CHAPTER XXXIII
"SOMETHING IS GOING TO HAPPEN!"
Wednesday dawned; an ideal First of May: Garth was in the garden beforebreakfast. Jane heard him singing, as he passed beneath her window.
"It is not mine to sing the stately grace, The great soul beaming in mylady's face."
She leaned out.
He was walking below in the freshest of white flannels; his step solight and elastic; his every movement so lithe and graceful; the onlysign of his blindness the Malacca cane he held in his hand, with whichhe occasionally touched the grass border, or the wall of the house. Shecould only see the top of his dark head. It might have been on theterrace at Shenstone, three years before. She longed to call from thewindow; "Darling--my Darling! Good morning! God bless you to-day."
Ah what would to-day bring forth;--the day when her full confession,and explanation, and plea for pardon, would reach him? He was such aboy in many ways; so light-hearted, loving, artistic, poetic,irrepressible; ever young, in spite of his great affliction. But wherehis manhood was concerned; his love; his right of choice and ofdecision; of maintaining a fairly-formed opinion, and setting aside theless competent judgment of others; she knew him rigid, inflexible. Hisvery pain seemed to cool him, from the molten lover, to the bar ofsteel.
As Jane knelt at her window that morning, she had not the least ideawhether the evening would find her travelling to Aberdeen, to take thenight mail south; or at home forever in the heaven of Garth's love.
And down below he passed again, still singing:
"But mine it is to follow in her train; Do her behests in pleasure or in pain; Burn at her altar love's sweet frankincense, And worship her in distant reverence."
"Ah, beloved!" whispered Jane, "not 'distant.' If you want her, andcall her, it will be to the closest closeness love can devise. No moredistance between you and me."
And then, in the curious way in which inspired words will sometimesoccur to the mind quite apart from their inspired context, and bearinga totally different meaning from that which they primarily bear, thesewords came to Jane: "For He is our peace, Who hath made both one, andhath broken down the middle wall of partition between us ... that Hemight reconcile both ... by the cross." "Ah, dear Christ!" shewhispered. "If Thy cross could do this for Jew and Gentile, may not myboy's heavy cross, so bravely borne, do it for him and for me? So shallwe come at last, indeed, to 'kiss the cross.'"
The breakfast gong boomed through the house. Simpson loved gongs. Heconsidered them "Haristocratic." He always gave full measure.
Nurse Rosemary went down to breakfast.
Garth came in, through the French window, humming "The thousandbeauties that I know so well." He was in his gayest, most inconsequentmood. He had picked a golden rosebud in the conservatory and wore it inhis buttonhole. He carried a yellow rose in his hand.
"Good day, Miss Rosemary," he said. "What a May Day! Simpson and I wereup with the lark; weren't we, Simpson? Poor Simpson felt like a sort of'Queen of the May,' when my electric bell trilled in his room, at 5A.M. But I couldn't stay in bed. I woke with mysomething-is-going-to-happen feeling; and when I was a little chap andwoke with that, Margery used to say: 'Get up quickly then, MasterGarth, and it will happen all the sooner.' You ask her if she didn't,Simpson. Miss Gray, did you ever learn: 'If you're waking call meearly, call me early, mother dear'? I always hated that young woman! Ishould think, in her excited state, she would have been waking longbefore her poor mother, who must have been worn to a perfect rag,making all the hussy's May Queen-clothes, overnight."
Simpson had waited to guide him to his place at the table. Then heremoved the covers, and left the room.
As soon as he had closed the door behind him, Garth leaned forward, andwith unerring accuracy laid the opening rose upon Nurse Rosemary'splate.
"Roses for Rosemary," he said. "Wear it, if you are sure the young manwould not object. I have been thinking about him and the aunt. I wishyou could ask them both here, instead of going away on Thursday. Wewould have the 'maddest, merriest time!' I would play with the aunt,while you had it out with the young man. And I could easily keep theaunt away from nooks and corners, because my hearing is sharper thanany aunt's eyes could be, and if you gave a gentle cough, I wouldpromptly clutch hold of auntie, and insist upon being guided in theopposite direction. And I would take her out in the motor; and you andthe young man could have the gig. And then when all was satisfactorilysettled, we could pack them off home, and be by ourselves again. Ah,Miss Gray, do send for them, instead of leaving me on Thursday."
