XII
"TO-MORROW, AND TO-MORROW, AND TO-MORROW"
Mr. Miles had written his name no fewer than six times on Alice's card.On finding this out Alice had resolved to recognise perhaps half theseengagements--in any case, no more than should suit her convenience.After her dance with Dick she found it would suit her admirably torecognise them all.
For Dick had no word of apology or regret; in fact, he did not speak atall. He did not even look sorry; but only hard and cold and bitter. Itwas not in the power of woman to treat such a man too harshly.
Alice therefore threw herself into these dances with Miles with a zestwhich brought about one good result: the mere physical effort graduallyallayed the fever of her spirit; with the even, rhythmical motionsufficient peace stole into the heart of the girl to subdue thepassionate tumult of many hours. To this tranquillity there presentlysucceeded the animation inseparable from ardent exercise.
While the music lasted Alice could scarcely bring herself to pause; sheseemed never to tire. Between the dances she spoke little to herpartner, but filled her lungs with new breath, and waited impatientlyfor the striking of a new note; and when the new note sounded she turnedto that partner with eyes that may have meant to fill with gratitude,yet seemed to him to glow with something else.
Once, when he led her from the heated room, she fancied many eyes wereupon her. She heard whispers; a murmur scarcely audible; a hum ofwonder, of admiration, perhaps of envy. Well, was she not to be admiredand envied? Could she not at least compare with the fairest there inlooks? Was there one with a foot more light and nimble? And was notthis, her partner, the manliest yet most godlike man that ever stoopedto grace a ballroom?--and the best dancer into the bargain?--and themost admirable altogether? These questions were asked and answered inone proud upward glance as she swept on his arm through the throng.
"She never looked so well before," exclaimed Mrs. Parish, in an ecstaticaside to Colonel Bristo; "so brilliant, so animated, so happy!"
"I don't agree with you," the Colonel answered shortly; and he added,with strange insight in one usually so unobservant: "Alice is notherself to-night."
That seemed absurd on the face of it. Who that watched her dancing couldhave admitted it for a moment? Well, last of all, probably her partner.
The music burst forth again. The dancers flocked back to the room, Aliceand Mr. Miles among them. It was the sixth dance, and their thirdtogether.
Again they were dancing together, the glassy floor seeming to passbeneath their feet without effort of theirs, the music beating like apulse in the brain. As for Alice, she forgot her partner, she forgotDick, she forgot the faces that fled before her eyes as she glided, andturned, and skimmed, and circled; she only knew that she was whirling,whirling, and that for awhile her heart was at rest.
Before the dance was fairly over, Miles led his partner into theconservatory, but said to her: "We will go right through into the openair; it will be so much pleasanter." And he did not wait her consenteither--which was characteristic.
The smooth lawn leading down to the river was illuminated, and now thatit was quite dark it had a very effective appearance, and was a charmingresort between the dances. The lawn was bounded on the right by thelittle inlet which has been mentioned. A rustic bridge crossed thisinlet, leading into a meadow, where seven tall poplars, in rigid rank,fronted the river. Without a protest from the girl, Miles led her overthe bridge, and across the meadow, and down to the river's brim, underthe shadow of the stately poplars. Most likely she did not heed wherethey were going; at any rate, they had been there often enough togetherbefore--in daylight.
It was a heavenly night; the pale blue stars were reflected in the blackstill mirror of the Thames, the endless song of the weir was the onlysound that broke the absolute stillness of the meadow. No voices reachedthem from the house, no strains of music. As though influenced by thenight, the two were silent for some minutes; then Alice said lightly:
"I am glad you brought me out; I was beginning to stifle. What a lovelynight! But I thought there would be a moon. When is there a moon, Mr.Miles?"
No answer but a deep breath, that was half a groan Alice thought.Perhaps she was mistaken. She could not see his face, unless she movedaway from him, he was so tall. She repeated the question:
"I want to know when there will be a moon. It would be so delicious now,if it shot up right over there, to be reflected right down there--butwhy don't you speak, Mr. Miles?"
Still no answer. She drew back a step. He was standing like a monument,tall and rigid, with his hands clasped tightly in front of him and hisface turned slightly upward. He seemed unconscious of her presence athis side. Something in his motionless attitude, and the ghastly pallorof his face in the starlight, sent a thrill of vague fear to the heartof Alice. She drew yet a little farther from him, and asked timidly ifanything was the matter.
Slowly he turned and faced her. His head drooped, his shoulders sankforward. She could see little beads glistening on his forehead. Hishands loosed each other, and his arms were lifted towards her, only tobe snatched back, and folded with a thud upon the breast. There theyseemed to sink and fall like logs upon a swollen sea.
"Matter?" he cried in a low, tremulous voice; then, pausing, "nothing isthe matter!" Then in a whisper, "Nothing to tell you--now."
A strange coldness overcame Alice--the sense of an injury wrought in hercarelessness on the man before her. She tried to speak to him, but couldfind no words. With a single glance of pity, she turned and fled to thehouse. He did not follow her.
So Mrs. Parish had been right, after all; and she, Alice--a dozen namesoccurred to her which she had heard fastened upon women who sport withmen's hearts to while away an idle month.
