CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.
_September 6th, 11 PM._Here I am back in my own room; at least, I suppose it is me. I havebeen staring at myself in the glass, and I look much the same. No onewho didn't know would guess what had happened to me during the last fewhours, and that to myself I feel all new and strange--a Una Sackvillewho was never really alive until to-day.
I ought to be desperately miserable, and I am, but I am happy, too; halfthe time I am so happy that I forget all about the past and the future,and remember only the present. To-morrow morning, I suppose, I shallbegin worrying and fighting against fate, but for to-night I amcontent--so utterly, perfectly content that there is no room to wantanything more. I'll begin at the beginning, and tell it straightthrough to the end.
We started off for our ride at twelve o'clock this morning in thehighest of spirits, for the sun was shining, the sky was a deepcloudless blue, and, better than all, Vere had taken her first walkacross the floor, supported by father on one side, and Jim on the other,and had managed far better than any of us had expected. She and Jim hadarranged to have lunch together in the garden, and she waved her hand tous at parting, and cried airily:
"Perhaps I may stroll down to the Lodge to meet you on your return!"
Father and mother looked at one another when they were outside the door,so happy, poor dears, that they hardly knew whether to laugh or to cry,and then out we went into the sunshine, where the motor was throbbingand bumping as if it were impatient to be off. When I invent a motorI'll make one that can be quiet when it stands. I'm not a bit nervouswhen once we are started, but I hate it while we are waiting, and thestupid thing behaves as if it were going to blow up every moment.
Rachel was waiting for us, and flushed to the loveliest pink when Willappeared and she discovered that he was to be one of the party. Father,mother and the chauffeur sat on the front seat, Rachel and I on the onebehind, with Will in the middle, and the luncheon-baskets were packedaway behind. I had a mad turn, and was quite "fey," as the Scotch say.I kept them laughing the whole time, and was quite surprised at my ownwit. It seemed as if someone else was talking through my lips, for Isaid the things almost before I thought of them.
We rushed along through beautiful country lanes, through dear, sleepylittle villages, and along the banks of the river. The motor behavedbeautifully, and neither smelt nor shook; it was quite intoxicating tofly through the air without any feeling of exertion, and Rachel herselfgrew almost frisky in time.
At two o'clock we camped out, and had a delicious luncheon; then off westarted again, to take a further circuit of the country, and have tea ata quaint old inn on the way home. All went well until about fouro'clock, when we began to descend a long, steep hill leading to ariverside village. Father told the chauffeur to take it as slowly aspossible, but we had not covered a quarter of the way when--somethinghappened! Suddenly, without the slightest warning, the machine seemedto leap forward like an arrow from a bow, and rush down the hill, moreand more quickly with every second that passed. We all called out inalarm, and the chauffeur turned a bleached face to father, and saidshakily:
"It's gone, sir! The brake has gone. I can't hold her!"
"Gone? Broken? Are you sure--perfectly sure?"
"Quite sure, sir. What shall I do? Run through the village and chancethe river, or turn up the bank?"
We knew the village--one long, narrow street crowded with excursionists,with vehicles of all descriptions, with little children playing about.At the end the road gave a sharp turn close to the water's edge. On theother hand the bank was high and steep, and in some places covered withflints.
Father looked round, and his face whitened, but he said firmly:
"We will not risk other lives besides our own. If that is the choice,run her up the bank, Johnson!"
"Right, sir!" said the chauffeur.
It all happened in a moment, but it seemed like hours and hours. Themachine shook and quivered, and turned unwillingly to the side. Thebank seemed to rush at us--to grow steeper and steeper; to tower aboveour heads like a mountain. My heart seemed to stop beating; a far-awayvoice said clearly in my brain, "_This is death_!" and a great wave ofdespair rolled over me. I turned instinctively towards Will, and at thesame moment he turned towards me, and his eyes were bright and shining.
"Una, Una!" he cried, and his arms opened wide and clasped me in atight, protecting embrace. There was a crash and a roar, a feeling ofmounting upwards to the skies, and then--darkness!
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The next thing was waking up feeling heavy and dazed, staring stupidlyat my coat-sleeve, and wondering what it was, and how I came to bewearing such an extraordinary night-gown. Then I tried to move the arm,and it was heavy and painful; and suddenly I remembered! I was not deadat all, not even, it appeared, seriously hurt. But the others? I satup and glanced fearfully around. The motor lay half-way up the bank, ashattered mass. Father was on his knees beside mother, who was moaningin a low, unconscious fashion. Will was slowly scrambling to his feet,holding one hand to his back. Rachel lay white and still as death, buther eyes were open, and she was evidently fully conscious. Thechauffeur was dreadful to look at, with the blood pouring from his head,but he, too, moaned, and moved his limbs. Nobody was dead! It wasalmost too wonderful to be believed. I dragged myself across to mother,and she opened her eyes and smiled faintly at the sight of our anxiousfaces. Her dear hands were terribly cut; she winced with pain as shesat up, and was evidently badly bruised, but it was such bliss to seeher move and hear her speak that these seemed but light things. Fatherrushed to the motor, managed to extricate a flask from the scatteredcontents, and went round administering doses of brandy to us all inturns. He had ricked his knee, and hobbled about like an old man. Willhad a bad pain in his back, and a cut on his forehead. My left arm wasuseless. Rachel seemed utterly stunned, and unable to speak or move,and the poor chauffeur was unconscious, having fallen on his head on amass of flints.
