CHAPTER XIX
"Have some tea, old man, and warm up," said Falloden, on his kneesbefore a fire already magnificent, which he was endeavouring to improve.
"What do you keep such a climate for?" growled Radowitz, as he hungshivering over the grate.
Sorell, who had come with the boy from the station, eyed him anxiously.The bright red patches on the boy's cheeks, and his dry, fevered look,his weakness and his depression, had revived the most sinister fears inthe mind of the man who had originally lured him to Oxford, and felthimself horribly responsible for what had happened there. Yet the Londondoctors on the whole had been reassuring. The slight hemorrhage of thesummer had had no successor; there were no further signs of activemischief; and for his general condition it was thought that the nervousshock of his accident, and the obstinate blood-poisoning which hadfollowed it, might sufficiently account. The doctors, however, hadpressed hard for sunshine and open-air--the Riviera, Sicily, or Algiers.But the boy had said vehemently that he couldn't and wouldn't go alone,and who could go with him? A question that for the moment stopped theway. Falloden's first bar examination was immediately ahead; Sorell wastied to St. Cyprian's; and every other companion so far proposed hadbeen rejected with irritation.
Unluckily, on this day of his return, the Oxford skies had put on againtheir characteristic winter gloom. The wonderful fortnight of frost andsun was over; tempests of wind and deluges of rain were drowning it fastin flood and thaw. The wind shrieked round the little cottage, andthough it was little more than three o'clock, darkness was coming fast.
Falloden could not keep still. Having made up the fire, he brought in alamp himself; he drew the curtains, then undrew them again, apparentlythat he might examine a stretch of the Oxford road just visible throughthe growing dark; or he wandered in and out of the room, his hands inhis pockets whistling. Otto watched him with a vague annoyance. Hehimself was horribly tired, and Falloden's restlessness got onhis nerves.
At last Falloden said abruptly, pausing in front of him--
"You'll have some visitors directly!"
Otto looked up. The gaiety in Falloden's eyes informed him, and at thesame time, wounded him.
"Lady Constance?" he said, affecting indifference.
"And Mrs. Mulholland. I believe I see their carriage."
And Falloden, peering into the stormy twilight, opened the garden doorand passed out into the rain.
Otto remained motionless, bent over the fire. Sorell was talking withthe ex-scout in the dining-room, impressing on him certain medicaldirections. Radowitz suddenly felt himself singularly forlorn, anddeserted. Of course, Falloden and Constance would marry. He always knewit. He would have served to keep them together, and give themopportunities of meeting, when they might have easily drifted entirelyapart. He laughed to himself as he thought of Connie's impassionedcry--"I shall never, never, marry him!" Such are the vows of women. Shewould marry him; and then what would he, Otto, matter to her or toFalloden any longer? He would have been no doubt a useful peg andpretext; but he was not going to intrude on their future bliss. Hethought he would go back to Paris. One might as well die thereas anywhere.
There were murmurs of talk and laughter in the hall. He sat still,hugging his melancholy. But when the door opened, he rose quickly,instinctively; and, at the sight of the girl coming in so timidly behindMrs. Mulholland, her eyes searching the half-lit room, and the smile, inthem and on her lips, held back till she knew whether her poor friendcould bear with smiles, Otto's black hour began to lift. He let himself,at least, be welcomed and petted; and when fresh tea had been broughtin, and the room was full of talk, he lay back in his chair, listening,the deep lines in his forehead gradually relaxing. He was better, hedeclared, a great deal better; in fact there was very little at all thematter with him. His symphony was to be given at the Royal College ofMusic early in the year. Everybody had been awfully decent about it. Andhe had begun a nocturne that amused him. As for the doctors, he repeatedpetulantly that they were all fools--it was only a question of degree.He intended to manage his life as he pleased in spite of them.
Connie sat on a high stool near him while he talked. She seemed to belistening, but he once or twice thought, resentfully, that it was aperfunctory listening. He wondered what else she was thinking about.
The tea was cleared away. And presently the three others haddisappeared. Otto and Constance were left alone.
"I have been reading so much about Poland lately," said Constancesuddenly. "Oh, Otto, some day you must show me Cracow!"
His face darkened.
"I shall never see Cracow again. I shall never see it with you."
"Why not? Let's dream!"
The smiling tenderness in her eyes angered him. She was treating himlike a child; she was so sure he never could--or never would--makelove to her!