"Mr. Dalmain," said Nurse Rosemary, reprovingly, as she leaned forwardand touched his right hand with the rim of his saucer, "this May-Daymorning has gone to your head. I shall send for Margery. She may haveknown the symptoms, of old."
"It is not that," said Garth. He leaned forward and spokeconfidentially. "Something is going to happen to-day, little Rosemary.Whenever I feel like this, something happens. The first time itoccurred, about twenty-five years ago, there was a rocking-horse in thehall, when I ran downstairs! I have never forgotten my first ride onthat rocking-horse. The fearful joy when he went backward; the awfulplunge when he went forward; and the proud moment when it was possibleto cease clinging to the leather pommel. I nearly killed the cousin whopulled out his tail. I thrashed him, then and there, WITH the tail;which was such a silly thing to do; because, though it damaged thecousin, it also spoiled the tail. The next time--ah, but I am boringyou!"
"Not at all," said Nurse Rosemary, politely; "but I want you to havesome breakfast; and the letters will be here in a few minutes."
He looked so brown and radiant, this dear delightful boy, with hisgold-brown tie, and yellow rose. She was conscious of her pallor, andoppressive earnestness, as she said: "The letters will be here."
"Oh, bother the letters!" cried Garth. "Let's have a holiday fromletters on May Day! You shall be Queen of the May; and Margery shall bethe old mother. I will be Robin, with the breaking heart, leaning onthe bridge beneath the hazel tree; and Simpson can be the 'bolder lad.'And we will all go and 'gather knots of flowers, and buds, and garlandsgay.'"
"Mr. Dalmain," said Nurse Rosemary, laughing, in spite of herself, "youreally must be sensible, or I shall go and consult Margery. I havenever seen you in such a mood."
"You have never seen me, on a day when something was going to happen,"said Garth; and Nurse Rosemary made no further attempt to repress him.
After breakfast, he went to the piano, and played two-steps, andrag-time music, so infectiously, that Simpson literally tripped as hecleared the table; and Nurse Rosemary, sitting pale and preoccupied,with a pile of letters before her, had hard work to keep her feet still.
Simpson had two-stepped to the door with the cloth, and closed it afterhim. Nurse Rosemary's remarks about the post-bag, and the letters, hadremained unanswered. "Shine little glowworm glimmer" was pealing gailythrough the room, like silver bells,--when the door opened, and oldMargery appeared, in a black satin apron, and a blue print sunbonnet.She came straight to the piano, and laid her hand gently on Garth's arm.
"Master Garthie," she said, "on this lovely May morning, will you takeold Margery up into the woods?"
Garth's hands dropped from the keys. "Of course I will, Margie," hesaid. "And, I say Margie, SOMETHING IS GOING TO HAPPEN."
"I know it, laddie," said the old woman, tenderly; and the expressionwith which she looked into the blind face filled Jane's eyes withtears. "I woke with it too, Master Garthie; and now we will go into thewoods, and listen to the earth, and trees, and flowers, and they willtell us whether it is for joy, or for sorrow. Come, my own laddie."
Garth rose, as in a dream. Even in his blindness he looked so young,and so beautiful, that Jane's watching heart stood still.
At the window he paused. "Where is that secretary person?" he said,vaguely. "She kept trying to shut me up."
"I know she did, laddie," said old Margery, curtseying apologeticallytowards Jane. "You see she does not know
the'something-is-going-to-happen-to-day' awakening."
"Ah, doesn't she?" thought Jane, as they disappeared through thewindow. "But as my Garth has gone off his dear head, and been takenaway by his nurse, the thing that is going to happen, can't happen justyet." And Jane sat down to the piano, and very softly ran through theaccompaniment of The Rosary. Then,--after shading her eyes on theterrace, and making sure that a tall white figure leaning on a shortdark one, had almost reached the top of the hill,--still more softly,she sang it.
