CHAPTER X
Radowitz woke up the following morning, after the effects of the dose ofmorphia administered by the surgeon who had dressed his hand had wornoff, in a state of complete bewilderment. What had happened to him? Whywas he lying in this strange, stiff position, propped up with pillows?
He moved a little. A sharp pain wrung a groan from him. Then heperceived his bandaged hand and arm; and the occurrences of thepreceding night began to rush back upon him. He had soon reconstructedthem all; up to the moment of his jumping into the fountain. After thathe remembered nothing.
He had hurt himself somehow in the row, that was clear. A sudden terrorran through him. "It's my right hand!--Good God! if I lost my hand!--ifI couldn't play again!" He opened his eyes, trembling, and saw hislittle college room; his clothes hanging on the door, the photographs ofhis father and mother, of Chopin and Wagner on the chest of drawers. Thefamiliar sight reassured him at once, and his natural buoyancy of spiritbegan to assert itself.
"I suppose they got a doctor. I seem to remember somebody coming. Bah,it'll be all right directly. I heal like a baby. I wonder who else washurt. Who's that? Come in!"
The door opened, and his scout looked in cautiously. "Thought I heardyou moving, sir. May the doctor come in?"
The young surgeon appeared who had been violently rung up by Meyricksome five hours earlier. He had a trim, confident air, and pleasanteyes. His name was Fanning.
"Well, how are you? Had some sleep? You gave yourself an uncommonlynasty wound. I had to set a small bone, and put in two or threestitches. But I don't think you knew much about it."
"I don't now," said Radowitz vaguely. "How did I do it?"
"There seems to have been a 'rag' and you struck your hand against somebroken tubing. But nobody was able to give a clear account." The doctoreyed him discreetly, having no mind to be more mixed up in the affairthan was necessary.
"Who sent for you?"
"Lord Meyrick rang me up, and when I got here I found Mr. Falloden andMr. Robertson. They had done what they could."
The colour rushed back into the boy's pale cheeks.
"I remember now," he said fiercely. "Damn them!"
The surgeon made no reply. He looked carefully at the bandage, asked ifhe could ease it at all--took pulse and temperature, and sat some timein silence, apparently thinking, by the bed. Then rising, he said:
"I shan't disturb the dressing unless it pains you. If it does, yourscout can send a message to the surgery. You must stay in bed--you'vegot a little fever. Take light food--I'll tell your scout all aboutthat--and I'll come in again to-night."
He departed. The scout brought warm water and a clean sheet. Radowitzwas soon washed and straightened as well as masculine fingers couldachieve it.
"You seem to have lost a lot of blood, sir, last night!" said the maninvoluntarily, as he became aware in some dismay of the white flannelsand other clothes that Radowitz had been wearing when the invaders brokeinto his room, which were now lying in a corner, where the doctor hadthrown them.
"That's why I feel so limp!" said Radowitz, shutting his eyes again."Please get me some tea, and send a message round to St. Cyprian's--toMr. Sorell--that I want to see him as soon as he can come."
The door closed on the scout.
Left alone Radowitz plunged into a tumult of feverish thought. He seemedto be standing again, just freshly dressed, beside his bed--to hear thenoise on the stairs, the rush into his sitting-room. Falloden, ofcourse, was the leader--insolent brute! The lad, quivering once morewith rage and humiliation, seemed to feel again Falloden's iron gripupon his shoulders--to remember the indignity of his forced descent intothe quad--the laughter of his captors. Then he recollected throwing thewater--and Robertson's spring upon him--
If _she_ had seen it! Whereupon, a new set of images displaced thefirst. He was in the ballroom again, he had her hand in his; hercharming face with its small features and its beautiful eyes was turnedto him. How they danced, and how deliriously the music ran! And therewas Falloden in the doorway, with his dark face,--looking on. The rag onhis part, had been mere revenge; not for the speech, but for the ball.
Was she in love with him? Impossible! How could such a hard, proudbeing attract her? If she did marry him he would crush and wither her.Yet of course girls did do--every day--such idiotic things. And hethought uncomfortably of a look he had surprised in her face, as he andshe were sitting in the New Quad under the trees and Falloden passedwith a handsome dark lady--one of the London visitors. It had beensomething involuntary--a flash from the girl's inmost self. It hadchilled and checked him as he sat by her. Yet the next dance had drivenall recollection of it away.