"I shall never go to Cracow," he said, with energy, "not even with you.I was to have gone--a year from now. It was all arranged. We haverelations there--and I have friends there--musicians. The _chefd'orchestre_--at the Opera House--he was one of my teachers in Paris.Before next year, I was to have written a concerto on some of our Polishsongs--there are scores of them that Liszt and Chopin never discovered.Not only love-songs, mind you!--songs of revolution--battle-songs."
His eyes lit up and he began to hum an air--to Polish words--that evenas given out in his small tenor voice stirred like a trumpet.
"Fine!" said Constance.
"Ah, but you can't judge--you don't know the words. The words aresplendid. It's 'Ujejski's Hymn'--the Galician Hymn of '46." And he fellto intoning.
"Amid the smoke of our homes that burn, From the dust where our brothers lie bleeding-- Our cry goes up to Thee, oh God!
"There!--that's something like it."
And he ran on with a breathless translation of the famous dirge for theGalician rebels of '46, in which a devastated land wails like Rachel forher children.
Suddenly a sound rose--a sound reedy and clear, like a beautiful voicein the distance.
"Constance!"
The lad sprang to his feet. Constance laid hold on him.
"Listen, dear Otto--listen a moment!"
She held him fast, and breathing deep, he listened. The very melody hehad just been humming rang out, from the same distant point; now pealingthrough the little house in a rich plenitude of sound, now delicate andplaintive as the chant of nuns in a quiet church, and finally crashingto a defiant and glorious close.
"What is it?" he Said, very pale, looking at her almost threateningly."What have you been doing!"
"It's our gift--our surprise--dear Otto!"
"Where is it? Let me go."
"No!--sit down, and listen! Let me listen with you. I've not heard itbefore! Mr. Falloden and I have been preparing it for months. Isn't itwonderful? Oh, dear Otto!--if you only like it!" He sat down trembling,and hand in hand they listened.
The "Fantasia" ran on, dealing with song after song, now simply, nowwith rich embroidery and caprice.
"Who is it playing?" said Otto, in a whisper.
"It _was_ Paderewski!" said Constance between laughing and crying. "Oh,Otto, everybody's been at work for it!--everybody was somarvellously keen!"
"In Paris?"
"Yes--all your old friends--your teachers--and many others."
She ran through the names. Otto choked. He knew them all, and some ofthem were among the most illustrious in French music.
But while Connie was speaking, the stream of sound in the distance sankinto gentleness, and in the silence a small voice arose, naively,pastorally sweet, like the Shepherd's Song in "Tristan." Otto buried hisface in his hands. It was the "Heynal," the watchman's horn-song fromthe towers of Panna Marya. Once given, a magician caught it, played withit, pursued it, juggled with it, through a series of variations till,finally, a grave and beautiful modulation led back to the noble dirge ofthe beginning.
"I know who wrote that!--who must have written it!" said Otto, lookingup. He named a Fren
ch name. "I worked with him at the Conservatoirefor a year."
Constance nodded.
"He did it for you," she said, her eyes full of tears. "He said you werethe best pupil he ever had."
The door opened, and Mrs. Mulholland's white head appeared, withFalloden and Sorell behind.
"Otto!" said Mrs. Mulholland, softly.
He understood that she called him, and he went with her in bewilderment,along the passage to the studio.
Falloden came into the sitting-room and shut the door.
"Did he like it?" he asked, in a low voice, in which there was neitherpleasure nor triumph.
Connie, who was still sitting on the stool by the fire with her faceturned away, looked up.
"Oh, yes, yes!" she said in a kind of desperation, wringing her hands;"but why are some pleasures worse than pain--much worse?"
Falloden came up to her, and stood silently, his eyes on hers.
"You see"--she went on, dashing tears away--"it is not his work--hisplaying! It can't do anything--can it, for his poor starved self?"
Falloden said nothing. But she knew that he felt with her. Their schemeseemed to be lying in ruins; they were almost ashamed of it.
Then from the further room there came to their ears a prelude of Chopin,played surely by more than mortal fingers--like the rustling of summertrees, under a summer wind. And suddenly they heard Otto's laugh--asound of delight.
Connie sprang up--her face transformed.
"Did you hear that? We have--we have--given him pleasure!"
"Yes--for an hour," said Falloden hoarsely. Then he added--"The doctorssay he ought to go south.".
"Of course he ought!" Connie was pacing up and down, her hands behindher, her eyes on the ground. "Can't Mr. Sorell take him?"
