And, kneeling there close to that face so sad and lonely, that heart so beaten even in its sleep, he knew that he could not do it--knew it with sudden certainty, and a curious sense of peace.
Over!--the long struggle--over at last! Youth with youth, summer to summer, falling leaf with falling leaf! And behind him the fire flickered, and the plane-tree leaves tap-tapped.
He rose, and crept away stealthily downstairs into the drawing-room, and through the window at the far end out into the courtyard, where he had sat that day by the hydrangea, listening to the piano-organ.Very dark and cold and eerie it was there, and he hurried across to his studio.There, too, it was cold, and dark, and eerie, with its ghostly plaster presences, stale scent of cigarettes, and just one glowing ember of the fire he had left when he rushed out after Nell--those seven hours ago.
He went first to the bureau, turned up its lamp, and taking out some sheets of paper, marked on them directions for his various works; for the statuette of Nell, he noted that it should be taken with his compliments to Mr.Dromore.He wrote a letter to his banker directing money to be sent to Rome, and to his solicitor telling him to let the house.He wrote quickly.If Sylvia woke, and found him still away, what might she not think? He took a last sheet.Did it matter what he wrote, what deliberate lie, if it helped Nell over the first shock?
"DEAR NELL, "I write this hastily in the early hours, to say that we are called out to Italy to my only sister, who is very ill.We leave by the first morning boat, and may be away some time.I will write again.
Don't fret, and God bless you.
"M.L."
He could not see very well as he wrote.Poor, loving, desperate child! Well, she had youth and strength, and would soon have--Oliver! And he took yet another sheet.
"DEAR OLIVER, "My wife and I are obliged to go post-haste to Italy.I watched you both at the dance the other night.Be very gentle with Nell;and--good luck to you! But don't say again that I told you to be patient; it is hardly the way to make her love you.
"M.LENNAN."
That, then, was all--yes, all! He turned out the little lamp, and groped towards the hearth.But one thing left.To say good-bye!
To her, and Youth, and Passion!--to the only salve for the aching that Spring and Beauty bring--the aching for the wild, the passionate, the new, that never quite dies in a man's heart.Ah!
well, sooner or later, all men had to say good-bye to that.All men--all men!
He crouched down before the hearth.There was no warmth in that fast-blackening ember, but it still glowed like a dark-red flower.
And while it lived he crouched there, as though it were that to which he was saying good-bye.And on the door he heard the girl's ghostly knocking.And beside him--a ghost among the ghostly presences--she stood.Slowly the glow blackened, till the last spark had faded out.
Then by the glimmer of the night he found his way back, softly as he had come, to his bedroom.
Sylvia was still sleeping; and, to watch for her to wake, he sat down again by the fire, in silence only stirred by the frail tap-tapping of those autumn leaves, and the little catch in her breathing now and then.It was less troubled than when he had bent over her before, as though in her sleep she knew.He must not miss the moment of her waking, must be beside her before she came to full consciousness, to say: "There, there! It's all over; we are going away at once--at once." To be ready to offer that quick solace, before she had time to plunge back into her sorrow, was an island in this black sea of night, a single little refuge point for his bereaved and naked being.Something to do--something fixed, real, certain.And yet another long hour before her waking, he sat forward in the chair, with that wistful eagerness, his eyes fixed on her face, staring through it at some vision, some faint, glimmering light--far out there beyond--as a traveller watches a star....
End