He moved away slowly with an aching heart, and a tightness in his throat that impelled him to cry like a woman. Innocent! — little Innocent! — she who had once been all brightness and gaiety, — was this desolate, half-dying, stricken creature the same girl? Ah, no! Not the same! Never the same any more! Some numbing blow had smitten her, — some withering fire had swe
pt over her, and she was no longer what she once had been. This he felt by a lover’s intuition, — intuition keener and surer than all positive knowledge; and not the faintest hope stirred within him that she would ever shake off the trance of that death-in-life into which she had been plunged by some as yet unknown disaster — unknown to him, yet dimly guessed. Meanwhile Priscilla’s loving task was soon done, and Innocent was clothed, warm and dry, in one of the old hand-woven woollen gowns she had been accustomed to wear in former days, and a thick blanket was wrapped cosily round her. She was still more or less unconscious, but the reviving heat gradually penetrated her body, and she began to sigh and move restlessly. She opened her eyes again and fixed them on the bright fire. Robin came in with the glass of wine, and Priscilla held it to her lips, forcing her to swallow a few drops.

  The strong cordial started a little pulse of warmth in her failing blood, and she made an effort to sit up. She looked vaguely round her, — then her wandering gaze fixed itself on Priscilla’s anxious old face, and a faint smile, more pitiful than tears, trembled on her lips.

  “Priscilla!” she said— “I believe it is Priscilla I Oh, dear Priscilla!

  I called you but you would not hear or answer me!”

  “Oh, my lamb, I heard ye right enough!” — and Priscilla fondled and warmed the girl’s passive hands— “But I couldn’t think it was yourself — I thought I was dreaming—”

  “So did I!” she answered feebly— “I thought I was dreaming…yes! — I have been dreaming such a long, long time! All dreams! I have walked through the rain — it was very dark and the wind was cold and cruel — but I walked on and on — I don’t know how I came — but I wanted to get home to Briar Farm — do you know Briar Farm?”

  Stricken to the soul by the look of the wistful eyes expressing a mind in chaos, Priscilla answered gently— “You’re in Briar Farm now, dearie! — Surely you know you are! This is your own old home — don’t you know it? — don’t you remember the old kitchen? — of course you do! There, there! — look up and see!”

  She lifted her head and gazed about her in a lost way.

  “No!” she murmured— “I wish I could believe it, but I cannot. I believe nothing now. It is all strange to me — I have lost the way home, and I shall never find it — never — never!” Here she suddenly pointed to Robin standing aloof in utter misery.

  “Who is that?” she asked.

  Irresistibly impelled by love, fear, and pity, he came and knelt beside her.

  “It’s Robin!” he said— “Dear Innocent, don’t you know me?”

  She touched his hair with one little hand, smiling like a pleased child.

  “Robin?” she queried— “Oh, no! — you cannot be Robin — he is ever so many miles away!” She looked at him curiously, — then laughed, a cold, mirthless little laugh. “I thought for a moment you might be Amadis — his hair is like yours, thick and soft — you know him, of course — he is the great painter, Amadis de Jocelyn — all the world has heard of him! He went out just now and shut the door and locked it — but he will come back — yes! — he will come back!”

  Robin heard and understood — the whole explanation of her misery suddenly flashed on his mind, and inwardly he cursed the man who had wreaked such havoc on her trusting soul. All at once she sprang up with a wild cry.

  “He will come back — he must come back! Amadis! — Amadis! — you will not leave me all alone? — No, no, you cannot be so cruel!” She stretched out her arms as though to embrace some invisible treasure in the air— “Priscilla! … Priscilla!” Then as Priscilla took her gently round the waist and tried to calm her she began to laugh again. “The old motto! — you remember it? — the motto of the Sieur Amadis de Jocelin!— ‘Mon coeur me soutien!’ You know what it means— ‘My heart sustains me.’ Yes — and you know why his heart is so strong? Because it is made of stone! A stone heart can sustain anything! — it is hard and firm and cold — no rain, no tears can soften it! — no flowers ever grow on it — it does not beat — it feels nothing — nothing!” — and her hands dropped wearily at her sides. “It is not like MY heart! my heart burns and aches — it is a foolish heart, and my brain is a foolish brain — I cannot think with it — it is all dark and confused! And I have no one to help me — I am all alone in the world!”

  “Innocent!” cried Robin passionately— “Oh, my love, my darling! — try to recall your dear wandering mind! You are here in the old home you used to love so well — you are not alone — you never shall be alone any more. I am with you to love you and take care of you — I have loved you always — I shall love you till I die!”

  She looked at him with a sudden smile.

  “Robin! — It is Robin! — you poor boy! You always talked like that! — but you must not love me, — I have no love to give you — I would make you happy if I could, but I cannot!”