Afterwards she went for a tramp on the moors, and steadied her nerve bythe rapid swing of her walk, and the deep inbreathing of that gloriousair. Once or twice she took a telegram from her pocket, stood still andread it; then tramped on, to the wonder of the words: "Special licenseeasily obtained." Ah, the license might be easy to obtain; but howabout his forgiveness? That must be obtained first. If there were onlythis darling boy to deal with, in his white flannels and yellow roses,with a May-Day madness in his veins, the license might come at once;and all he could wish should happen without delay. But this is apassing phase of Garth. What she has to deal with is the white-facedman, who calmly said: "I accept the cross," and walked down the villagechurch leaving her--for all these years. Loving her, as he loved her;and yet leaving her,--without word or sign, for three long years. Tohire, was the confession; his would be the decision; and, somehow, itdid not surprise her, when she came down to luncheon, a little late, tofind HIM seated at the table.
"Miss Gray," he said gravely, as he heard her enter, "I must apologisefor my behaviour this morning. I was what they call up here 'fey.'Margery understands the mood; and together she and I have listened tokind Mother Earth, laying our hands on her sympathetic softness, andshe has told us her secrets. Then I lay down under the fir trees andslept; and awakened calm and sane, and ready for what to-day mustbring. For it WILL bring something. That is no delusion. It is a day ofgreat things. That much, Margery knows, too."
"Perhaps," suggested Nurse Rosemary, tentatively, "there may be news ofinterest in your letters."
"Ah," said Garth, "I forgot. We have not even opened this morning'sletters. Let us take time for them immediately after lunch. Are theremany?"
"Quite a pile," said Nurse Rosemary.
"Good. We will work soberly through them."
Half an hour later Garth was seated in his chair, calm and expectant;his face turned towards his secretary. He had handled his letters, andamongst them he had found one sealed; and the seal was a plumed helmet,with visor closed. Nurse Rosemary saw him pale, as his fingers touchedit. He made no remark; but, as before, slipped it beneath the rest,that it might come up for reading, last of all.
When the others were finished, and Nurse Rosemary took up this letter,the room was very still. They were quite alone. Bees hummed in thegarden. The scent of flowers stole in at the window. But no onedisturbed their solitude.
Nurse Rosemary took up the envelope.
"Mr. Dalmain, here is a letter, sealed with scarlet wax. The seal is ahelmet with visor--"
"I know," said Garth. "You need not describe it further. Kindly openit."
Nurse Rosemary opened it. "It is a very long letter, Mr. Dalmain."
"Indeed? Will you please read it to me, Miss Gray."
A tense moment of silence followed. Nurse Rosemary lifted the letter;but her voice suddenly refused to respond to her will. Garth waitedwithout further word.
Then Nurse Rosemary said: "Indeed, sir, it seems a most private letter.I find it difficult to read it to you."
Garth heard the distress in her voice, and turned to her kindly.
"Never mind, my dear child. It in no way concerns you. It is a privateletter to me; but my only means of hearing it is through your eyes, andfrom your lips. Besides, the lady, whose seal is a plumed helmet, canhave nothing of a very private nature to say to me."
"Ah, but she has," said Nurse Rosemary, brokenly.
Garth considered this in silence.
Then: "Turn over the page," he said, "and tell me the signature."
"There are many pages," said Nurse Rosemary.
"Turn over the pages then," said Garth, sternly. "Do not keep mewaiting. How is that letter signed?"
"YOUR WIFE," whispered Nurse Rosemary.
There was a petrifying quality about the silence which followed. Itseemed as if those two words, whispered into Garth's darkness, hadturned him to stone.
At last he stretched out his hand. "Will you give me that letter, ifyou please, Miss Gray? Thank you. I wish to be alone for a quarter ofan hour. I shall be glad if you will be good enough to sit in thedining-room, and stop any one from coming into this room. I must beundisturbed. At the end of that time kindly return."