She reached the conservatory, but paused on the stone steps, with a handlightly laid on the iron balustrade--for the floor-level was some feetabove that of the garden-path. The music was in full swing once more,but Alice's attention was directed to another sound--even, rapid,restless footsteps on the drive. She peered in that direction; for itwas possible, from her position on these steps, to see both the river tothe left and the lodge-gates far off on the right--in daylight. She hadnot long to wait. A figure crossed quickly before her, coming from thefront of the house: a man--by his dress, one of the guests--andbare-headed. When he first appeared, his back was half-turned to her; ashe followed the bend of the drive she saw nothing but his back! then shelost sight of him in the darkness and the shadows of the drive.Presently she heard his steps returning; he was perambulating a beat.Not to be seen by him as he neared the house, Alice softly opened thedoor and entered the conservatory. It was at that moment quite deserted.She moved noiselessly to the southern angle, hid herself among theplants, and peered through the glass. It was very dark in this corner,and the foliage so thick that there was small chance of her being seenfrom without. The solitary figure passed below her, on the other side ofthe glass; it was Dick: she had been sure of it.
She watched him cross and recross twice--thrice; then she trembledviolently, and the next time she could not see him distinctly, becausetears--tears of pity--had started to her eyes. If a face--haggard,drawn, white as death, hopeless as the grave--if such a face is a sightfor tears, then no wonder Alice wept. Was it possible that this was hewho landed in England less than a month ago--so gay, so successful, soboyish? He looked years older. The eager light had gone out of his eyes.His step, so buoyant then, was heavy now, though swift with the fever ofunrest. He bent forward as he walked, as though under a burden: a monthago he had borne no burden. Was this the man she had loved so wildlylong ago--this wreck? Was this the result of trying to rule her heart byher head? Was this, then, her handiwork?
Her cup to-night was to be filled to overflowing. Even now her heart hadgone out in pity to another whom also she had wronged--in pity, but notin love. For here, at last--at this moment--she could see before her butone: the man who had loved her so long and so well; the man
who had onceheld her perfect sun of love--Heaven help her, who held it still!
A faintness overcame this frail girl. Her frame shook with sobs. Shecould not see. She leant heavily against the framework of the glass. Shemust have fallen, but a gentle hand at that moment was thrust under herarm.
"Oh, fancy finding you here! Your father sent me--" the pleasant voicebroke off suddenly, and Alice felt herself caught in strong and tenderarms. She looked up and saw Dick's sister. Her poor beating heart gaveone bound, and then her head sank on Fanny's shoulder.
Presently she was able to whisper:
"Take me up-stairs; I am ill. It has been a terrible day for me!"
* * * * *
Mr. Miles still stood by the river, erect, motionless; his powerfulhands joined in front of him in an iron knot, his fine head thrownslightly backward, as though in defiance. At first the thoughts in hismind were vague. Then, very slowly, they began to take shape. A littlelater his expression was soft and full of hope, and his lips keptrepeating inaudibly one word: the word "to-morrow."
Then in a moment his mind was chaos.
There is nothing more confusing to the brain than memory. Often there isnothing so agonising and unsparing in its torture, when memory preysupon the present, consuming all its peace and promise like some foulvampire. Miles was now in the clutch of memory in its form of monster.His teeth were clenched, his face livid, the veins on his foreheadstanding out like the spreading roots of an oak. Spots of blood stoodunder the nails of his clenched fingers.
The stars blinked high overhead, and the stars deep down in the tranquilwater answered them. The voice of the weir seemed nearer and louder. Agentle breeze stirred the line of poplars by the river's brink in themeadow, and fanned the temples of the motionless man at their feet. Abat passed close over him, lightly touching his hair with its wing.Miles did not stir.
Slowly--as it were, limb by limb--he was freeing himself from the gripof the hideous past. At last, with a sudden gesture, he flung back hishead, and his eyes gazed upward to the zenith. It was an awful gaze: avision of honour and happiness beyond a narrow neck of crime--a glimpseof heaven across the gulf of hell.
His tongue articulated the word that had trembled on his lips before:now it embodied a fixed resolve--"To-morrow! to-morrow!"
* * * * *
Mr. Miles became suddenly aware that his name was being spoken somewherein the distance by a voice he knew--young Edmonstone's. A moment laterthe speaker was with him, and had added:
"There is someone who wants to speak to you, standing outside the gate."
There was a gleam of triumph in the younger man's eyes that shot outfrom the misery of his face like lightning from a cloud, throwing thatmisery into stronger relief. Miles noted this swift gleam, and it struckterror into his heart--at this moment, more than terror. He was as ageneral who, on the eve of the brilliant stroke that is to leave himconqueror, hears the alarm sounded in his own rearguard. He stared Dickup and down for some moments. When he spoke, it was--to the ear--withperfect coolness:
"Thanks. I half-expected something of the kind; but it is an infernalnuisance to-night. I must get a coat and hat, for I may have to go up totown at once." And he strode away.
Dick watched him out of sight, admiring more than anything he had seenin this man his readiness and resource at this moment. He would haveliked to follow Miles, and keep him within reach or sight; but thosewere not his directions. Instead, he crossed the bridge, at once bore tothe left, and crept into the shrubbery. Keeping close to the wall,without stirring a single leaf, he gained a spot within ten paces of thegate, whence he could command most of the drive and a fair slice of theroad. In a minute Miles approached at a swinging walk. He passed closeto Dick, and so through the gate. At that moment a man emerged from theshadows at the other side of the road; it was the man Dick haddiscovered in the shrubbery, though he had seen him before--in theSettler's Hut!
The two men were now but a few paces apart; with little more than a yardbetween them, they stopped. A low chuckle escaped one of them; butwithout another sound they turned--passed slowly down the road, side byside, and so out of sight.
Dick gasped: it was so very unlike his preconceived notions of arrest!