"She can't ever care for me," he thought despairingly. "I know that. I'mnot her equal. I should be a fool to dream of it. But if she's going tothrow herself away--to break her heart for that fellow--it's--it'sdevilish! Why aren't we in Paris--or Warsaw--where I could callhim out?"
He tossed about in pain and fever, irritably deciding that his bandagehurt him, and he must recall the doctor, when he heard Sorell's voice atthe door. It quieted him at once.
"Come in!"
Sorell came in with a scared face.
"My dear boy--what's the matter?"
"Oh, there was a bit of a row last night. We were larking round thefountain, trying to push each other in, and I cut my hand on one ofthose rotten old pipes. Beastly luck! But Fanning's done everything. Ishall be all right directly. There's a little bone broken."
"A bone broken!--your hand!" ejaculated Sorell, who sat down and lookedat him in dismay.
"Yes--I wish it had been my foot! But it doesn't matter. That kind ofthing gets well quickly, doesn't it?" He eyed his visitor anxiously."You see I never was really ill in my life."
"Well, we can't run any risks about it," said Sorell decidedly. "I shallgo and see Fanning. If there's any doubt about it, I shall carry you upto London, and get one of the crack surgeons to come and look at it.What was the row about?"
Radowitz's eyes contracted so that Sorell could make nothing out ofthem.
"I really can't remember," said the lad's weary voice. "There's been alot of rowing lately."
"Who made the row?"
"What's the good of asking questions?" The speaker turned irritablyaway. "I've had such a lot of beastly dreams all night, I can't tellwhat happened, and what didn't happen. It was just a jolly row, that'sall I know."
Sorell perceived that for some reason Radowitz was not going to tell himthe story. But he was confident that Douglas Falloden had been at thebottom of it, and he felt a fierce indignation. He had however to keepit to himself, as it was clear that questions excited and annoyedthe patient.
He sat by the boy a little, observing him. Then he suggested thatBateson the scout and he should push the bed into the sitting-room, forgreater air and space. Radowitz hesitated, and then consented. Sorellwent out to speak to Bateson.
"All right, sir," said the scout. "I've just about got the roomstraight; but I had to get another man to help me. They must have goneon something fearful. There wasn't an article in the room that wasn'tknocked about."
"Who did it?" said Sorell shortly.
The scout looked embarrassed.
"Well, of course, sir, I don't know for certain. I wasn't there to see.But I do hear Mr. Falloden, and Lord Meyrick, and Mr. Robertson were init--and there were some other gentlemen besides. There's been a deal ofragging in this college lately, sir. I do think, sir, as the fellowsshould stop it."
Sorell agreed, and went off to the surgery, thinking furiously. Supposethe boy's hand--and his fine talent--had been permanently injured bythat arrogant bully, Falloden, and his set! And Constance Bledlow hadbeen entangling herself with him--in spite of what anybody could say! Hethought with disgust of the scenes of the Marmion ball, of the recklessway in which Constance had encouraged Falloden's pursuit of her, of thetalk of Oxford. His work with the Greats' papers had kept him away fromthe Magdalen ball, and he had heard nothing of it. No d
oubt that foolishchild had behaved in the same way there. He was thankful he had not beenthere to see. But he vowed to himself that he would find out the factsof the attack on Radowitz, and that she should know them.
Yet the whole thing was very surprising. He had seen on variousoccasions that Falloden was jealous of Connie's liking for Radowitz, ofthe boy's homage, and of Connie's admiration for his musical gift. Butafter the Marmion night, and the triumph she had so unwisely given thefellow--to behave in this abominable way! There couldn't be a spark ofdecent feeling in his composition.
* * * * *
Radowitz lay still--thinking always of Falloden, and Lady Constance.
Another knock at his door--very timid and hesitating. Radowitz said"Come in."
The door opened partially, and a curly head was thrust in. Another headappeared behind it.
"May we come in?" said a muffled voice. "It's Meyrick--and Robertson."
"I don't care if you do," said Radowitz coldly. "What do you want?"
The two men came in, stepping softly. One was fair and broad-shouldered.The other exceedingly dark and broad-shouldered. Each was a splendidspecimen of the university athlete. And two more sheepish and hang-dogindividuals it would have been difficult to find.
"We've come to apologise," said Meyrick, standing by the bed, his handsin his pockets, looking down on Radowitz. "We didn't mean to hurt you ofcourse, and we're awfully sorry--aren't we, Robertson?"
Robertson, sheltering behind Meyrick, murmured a deep-voiced assent.