He spoke so quietly that Jane's heart sank within her. Some display ofagitation would have been reassuring. This was the man who, bowing hisdark head towards the crucifixion window, said: "I accept the cross."This was the man, whose footsteps never once faltered as he strode downthe aisle, and left her. This was the man, who had had the strength,ever since, to treat that episode between her and himself, ascompletely closed; no word of entreaty; no sign of remembrance; no hintof reproach. And this was the man to whom she had signed herself: "Yourwife."
In her whole life, Jane had never known fear. She knew it now.
As she silently rose and left him, she stole one look at his face. Hewas sitting perfectly still; the letter in his hand. He had not turnedhis head toward her as he took it. His profile might have been abeautiful carving in white ivory. There was not the faintest tinge ofcolour in his face; just that ivory pallor, against the ebony lines ofhis straight brows, and smooth dark hair.
Jane softly left the room, closing the door behind her.
Then followed the longest fifteen minutes she had ever known. Sherealised what a tremendous conflict was in progress in that quiet room.Garth was arriving at his decision without having heard any of herarguments. By the strange fatality of his own insistence, he had heardonly two words of her letter, and those the crucial words; the twowords to which the whole letter carefully led up. They must haverevealed to him instantly, what the character of the letter would be;and what was the attitude of mind towards himself, of the woman whowrote them.
Jane paced the dining-room in desperation, remembering the hours ofthought which had gone to the compiling of sentences, cautiouslypreparing his mind to the revelation of the signature.
Suddenly, in the midst of her mental perturbation, there came to herthe remembrance of a conversation between Nurse Rosemary and Garth overthe pictures. The former had said: "Is she a wife?" And Garth hadanswered: "Yes." Jane had instantly understood what that answerrevealed and implied. Because Garth had so felt her his during thosewonderful moments on the terrace at Shenstone, that he could look upinto her face and say, "My wife"--not as an interrogation, but as anabsolute statement of fact,--he still held her this, as indissolubly asif priest, and book, and ring, had gone to the wedding of their union.To him, the union of souls came before all else; and if that had takenplace, all that might follow was but the outward indorsement of anaccomplished fact. Owing to her fear, mistrust, and deception, nothinghad followed. Their lives had been sundered; they had gone differentways. He regarded himself as being no more to her than any other man ofher acquaintance. During these years he had believed, that her part inthat evening's wedding of souls had existed in his imagination, only;and had no binding effect upon her. But his remained. Because thosewords were true to him then, he had said them; and, because he had saidthem, he would consider her his wife, through life,--and after. It wasthe intuitive understanding of this, which had emboldened Jane so tosign her letter. But how would he reconcile that signature with theview of her conduct which he had all along taken, without ever havingthe slightest conception that there could be any other?
Then Jane remembered, with comfort, the irresistible appeal made byTruth to the soul of the artist; truth of line; truth of colour; truthof values; and, in the realm of sound, truth of tone, of h
armony, ofrendering, of conception. And when Nurse Rosemary had said of hispainting of "The Wife": "It is a triumph of art"; Garth had replied:"It is a triumph of truth." And Jane's own verdict on the look he hadseen and depicted was: "It is true--yes, it is true!" Will he notrealise now the truth of that signature; and, if he realises it, willhe not be glad in his loneliness, that his wife should come to him;unless the confessions and admissions of the letter cause him to puther away as wholly unworthy?
Suddenly Jane understood the immense advantage of the fact that hewould hear every word of the rest of her letter, knowing theconclusion, which she herself could not possibly have put first. Shesaw a Higher Hand in this arrangement; and said, as she watched theminutes slowly pass: "He hath broken down the middle wall of partitionbetween us"; and a sense of calm assurance descended, and garrisonedher soul with peace.
The quarter of an hour was over.
Jane crossed the hall with firm, though noiseless, step; stood a momenton the threshold relegating herself completely to the background; thenopened the door; and Nurse Rosemary re-entered the library.
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