"He could take him out, but he couldn't stay. The college can't sparehim. He feels his first duty is to the college?"
"And you?" She raised her eyes timidly.
"What good should I be alone?" he said, with difficulty. "I'm a prettysort of a nurse!"
There was a pause. Connie trembled and flushed. Then she moved forward,both her little hands outstretched.
"Take me with you!" she murmured under her breath. But her eyes saidmore--far more.
The next moment she was in Falloden's arms, strained against hisbreast--everything else lost and forgotten, as their lips met, in thejust selfishness of passion.
Then he released her, stepping back from her, his strong face quivering.
"I was a mean wretch to let you do that!" he said, with energy.
She eyed him.
"Why?"
"Because I have no right to let you give yourself to me--throwyourself away on me--just because we have been doing this thingtogether,--because you are sorry for Otto--and"--his voicedropped--"perhaps for me."
"Oh!" It was a cry of protest. Coming nearer she put her two handslightly on his shoulders--.
"Do you think"--he saw her breath fluttering--"do you think I should letany one--any one--kiss me--like that! just because I was sorry forthem--or for some one else?"
He stood motionless beneath her touch.
"You are sorry for me--you angel!--and you're sorry for Otto--and youwant to make up to everybody--and make everybody happy--and--"
"And one can't!" said Connie quietly, her eyes bright with tears. "Don'tI know that? I repeat"--her colour was very bright--"but perhaps youwon't believe, that--that"--then she laughed--"_of my own free will_, Inever kissed anybody before?"
"Constance!" He threw his strong arms round her again. But she slippedout of them.
"Am I believed?" The tone was peremptory.
Falloden stooped, lifted her hand and kissed it humbly.
"You know you ought to marry a duke!" he said, trying to laugh, but witha swelling throat.
"Thank you--I never saw a duke yet I wanted to marry."
"That's it. You've seen so little. I am a pauper, and you might marryanybody. It's taking an unfair advantage. Don't you see--what--"
"What my aunts will think?" asked Constance coolly. "Oh, yes, I'veconsidered all that."
She walked away, and came back, a little pale and grave. She sat down onthe arm of a chair and looked up at him.
"I see. You are as proud as ever."
That hurt him. His face changed.
"You can't really think that," he said, with difficulty.
"Yes, yes, you are!" she said, wildly, covering her eyes a moment withher hands. "It's just the same as it was in the spring--onlydifferent--I told you then--"
"That I was a bully and a cad!"
Her hands dropped sharply.
"I didn't!" she protested. But she coloured brightly as she spoke,remembering certain remarks of Nora's. "I thought--yes I did think--youcared too much about being rich--and a great swell--and all that. But sodid I!" She sprang up. "What right had I to talk? When I think how Ipatronised and looked down upon everybody!"
"You!" his tone was pure scorn. "You couldn't do such a thing if youtried for a week of Sundays."
"Oh, couldn't I? I did. Oxford seemed to me just a dear, stupid oldplace--out of the world,--a kind of museum--where nobody mattered.Silly, wasn't it?--childish?" She drew back her head fiercely, as thoughshe defied him to excuse her. "I was just amusing myself with it--andwith Otto--and with you. And that night, at Magdalen, all the time I wasdancing with Otto, I was aiming--abominably--at you! I wanted to provokeyou--to pay you back--oh, not for Otto's sake--not at all!--but justbecause--I had asked you something--and you had refused. That was whatstung me so. And do you suppose I should have cared twopence, unless--"
Her voice died away. Her fingers began fidgeting with the arm of thechair, her eyes bent upon them.
He looked at her a moment irresolute, his face working. Then he saidhuskily--
"In return--for that--I'll tell you--I must tell you the real truthabout myself. I don't think you know me yet--and I don't know myself.I've got a great brutal force in me somewhere--that wants to brusheverything--that hinders me--or checks me--out of my path. I don't knowthat I can control it--that I can make a woman happy. It's an awful riskfor you. Look at that poor fellow!" He flung out his hand towards thatdistant room whence came every now and then a fresh wave of music. "Ididn't intend to do him any bodily harm--"
"Of course not! It was an accident!" cried Connie passionately.
"Perhaps--strictly. But I did mean somehow to crush him--to make itprecious hot for him--just because he'd got in my way. My will was likea steel spring in a machine--that had been let go. Suppose I felt likethat again, towards--"
"Towards me?" Connie opened her eyes very wide, puckering her prettybrow.