"If we hadn't been beastly drunk we should never have done it," saidMeyrick; "but that's no excuse. How are you? What does Fanning say?"
They both looked so exceedingly miserable that Radowitz, surveying themwith mollified astonishment, suddenly went into a fit of hystericallaughter. The others watched him in alarm.
"Do sit down, you fellows!--and don't bother!" said Radowitz, as soon ashe could speak. "I gave it to you both as hard as I could in my speech.And you hit back. We're quits. Shake hands."
And he held out his left hand, which each of them gingerly shook. Thenthey both sat down, extremely embarrassed, and not knowing what to sayor do next, except that Meyrick again enquired as to Fanning's opinion.
"Let's have some swell down," said Meyrick urgently. "We could get himin a jiffy."
But Radowitz impatiently dismissed the subject. Sorell, he said, hadgone to see Fanning, and it would be all right. At the same time it wasevident through the disjointed conversation which followed that he wassuffering great pain. He was alternately flushed and deadly pale, andcould not occasionally restrain a groan which scared his two companions.At last they got up to go, to the relief of all three.
Meyrick said awkwardly:
"Falloden's awfully sorry too. He would have come with us--but hethought perhaps you wouldn't want him."
"No, I don't want him!" said Radowitz vehemently. "That's anotherbusiness altogether."
Meyrick hummed and hawed, fidgeting from one foot to the other.
"It was I started the beastly thing," he said at last. "It wasn'tFalloden at all."
"He could have stopped it," said Radowitz shortly. "And you can't denyhe led it. There's a long score between him and me. Well, never mind, Ishan't say anything. And nobody else need. Good-bye."
A slight ghostly smile appeared in the lad's charming eyes as he raisedthem to the pair, again holding out his free hand. They went awayfeeling, as Meyrick put it, "pretty beastly."
* * * * *
By the afternoon various things had happened. Falloden, who had not gotto bed till six, woke towards noon from a heavy sleep in his BeaumontStreet "diggings," and recollecting in a flash all that had happened,sprang up and opened his sitting-room door. Meyrick was sitting on thesofa, fidgeting with a newspaper.
"Well, how is he?"
Meyrick reported that the latest news from Marmion was that Sorell andFanning between them had decided to take Radowitz up to town thatafternoon--for the opinion of Sir Horley Wood, the great surgeon.
"Have you seen Sorell?"
"Yes. But he would hardly speak to me. He said we'd perhaps spoilt hislife."
"Whose?"
"Radowitz's."
Falloden's expression stiffened.
"That's nonsense. If he's properly treated, he'll get all right. Besidesit was a pure accident. How could any of us know those broken pipeswere there?"
"Well, I shall be glad when we get Wood's opinion," said Meyrickgloomily. "It does seem hard lines on a fellow who plays that it shouldhave been his hand. But of course--as you say, Duggy--it'll probably beall right. By the way, Sorell told me Radowitz had absolutely refused tolet anybody in college know--any of the dons--and had forbidden Sorellhimself to say a word."
"Well of course that's more damaging to us than any other line ofaction," said Falloden drily. "I don't know that I shall accept it--formyself. The facts had better be known."
"Well, you'd better think of the rest of us," said Meyrick. "It wouldhit Robertson uncommonly hard if he were sent down. If Radowitz isbadly hurt, and the story gets out, they won't play him forthe Eleven--"
"If he's badly hurt, it will get out," said Falloden coolly.
"Well, let it alone, anyway, till we see."
Falloden nodded--"Barring a private friend or two. Well, I must dress."
When he opened the door again, Meyrick was gone.
In an unbearable fit of restlessness, Falloden went out, passed Marmion,looked into the quad which was absolutely silent and deserted, and foundhis way aimlessly to the Parks.
He must see Constance Bledlow, somehow, before the story reached herfrom other sources, and before everybody separated for the vac. A largeNuneham party had been arranged by the Mansons for the following day inhonour of the ex-Ambassador and his wife, who were prolonging their stayin Christ Church so as to enjoy the river and an Oxford without crowdsor functions. Falloden was invited, and he knew that Constance had beenasked. In his bitterness of the day before, after their quarrel in thewood, he had said to himself that he would certainly go down before theparty. Now he thought he would stay.
Suddenly, as he was walking back along the Cherwell edge of the park,under a grey sky with threatening clouds, he became aware of a lady infront of him. Annoying or remorseful thought became in a momentexcitement. It was impossible to mistake the springing step and tallslenderness of Constance Bledlow.