  A violent shudder as of icy cold shook her limbs — she stretched out her hands pitifully.

  “Would you take me somewhere to sleep?” she murmured— “I am very tired! And when he comes you will wake me — I will not keep him a moment waiting! Tell him I am quite well — and that I knew he did not mean to be unkind—”

  Her voice broke — she tottered and nearly fell. Robin caught her in his arms and laid her gently back in the chair, where she seemed to lapse into unconsciousness. He turned a white, desperate face on Priscilla.

  “What is to be done?” he asked,— “Shall I go for the doctor?”

  Priscilla shook her head.

  “The doctor would be no use,” she answered— “She’s just fairly worn out and wants rest. Her little room is ready, — I’ve kept it aired, and the bed made warm and cosy ever since she went away — lest she should ever come back sudden like… could you carry her up, d’ye think? She’ll be better in her bed — and she would come to herself quicker.”

  Gently and with infinite tenderness he lifted the girl as though she were a baby and carried her lightly up the broad oak staircase, Priscilla leading the way — and soon they brought her into her own room, unchanged since she had occupied it, and kept by Priscilla’s loving and half superstitious care ready for her return at any moment. Laying her down on her little bed, Robin left her, though hardly able to tear himself away, and going downstairs again he flung himself into a chair and wept like a child for the ruin and wreck of the fair young life which might have been the joy and sunshine of his days!

  “Amadis de Jocelyn!” he muttered— “A curse on him! Why should the founder of this house bring evil on us? — Rising up like a ghost to overshadow us and spoil our happiness? — Let the house perish and all its traditions if it must be so, rather than that she should suffer! — for she is innocent!”

  Yes — she was quite innocent, — the little “base-born” intruder on the unbroken line and history of the Jocelyns! — and yet — it was with a kind of horror that the memory of that unbroken line and history recurred to him. Was there — could there be anything real in the long prevalent idea that if the direct line of the Jocelyns were broken, the peace and prosperity so long attendant on the old farm would be at an end? He put the thought away with a sense of anger.

  “No, no! She could only bring joy wherever she went — no matter who her parents were, or how she was born, my poor little one! — she has suffered for no fault at all of her own!”

  He listened to the dying clamour of the storm — the wind still careered round the house, making a noise like the beating wings of a great bird, but the rain was ceasing and there was a deeper sense of quiet. An approaching step startled him — he looked up and saw Priscilla. She smiled encouragingly.

  “Cheer up, Mister Robin!” she said. … “She is much better — she knows where she is now, bless her heart! — and she’s glad to be at home. Let her alone — and if she ‘as a good sleep she’ll be a’most herself again in the morning. I’ll leave my bedroom door open all night — an’ I’ll be lookin’ in at ‘er when she doesn’t know it, watchin’ her lovin�
�� like for all I’m worth! … so don’t ye worry, my lad! — there’s a good God in Heaven an’ it’ll all come right!”

  Robin took her rough work-worn hands and clasped them in his own.

  “Bless you, you dear woman!” he said, huskily. “Do you really think so?

  Will she be herself again? — our own dear little Innocent?”

  “Of course she will!” and Priscilla blinked away the tears in her eyes— “An’ you’ll mebbe win ‘er yet! — The Lord’s ways are ever wonderful an’ past findin’ out—”

  A clear voice calling from the staircase interrupted them.

  “Priscilla! Robin!”

  Running to answer the summons, they saw Innocent at the top of the stairs, a little vision of pale, smiling sweetness, in her white wool wrapper — her hair falling loose over her shoulders. She kissed her hands to them.

  “Only to say good-night!” she said,— “I know just where I am now! — it was so foolish of me to forget! I am at home — and this is Briar Farm — and I feel almost well and — happy! Robin!”

  He sprang up the stairs and, kneeling, took one of her hands and kissed it.

  “That’s my true knight!” she said. “Dear Robin! You deserve everything good — and if it will give you joy I will marry you!”

  “Marry me!” he cried, scarcely believing his ears— “Innocent! You will? — Dearest little love, you will?”

  She looked down upon him where he knelt, like some small compassionate angel.

  “Yes — I will! — To please you and Dad! — Tomorrow if you like! But you must say good-night now and let me sleep!”

  He kissed her hand again.

  “Good-night, sweet!”

  She started — and drew her hand away.

  “He said that once, — and once — in a letter — he wrote it. It seemed to me beautiful!— ‘Good-night, sweet!’” She waited as if to think a moment, then —

  “Good-night!” again she said— “Do not be anxious about me — I shall sleep well! Good-night!”

  She waved her hand once more, and disappeared like a little white phantom in the dark corridor.