By this time the accident had become known, and the village people cametrooping up the hill, bringing stretchers with them, for, as theyafterwards explained, they expected to find us all dead. The chauffeurand Rachel were carried in front, but the rest of us preferred to hobblealong on our own feet, mother leaning on father's arm, Will and I, oneon each side, never once glancing in the other's face. It was awful tobe alive, and to remember that last moment when we had forgotteneverything in the world but our two selves. I felt like a murderesswhen I looked at Rachel's still face, and hated myself for what I haddone. Yet how could I help it? When you face death at the distance ofa few seconds, all pretence dies away, and you act unconsciously as theheart dictates. I wanted Will--and--_Will wanted me_! Oh, it iswonderful, wonderful to think of! All these months when he has avoidedme, and I thought he liked me less, has he really been loving me, andtrying to get over it in loyalty to poor, dear Rachel? And was thatwhat it meant when he called me "Una!" and his voice lingered over theword?
Looking back now, I can understand lots of things which puzzled andworried me at the time. I think he began to love me almost at the veryfirst, as I did him. But oh, Rachel, Rachel--dear, sweet, unselfishRachel! I'd rather die than steal your happiness from you! Did shehear, I wonder? Did she _see_? Father and mother were too muchengrossed in themselves to know anything about it--perhaps she, too, wastoo excited to notice. Yet, surely in that awful moment she would turnto Will for comfort, and when she saw him absorbed in me, forgetting hervery existence, she must understand. Oh, she must!
I was terrified to meet her eyes when at last we reached the parlour ofthe inn, and the doctor came to attend to us all in turns. She waslying on the sofa, and when I made myself go over to speak to her, myheart gave a great throb of thankfulness, for she smiled at me, veryfeebly, but as sweetly as ever, and pressed my hand between hers. Sheshook her head when I asked her a question
, and seemed as if she couldnot bear to talk. The doctor was puzzled by her condition; he couldfind no real injuries, but said she was evidently suffering from shock,and must be kept as quiet as possible until she recovered her nerve. Wewere sponged, bandaged, plastered, and fortified with tea, and awretched livid-looking party we were! No one could possibly haverecognised us as the same people who had set out so gaily four hoursbefore.
The doctor was anxious that we should telegraph home, and spend thenight at the inn, but we had two more invalids to consider--Mrs Greavesand Vere, neither of whom were fit to be left alone in suspense, so wechartered a big covered omnibus, borrowed dozens of pillows andcushions, and set out to drive the remaining ten miles, leaving thechauffeur to be taken to the village hospital. Mother, Rachel and I layfull length along the seats, the two men banked themselves up withpillows, and endured the shaking as best they could, and so at last wereached our separate homes. I have been sitting here by my deskthinking, thinking, thinking for over an hour, and it all comes to thesame thing.
I have made one man unhappy through my selfish vanity; I will not ruin awoman's life into the bargain. Rachel is my friend, and I will be trulyand utterly loyal to her. So far my conscience is clear of offencewhere she is concerned, for if I have loved Will it has beenunconsciously, and without realising what I was doing. I have never,never tried to attract him nor take him from her in any way. I havelooked upon him as much out of my reach as if he had been a married man,but after this things will be different. I know the danger that isbefore us both, and shall have to watch myself sternly every minute ofthe time.
I suppose I shall be an old maid now, for I can't imagine caring foranyone after Will. Father and mother will be glad, and I'll try to be acomfort to them, but it will be dreadful getting old, and ugly, andtired and ill, and never having a real home of my own, and someone tolike me _best_. Preachey people would say that it is wrong of me towant to be first, and that I should be quite content to take a lowerplace, but I can't think that can be true where love is concerned, elsewhy did God put this longing in women's hearts? Anyway, I've found outthat love--the _best_ kind of love--is His gift, and if it comes to meat all it shall _be_ as His gift. I won't steal it! Poor, darling,unselfish Rachel, for your sake I must guard my thoughts as well as mydeeds.
I think perhaps I'd better not write any more in this diary for a time.It would be difficult to write of just ordinary things without referringto the one great subject, and that is just what I must not do. Mybusiness is to forget, not to remember. I must not allow myself tothink!