He rapidly weighed the pros and cons of overtaking her. It was mostunlikely that she had yet heard of the accident. And yet she might haveseen Sorell.
He made up his mind and quickened his pace. She heard the steps behindher and involuntarily looked round. He saw, with a passionate delight,that she could not immediately hide the agitation with which sherecognised him.
"Whither away?" he said as he took off his hat. "Were you up as late asI? And are balls worth their headaches?"
She was clearly surprised by the ease and gaiety of his manner, and atthe same time--he thought--inclined to resent his interruption of herwalk, before she had made up her mind in what mood, or with what aspectto meet him next. But he gave her no time for further pondering. Hewalked beside her, while she coldly explained that she had taken Nora tomeet some girl friends at the Cherwell boat-house, and was now hurryingback herself to pay some calls with her aunt in the afternoon.
"What a week you have had!" he said when she paused. "Is there anythingleft of you? I saw that you stayed very late last night."
She admitted it.
"As for me, of course, I thought the ball--intolerable. But that ofcourse you know--you must know!" he added with a sudden vehementemphasis. "May I not even say that you intended it? You meant to scourgeme, and you succeeded."
Constance laughed, though he perceived that her lip trembled a little.
"The scourging had, I think--compensations."
"You mean I took refuge with Mrs. Glendower? Yes, she was kind--anduseful. She is an old friend--more of
the family than mine. She iscoming to stay at Flood in August."
"Indeed?" The tone was as cool as his own. There was a moment's pause.Then Falloden turned another face upon her.
"Lady Constance!--I have something rather serious and painful to tellyou--and I am glad of this opportunity to tell you before you hear itfrom any one else. There was a row in college last night, or rather thismorning, after the ball, and Otto Radowitz was hurt."
The colour rushed into Connie's face. She stopped. All around them thepark stretched, grey and empty. There was no one in sight on the pathwhere they had met.
"But not seriously," she breathed.
"His hand was hurt in the scuffle!"
Constance gave a cry.
"His hand!"
"Yes. I knew you'd feel that. It was a horrible shame--and a pureaccident. But you'd better know the whole truth. It was a rag, and I wasin it. But, of course, nobody had the smallest intention of hurtingRadowitz."
"No--only of persecuting and humiliating him!" cried Constance, her eyesfilling with tears. "His hand!--oh, how horrible! If it were reallyinjured, if it hindered his music--if it stopped it--it would justkill him!"
"Very likely it is only a simple injury which will quickly heal," saidFalloden coldly. "Sorell has taken him up to town this afternoon to seethe best man he can get. We shall know to-morrow, but there is really noreason to expect anything--dreadful."
"How did it happen?"
"We tried to duck him in Neptune--the college fountain. There was atussle, and his hand was cut by a bit of broken piping. You perhapsdon't know that he made a speech last week, attacking several of us in avery offensive way. The men in college got hold of it last night. A manwho does that kind of thing runs risks."
"He was only defending himself!" cried Constance. "He has been ragged,and bullied, and ill-treated--again and again--just because he is aforeigner and unlike the rest of you. And you have been the worst ofany--you know you have! And I have begged you to let him alone! Andif--if you had really been my friend--you would have done it--only toplease me!"
"I happened to be more than your friend!"--said Falloden passionately."Now let me speak out! You danced with Radowitz last night, dance afterdance--so that it was the excitement, the event of the ball--and you didit deliberately to show me that I was nothing to you--nothing!--and he,at any rate, was something. Well!--I began to see red. Youforget--that"--he spoke with difficulty--"my temperament is not exactlysaintly. You have had warning, I think, of that often. When I got backto college, I found a group of men in the quad reading the skit in _TheNew Oxonian_. Suddenly Radowitz came in upon us. I confess I lost myhead. Oh, yes, I could have stopped it easily. On the contrary, I ledit. But I must ask you--because I have so much at stake!--was I alone toblame?--Was there not some excuse?--had you no part in it?"
He stood over her, a splendid accusing figure, and the excited girlbeside him was bewildered by the adroitness with which he had carriedthe war into her own country.
"How mean!--how ungenerous!" Her agitation would hardly let her speakcoherently. "When we were riding, you ordered me--yes, it waspractically that!--you warned me, in a manner that nobody--_nobody_--has any right to use with me--unless he were my fiance or myhusband--that I was not to dance with Otto Radowitz--I was not to see somuch of Mr. Sorell. So just to show you that I was really not at yourbeck and call--that you could not do exactly what you liked with me--Idanced with Mr. Radowitz last night, and I refused to dance with you.Oh, yes, I know I was foolish--I daresay I was in a temper too--but howyou can make that any excuse for your attack on that poor boy--how youcan make me responsible, if--"
Her voice failed her. But Falloden saw that he had won some advantage,and he pushed on.
