The Quest: A Romance

by Justus Miles Forman

  *CHAPTER XXVIII*

  *COIRA'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. Sheremembered her struggle with him to prevent him from firing at Ste.Marie, and she remembered her desperate agony when she realised that shecould not hold him much longer. She remembered the accidental dischargeof the revolver into the air, she remembered being thrown violently tothe ground--and that was all.

  Where was her father and where was Ste. Marie? The first questionanswered itself, for, as she turned her eyes towards 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 heartbeat. 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 oneto lend 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 longtime.

  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 untilthe old Justine, blinking and half dressed, appeared with a candle inthe doorway. Coira told the woman to make lights and then to bring waterand a certain little bottle of aromatic salts which was in her roomupstairs. 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 mantel shelf.Then Coira O'Hara went back to the man who lay outstretched on the lowcouch, and knelt beside him looking into his face. The man stirred andmoved his head slowly. Half articulate words came from his lips and shemade out that he was saying her name in a dull monotone--only her name,over and over again. She gave a little cry of grief and gladness, andhid her face 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 red 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 always do.He's breathing naturally. He has only been stunned.

  "You may go now!" she said. "Only, bring a glass and some drinkingwater--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 brokeinto a fit of weak cursing, and the girl laughed over him tenderly andlet him 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 borderland of halfconsciousness, and his ears were deaf.

  He said, gazing up at her--

  "Is it--another dream?" And he tried to raise one hand from where itlay beside him, but the hand wavered and fell aslant across his body.It had not the strength yet 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--whatthe little Jew said. 'A queen among goddesses.--The young Juno,before----'" He stirred 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! AmI going to lose you ... like this? Am I going to lose you after all ...now that we know?" He put up his hand once more--a weak and uncertainhand. It touched the girl's warm cheek and a sudden violent shiverwrung the man on the couch. His eyes sharpened and stared withsomething 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 theman with grave and sombre eyes. In that moment she fought withinherself a battle of right and wrong.

  "He doesn't remember," she said. "He doesn't know. He is like a littlechild. He knows nothing but that we two--are here together. Nothingelse. Nothing!"

  His state was plain to see. He dwelt still in that vague borderlandbetween 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'llsleep again and--forget. He'll go back to her and never know. And Ishall never 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 it wasanother dream."

  "Do you dream of me, Bayard?" she asked. And he said--

  "From the very first. From that evening in the Champs Elysees. Youreyes, they've haunted me from the very first.

  "There was a dream of you," he said, "that I had so often--but I cannotquite remember because my head hurts. What is the matter with my head?I was--going somewhere. It was so very important that I should go, butI have forgotten where it was and why I had to go there. I rememberonly that 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 asingle dry sob. She said--

  "Oh, my dear love! now I wish that I might die after hearing you saythat. My life, Bayard, is full now. It's full of joy and gratefulnessand everything that is sweet. I wish I might die before other thingscome 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. "And what can come to spoil our lifefor us?

  "_Our life!_" he said again in a whisper. A flash of remembrance seemedto come to him for he smiled, and said--

  "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 be absent but his soul is here. He loves me. It is I, notthat other. Can I not have my poor little hour of pretence? A littlehour out of all a lifetime! Shall I have nothing at all?"

  But the voice which had accused her said--

  "If he knew, would he say he loves you?" And she hid her face, for sheknew that he would not--even if it were true.

  "Coira!" whispered the man on the couch, and she raised her head. Inthe half darkness he could not have seen how she was suffering. Herface was only a warm blur to him, vague and sweet and beautiful, withtender eyes. He said--

  "I think--I'm falling asleep. My head is so very, very queer! What isthe matter with my head? Coira, do you think I might be kissed before Igo 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 little 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 farewellto him. 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 downstairs again and out upon theterrace. The terrace and the lawn before it were still chequered 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 leant her head backagainst the trunk of a tree which stood beside, 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 Michel advancedinto the moonlight from the gloom of the trees, emitting mechanical andnot very realistic groans. He had been hard put to it to find any onebefore whom he could pour out his tale of heroism and suffering. CoiraO'Hara looked upon him coldly, and the gnome groaned with renewed andsomewhat 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,protesting that he had succumbed only before the combined attack oftwenty armed men, and exhibiting his wounds. But the girl gave a briefand mirthless laugh.

  "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 goto bed now." The old man stared at her with open mouth for a breathlessmoment, and then shambled hastily away, looking over his shoulder, atintervals, until he 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 to walk into thecity?"

  "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 bebetter to let him sleep as long as he will if it is possible. It willsave him a great deal of pain I think. He'll have a frightful headacheif he's wakened now. Could you come for him or send for himto-morrow--towards 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 overhis friend to see the bruise at the side of the head, and listened tothe sleeper's breathing. Then the two went out again to the moonlitterrace.

  "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 I know--thetruth."

  "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 wonderwhere he is--Captain Stewart?"

  "I have him out in the car," Hartley said. "Oh, he shall pay, you maybe sure! 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?" Thegirl shook her head, for she did not know of Stewart's epilepticseizures. She thought it quite possible that he had suffered a strokeof apoplexy as Hartley suggested, for she remembered the half-mad statehe had been in.

  Richard Hartley stood for a time in thought.

  "I must get Stewart back to Paris at once," he said finally. "I mustget him under care, and in a safe place from which he can't escape. Itwill want some managing. If I can get away, I'll come out here again inthe morning; but if not, I'll send the car out with orders to wait hereuntil
Ste. Marie is ready to return to the city. Are you sure he's allright--that he isn't badly hurt?"

  "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 arrangedthen. The car will be here in waiting, and I shall come with it if Ican. Tell him when he wakes." He put out his hand to her, and the girlgave him hers very listlessly but smiling. She wished he would go, andleave 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 the motorcar start up with a sudden loud volley of explosions. And so she wasleft to her solitary watch. She noticed as she turned to go indoorsthat the blackness of the night was just beginning to grey towards dawn.