"Towards some one--or something--you care for. We are certain todisagree about heaps of things."
"Of course we are. Quite certain!"
"I tell you again"--said Falloden, speaking with a strong simplicity andsincerity that was all the time undoing the impression he honestlydesired to make--"It's a big risk for you--a temperament like mine--andyou ought to think it over seriously. And then"--he paused abruptly infront of her, his hands in his pockets--"why should you--you're soyoung!--start life with any burden on you? Why should you? It'spreposterous! I must look after Otto all his life."
"So must I!" said Connie quickly. "That's the same for both of us."
"And then--you may forget it--but I can't. I repeat--I'm a pauper. I'velost Flood. I've lost everything that I could once have given you. I'vegot about four thousand pounds left--just enough to start me at thebar--when I've paid for the Orpheus. And I can't take a farthing from mymother or the other children. I should be just living upon you. How do Iknow that I shall get on at the bar?"
Connie smiled; but her lips trembled.
"Do think it over," he implored; and he walked away from her again, asthough to leave her free.
There was a silence. He turned anxiously to look at her.
"I seem"--said Connie, in a low voice that shook--"to have kissedsomebody--for nothing."
/>
That was the last stroke. He came back to her, and knelt beside her,murmuring inarticulate things. With a sigh of relief, Connie subsidedupon his shoulder, conscious through all her emotion of the dearstrangeness of the man's coat against her cheek. But presently, she drewherself away, and looked him in the eyes, while her own swam.
"I love you"--she said deliberately--"because--well, first because Ilove you!--that's the only good reason, isn't it; and then, becauseyou're so sorry. And I'm sorry too. We've both got to make up--we'regoing to make up all we can." Her sweet face darkened. "Oh, Douglas,it'll take the two of us--and even then we can't do it! But we'll helpeach other."
And stooping she kissed him gently, lingeringly, on the brow. It was akiss of consecration.
* * * * *
A few minutes more, and then, with the Eighth Prelude swaying anddancing round them, they went hand in hand down the long approach to themusic-room.
The door was open, and they saw the persons inside. Otto and Sorell werewalking up and down smoking cigarettes. The boy was radiant,transformed. All look of weakness had disappeared; he held himselferect; his shock of red-gold hair blazed in the firelight, and his eyeslaughed, as he listened silently, playing with his cigarette. Sorellevidently was thinking only of him; but he too wore a look ofquiet pleasure.
Only Mrs. Mulholland sat watchful, her face turned towards the opendoor. It wore an expression which was partly excitement, partly doubt.Her snow-white hair above her very black eyes, and her frowning, intentlook, gave her the air of an old Sibyl watching at the cave's mouth.
But when she saw the two--the young man and the girl--coming towardsher, hand in hand, she first peered at them intently, and then, as sherose, all the gravity of her face broke up in laughter.
"Hope for the best, you foolish old woman!" she said to herself--"'Maleand female made He them!'--world without end--Amen!"
"Well?" She moved towards them, as they entered the room; holding outher hands with a merry, significant gesture.
Otto and Sorell turned. Connie--crimson--threw herself on Mrs.Mulholland's neck and kissed her. Falloden stood behind her, thinking ofa number of things to say, and unable to say any of them.
The last soft notes of the Prelude ceased.
It was for Connie to save the situation. With a gentle, gliding step,she went across to Otto, who had gone very white again.
"Dear Otto, you told me I should marry Douglas, and I'm going to. That'sone to you. But I won't marry him--and he agrees--unless you'll promiseto come to Algiers with us a month from now. You'll lend him to us,won't you?"--she turned pleadingly to Sorell--"we'll take such care ofhim. Douglas--you may be surprised!--is going to read law at Biskra!"
Otto sank into a chair. The radiance had gone. He looked very frail andghostly. But he took Connie's outstretched hand.
"I wish you joy," he said, stumbling painfully over the words. "I dowish you joy!--with all my heart."
Falloden approached him. Otto looked up wistfully. Their eyes met, andfor a moment the two men were conscious only of each other.
Mrs. Mulholland moved away, smiling, but with a sob in her throat.
"It's like all life," she thought--"love and death, side by side."
And she remembered that comparison by a son of Oxford, of each moment,as it passes, to a watershed "whence equally the seas of life anddeath are fed."