"I only want to point out that a man is not exactly a stock or a stoneto be played with as you played with me last night. Those things aredangerous! Can you deny--that you have given me some reason tohope--since we met again--to hope confidently, that you might changeyour mind? Would you have let me arrange those rides for you--unknown toyour friends--would you have met me in the woods, those heavenlytimes--would you have danced with me as you did--would you have let mepay you in public every sort of attention that a man can pay to a girl,when he wants to marry her, the night of the Marmion ball--if you hadnot felt something for me--if you had not meant to give me a littlehope--to keep the thing at least uncertain? No!--if this business doesturn out badly, I shall have remorse enough, God knows--but you can'tescape! If you punish me for it, if I alone am to pay the penalty, itwill be not only Radowitz that has a grievance--not only Radowitz whoselife will have been spoilt!"
She turned to him--hypnotised, subdued, by the note of fierceaccusation--by that self-pity of the egotist--which looked out upon herfrom the young man's pale face and tense bearing.
"No"--she said trembling--"no--it is quite true--I have treated youbadly. I have behaved wilfully and foolishly. But that was noreason--no excuse--"
"What's the good of talking of 'reason'--or excuse'?" Fallodeninterrupted violently. "Do you understand that I am in love withyou--and what that means to a man? I tore myself away from Oxford,because I knew that if I stayed another day within reach of you--afterthat first ride--I should lose my class--disappoint my father--andinjure my career. I could think of nothing but you--dream of nothing butyou. And I said to myself that my success--my career--might after all beyour affair as well as mine. And so I went. And I'm not going to boastof what it cost me to go, knowing that other people would be seeingyou--influencing you--perhaps setting you against me--all the time I wasaway. But then when I came back, I couldn't understand you. You avoidedme. It was nothing but check after check--which you seemed to enjoyinflicting. At last, on the night of our ball I seemed to see clear. Onthat night, I did think--yes, I did think, that I was something toyou!--that you could not have been so sweet--so adorable--in the sightof the whole world--unless you had meant that--in time it would all comeright. And so next day, on our ride, I took the tone I did. I was afool; of course. All men are, when they strike too soon. But if you hadhad any real feeling in your heart for me--if you had cared oneten-thousandth part for me, as I care for you, you couldn't have treatedme as you did last night--so outrageously--so cruelly!"
The strong man beside her was now trembling from head to foot.Constance, hard-pressed, conscience-struck, utterly miserable, did notknow what to reply. Falloden went on impetuously:
"And now at least don't decide against me without thinking--withoutconsidering what I have been saying. Of course the whole thing may blowover. Radowitz may be all right in a fortnight. But if he is not--ifbetween us, we've done something sad and terrible, let's stand together,for God's sake!--let's help each other. Neither of us meant it. Don'tlet's make everything worse by separating and stabbing each other. Ishall hear what has happened by to-night. Let me come and bring you thenews. If there's no great harm done--why--you shall tell me what kind ofletter to write to Radowitz. I'm in your hands. But if it's bad--ifthere's blood-poisoning and Radowitz loses his hand--that they say isthe worst that can happen--I of course shall feel like hangingmyself--everybody will, who was in the row. But next to him, to Radowitzhimself, whom should you pity more than--the man--who--was three partsto blame--for injuring him?"
His hoarse voice dropped. They came simultaneously, involuntarily to astandstill. Constance was shaken by alternate waves of feeling. Half ofwhat he said seemed to her insolent sophistry; but there was somethingelse which touched--which paralysed her. For the first time she knewthat this had been no mere game she had been playing with DouglasFalloden. Just as Falloden in his careless selfishness might prove tohave broken Otto Radowitz's life, as a passionate child breaks a toy, soshe had it in her power to break Falloden.
They had wandered down again, without knowing it, to the banks of theriver, and were standing in the shelter of a group of young chestnuts,looking towards the hills, over which hung great thunder-clouds.
At last Constance held out her hand.
&
nbsp; "Please go now," she said pleadingly. "Send me word to-night. But don'tcome. Let's hope. I--I can't say any more."
And indeed he saw that she could bear no more. Hehesitated--yielded--took her unresisting hand, which he pressedviolently to his lips--and was gone.
* * * * *
Hour after hour passed. Falloden had employed Meyrick as an intermediarywith a great friend of Sorell's, one Benham, another fellow of St.Cyprian's, who had--so Meyrick reported--helped Sorell to get Radowitzto the station in time for the two o'clock train to London. The plan,according to Benham, was to go straight to Sir Horley Wood, who had beentelegraphed to in the morning, and had made an appointment for 4.30.Benham was to hear the result of the great surgeon's examination as soonas possible, and hoped to let Meyrick have it somewhere between sevenand eight.
Four or five other men, who had been concerned in the row, includingDesmond and Robertson, hung about college, miserably waiting. Fallodenand Meyrick ordered horses and went off into the country, hardlyspeaking to each other during the whole of the ride. They returned totheir Beaumont Street lodgings about seven, and after a sombre dinnerMeyrick went out to go and enquire at St. Cyprian's.
He had scarcely gone when the last Oxford post arrived, and a letter wasbrought up for Falloden. It was addressed in his father's hand-writing.He opened it mechanically; and in his preoccupation, he read it severaltimes before he grasped his meaning.
* * * * *
"My dear Son,"--wrote Sir Arthur Falloden--"We expected you home earlythis week, for you do not seem to have told us that you were staying upfor Commem. In any case, please come home at once. There are some verygrave matters about which I must consult with you, and which will I feargreatly affect your future. You will find me in great trouble, and farfrom well. Your poor mother means very kindly, but she can't advise me.I have long dreaded the explanations which can not now be avoided. Thefamily situation has been going from bad to worse,--and I have saidnothing--hoping always to find some way out. But now it is precisely myfear that--if we can't discover it--you will find yourself, withoutpreparation, ruined on the threshold of life, which drives me to tellyou everything. Your head is a cleverer one than mine. You may think ofsomething. It is of course the coal-mining that has come to grief, anddragged in all the rest. I have been breaking down with anxiety. Andyou, my poor boy!--I remember you said when we met last, that you hopedto marry soon--perhaps this year--and go into Parliament. I am afraidall that is at an end, unless you can find a girl with money, which ofcourse you ought to have no difficulty in doing, with your advantages.
"But it is no good writing. Come to-morrow, and wire your train.
"Your loving father, ARTHUR FALLODEN."
"'Ruined on the threshold of life'--what does he mean?"--thoughtFalloden impatiently. "Father always likes booky phrases like that. Isuppose he's been dropping a thousand or two as he did lastyear--hullo!"
As he stood by the window, he perceived the Hoopers' parlourmaid comingup Beaumont Street and looking at the numbers on the houses. He ran outto meet her, and took a note from her hand.
"I will send or bring an answer. You needn't wait." He carried it intohis own room, and locked the door before opening it.
* * * * *
"Dear Mr. Falloden,--Mr. Sorell has just been here. He left Mr. Radowitzat a nursing home after seeing the surgeons. It is all terrible. Thehand is badly poisoned. They hope they may save it, but the injurieswill make it impossible for him ever to play again as he has done. Hemay use it again a little, he may compose of course, but as a performerit's all over. Mr. Sorell says he is in despair--and half mad. They willwatch him very carefully at the home, lest he should do himself anymischief. Mr. Sorell goes back to him to-morrow. He is himselfbroken-hearted.
"I am very, very sorry for you--and for Lord Meyrick,--and everybody.But I can't get over it--I can't ever forget it. There is a great dealin what you said this afternoon. I don't deny it. But, when it's allsaid, I feel I could never be happy with you; I should be always afraidof you--of your pride and your violence. And love mustn't be afraid.
"This horrible thing seems to have opened my eyes. I am of course veryunhappy. But I am going up to-morrow to see Mr. Radowitz, who has askedfor me. I shall stay with my aunt, Lady Langmoor, and nurse him as muchas they will let me. Oh, and I must try and comfort him! His poormusic!--it haunts me like something murdered. I could cry--and cry.
"Good night--and good-bye!
"CONSTANCE BLEDLOW."
The two notes fell at Falloden's feet. He stood looking out intoBeaumont Street. The long narrow street, which only two days before hadbeen alive with the stream of Commemoration, was quiet and deserted. Aheavy thunder rain was just beginning to plash upon the pavements; andin the interval since he had taken the note from the maid's hand, itseemed to Falloden that the night had fallen.
PART II