But Connie was determined to carry things off with a laugh. She sat downbeside Otto, looking businesslike.
"Douglas and I"--the name came out quite pat--"have been discussing howlong it really takes to get married."
Mrs. Mulholland laughed.
"Mrs. Hooper has been enjoying Alice's trousseau so much, you needn'texpect she'll let you get through yours in a hurry."
"It's going to be my trousseau, not Aunt Ellen's," said Connie withdecision. "Let me see. It's now nearly Christmas. Didn't we say the 12thof January?" She looked lightly at Falloden.
"Somewhere near it," said Falloden, his smile at last answering hers.
"We shall want a fortnight, I suppose, to get used to each other," saidConnie coolly. "Then"--she laid a hand on Mrs. Mulholland's knee--"youbring him to Marseilles to meet us?"
"Certainly--at your orders."
Connie looked at Otto.
"Dear Otto?" The soft tone pleaded. He started painfully.
"You're awfully good to me. But how can I come to be a burden on you?"
"But I shall go too," said Mrs. Mulholland firmly.
Connie exclaimed in triumph.
"We four--to front the desert!--while he"--she nodded towardsSorell--"is showing Nora and Uncle Ewen Rome. You mayn't know it"--sheaddressed Sorell--"but on Monday, January 24th--I think I've got thedate right--you and they go on a picnic to Hadrian's Villa. Theweather's arranged for--and the carriage is ordered."
She looked at him askance; but her colour had risen. So had his. Helooked down on her while Mrs. Mulholland and Falloden were both talkingfast to Otto.
"You little witch!" said Sorell in a low voice--"what are you afternow?"
Connie laughed in his face.
"You'll go--you'll see!"
* * * * *
The little dinner which followed was turned into a betrothal feast.Champagne was brought in, and Otto, madly gay, boasted of his forebearsand the incomparable greatness of Poland as usual. Nobody minded. Afterdinner the magic toy in the studio discoursed Brahms and Schumann, inthe intervals of discussing plans and chattering over maps. But Connieinsisted on an early departure. "My guardian will have to sleep uponit--and there's really no time to lose." Every one took care not to seetoo much of the parting between her and Falloden. Then she and Mrs.Mulholland were put into their carriage. But Sorell preferred to walkhome, and Falloden went back to Otto.
Sorell descended the hill towards Oxford. The storm was dying away, andthe now waning moon, which had shone so brilliantly over the frozenfloods a day or two before, was venturing out again among the scuddingclouds. The lights in Christ Church Hall were out, but the beautifulcity shone vaguely luminous under the night.
Sorell's mind was full of mingled emotion--as torn and jagged as theclouds rushing overhead. The talk and laughter in the cottage came backto him. How hollow and vain it sounded in the spiritual ear! What couldever make up to that poor boy, who could have no more, at the most, thana year or two to live, for the spilt wine of his life?--the rifledtreasure of his genius? And was it not true to say that his loss hadmade the profit of the two lovers--of whom one had been the author ofit? When Palloden and Constance believed themselves to be absorbed inOtto, were they not really playing the great game of sex like anyordinary pair?
It was the question that Otto himself had asked--that any cynic musthave asked. But Sorell's tender humanity passed beyond it. The injurydone, indeed, was beyond repair. But the mysterious impulse which hadbrought Falloden to the help of Otto was as real in its sphere as theanguish and the pain; aye, for the philosophic spirit, more real thanthey, and fraught with a healing and disciplining power that none couldmeasure. Sorell admitted--half reluctantly--the changes in life andcharacter which had flowed from it. He was even ready to say that theman who had proved capable of feeling it, in spite of all pastappearances, was "not far from the Kingdom of God."
Oxford drew nearer and nearer. Tom Tower loomed before him. Its greatbell rang out. And suddenly, as if he could repress it no longer, thereran through Scroll's mind--his half melancholy mind, unaccustomed to theclaims of personal happiness--the vision that Connie had so sharplyevoked; of a girl's brown eyes, and honest look--the look of a child tobe cherished, of a woman to be loved.
Was it that morning that he had helped Nora to translate a few lines ofthe "Antigone"?
"Love, all conquering love, that nestles in the fair cheeks of amaiden--"
It is perhaps not surprising that Sorell, on this occasion, after he hadentered the High, should have taken the wrong turn to St. Cyprian's, andwak
ened up to find himself passing through the Turl, when he ought tohave been in Radcliffe Square.
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends