how the world is made for each of us!
how all we perceive and know in it
tends to some moment's product thus,
when a soul declares itself—to wit,
by its fruit the thing it does!
robert browning.
the carriage rolled on its way through the snow to st. john's wood, while its two occupants sat side by side in silence. now that they had set out, each felt the hopelessness of the errand on which they were bound, to which only that first stifling moment of horror, that absolute need of action, had prompted them.
the brougham stopped in the road before the gate of the sycamores.
[pg 247]
"we had better walk up the drive," said lord watergate, and opened the carriage door.
by this time the snow lay deep on the road and the roofs of the houses; the trees looked mere blotches of greyish-white, seen through the rapid whirl of falling flakes, which it made one giddy to contemplate.
"a terrible night for a journey," thought lord watergate, as he opened the big gate; but he said nothing, fearing to arouse false hopes in the breast of his companion.
they wound together up the drive, the dark mass of the house partly hidden by the curving, laurel-lined path, and further obscured by the veil of falling snow.
then, suddenly, something pierced through gertrude's numbness; she stopped short.
"look!" she cried, beneath her breath.
they were now in full sight of the house. the upper windows were dark; the huge windows of the studio were shuttered close, but through the chinks were visible lines and points of mellow light.
lord watergate laid his hand on her arm. he thought: "that is just like darrell, to have doubled back. but even then we may be too late."
[pg 248]
he said: "miss lorimer, if they are there, what are you going to do?"
"i am going to tell my sister that she has been deceived, and to bring her home with me."
gertrude spoke very low, but without hesitation. somewhere, in the background of her being, sorrow, and shame, and anger were lurking; at present she was keenly conscious of nothing but an irresistible impulse to action.
"that she has been deceived!" lord watergate turned away his face. had phyllis, indeed, been deceived, and was it not a fool's errand on which they were bent?
they mounted the steps, and he rang the bell; then, by the light of the hanging lamp, while the snow swirled round and fell upon them both, he looked into her white, tense face.
"do not hope for anything. it is most probable that they are not there."
a long, breathless moment, then the door was thrown open, revealing the solemn manservant standing out against the lighted vestibule.
"i wish to see mr. darrell," said lord watergate, shortly.
[pg 249]
"he's not at home, your lordship."
gertrude pressed her hand to her heart.
"he is at home to me, as you perfectly well know."
"he has gone abroad, your lordship."
gertrude swayed forward a little, steadying herself against the lintel, where she stood in darkness behind lord watergate.
"there are lights in the studio, and you must let me in," said lord watergate, sternly.
the man's face betrayed him.
"i shall lose my place, my lord."
"i am sorry for you, shaw. you had better make off, and leave the responsibility with me."
the man wavered, took the coin from lord watergate's hand, then, turning, went slowly back to his own quarters.
gertrude came forward into the light.
"you must not come in, lord watergate."
her mind worked with curious rapidity; she saw that a meeting between the two men must be avoided.
"i cannot let you go alone. you do not know——"
"i am prepared for anything. lord watergate, spare my sister's shame."
[pg 250]
she had passed him, with set, tragic face. he saw the slim, rapid figure, in the black, snow-covered dress, make its way down the passage, then disappear behind the curtain which guarded the entrance to the studio.
gertrude had entered noiselessly, and, pausing on the threshold, hidden in shadow, remained there motionless a moment's space.
every detail of the great room, seen but once before, smote on her sense with a curious familiarity. it had been wintry daylight on the occasion of her former presence there; now a mellow radiance of shaded, artificial light was diffused throughout the apartment, a radiance concentrated to subdued brilliance in the immediate neighbourhood of the fireplace.
a wood fire, with leaping blue flames, was piled on the hearth, its light flickering fitfully on the surrounding objects; on the tiger-skin rug, the tall, rich screen of faded spanish leather; on darrell himself, who lounged on a low couch, his blonde head outlined against the screen, a cloud of cigarette smoke issuing from his lips, as he looked from under his eye-lids at the figure before him.
[pg 251]
it was phyllis who stood there by the little table, on which lay some fruit and some coffee, in rose-coloured cups. phyllis, yet somebody new and strange; not the pretty child that her sisters had loved, but a beautiful wanton in a loose, trailing garment, shimmering, wonderful, white and lustrous as a pearl; phyllis, with her brown hair turned to gold in the light of the lamp swung above her; phyllis, with diamonds on the slender fingers, that played with a cluster of bloom-covered grapes.
for a moment, the warmth, the overpowering fragrance of hot-house flowers, most of all, the sight of that figure by the table, had robbed gertrude of power to move or speak. but in her heart the storm, which had been silently gathering, was growing ready to burst. for the time, the varied emotions which devoured her had concentrated themselves into a white heat of fury, which kindled all her being.
the flames leapt, the logs crackled pleasantly. darrell blew a whiff of smoke to the ceiling; phyllis smiled, then suddenly into that bright scene glided a black and rigid figure, with glowing eyes and tragic face; with the snow sprinkled on the old[pg 252] cloak, and clinging in the wisps of wind-blown hair.
"phyllis," it said in level tones; "come home with me at once. mr. darrell cannot marry you; he is married already."
phyllis shrank back, with a cry.
"oh, gerty, how you frightened me! what do you mean by coming down on one like this?"
her voice shook, through its petulance; she whisked round so suddenly that her long dress caught in the little table, which fell to the ground with a crash.
darrell had sprung to his feet with an exclamation. "by god, what brings that woman here!"
gertrude turned and faced him.
his face was livid with passion; his prominent eyes, for once wide open, glared at her in rage and hatred.
gertrude met his glance with eyes that glowed with a passion yet fiercer than his own.
elements, long smouldering, had blazed forth at last. face to face they stood; face to face, while the silent battle raged between them.
then with a curious elation, a mighty[pg 253] throb of what was almost joy, gertrude knew that she, not he, the man of whom she had once been afraid, was the stronger of the two. for one brief moment some fierce instinct in her heart rejoiced.
phyllis, cowering in the background, phyllis, pale as her splendid dress, shrank back, mystified, afraid. her light soul shivered before the blast of passions in which, though she had helped to raise them, she felt herself to have no part nor lot.
reckoned by time, the encounter of those two hostile spirits was but brief; a moment, and darrell had dropped his eyes, and was saying in something like his own languid voice—
"to what may i ascribe this—honour?"
gertrude turned in silence to her sister—
"take off that——" (she indicated the shimmering garment with a pause), "and come with me."
darrell sneered from the background; "your sister has decided on remaining here."
"phyllis!" said gertrude, looking at her.
phyllis began to sob.
"oh, gerty, what shall i do? don't look[pg 254] at me like that. my dress is there behind the screen; and my hat. oh, gerty, i shall never get it on; i am so much taller."
with rapid fingers gertrude had unfastened her own long, black cloak, and was wrapping it about her sister.
"great heavens," cried darrell, coming forward and seizing her hands; "you shall not take her away! you have no earthly right to take her against her will."
with a cold fury of disgust she shook off his touch.
"oh, sidney, i think i'd better go. i oughtn't to have come." phyllis' voice sounded touchingly childish.
something in the pleading tones stirred his blood curiously.
"do you know," he cried, addressing himself to gertrude, who was deliberately drawing the rings from her sister's passive hands, "do you know what a night it is? that if you take her away you will kill her? great god, you paragon of virtue, don't you see how ill she is?"
she swept her glance over him in icy disdain; then going up to the mantelpiece, laid the rings on the shelf.
[pg 255]
"i swear to you," he cried, "that i will leave the house this hour, this minute. that i will never return to it; that i will never see her again—phyllis!"
at the last word, his voice had dropped to a low and passionate key; he stretched out his arms, but gertrude coming between them put her strong desperate grasp about phyllis, who swayed forward with closed eyes. darrell retreated with a muffled exclamation of grief and rage and baffled purpose, and gertrude half led, half carried her sister from the room, the hateful satin garment trailing noisily behind them from beneath the black cloak.
a tall figure came forward from the doorway; the door was standing open; and the white whirlpool was visible against the darkness outside.
"she has fainted," said gertrude, in a low voice.
lord watergate lifted her gently in his arms. at the same moment darrell emerged from the studio, then remained rooted to the spot, dismayed and sullen, at the sight of his friend.
"you are a scoundrel, darrell," said lord watergate, in very clear, deliberate tones;[pg 256] then, his burden in his arms, he stepped out into the darkness, gertrude closing the door behind them.
half an hour later the brougham stopped before the house in upper baker street.
lord watergate, when he had carried the fainting girl upstairs, went himself for a doctor.
"i think i have killed her," said gertrude, before he went, looking up at him from over the prostrate figure of her sister; "and if it were all to be done again—i would do it."
mrs. maryon asked no questions; her genuine kindness and helpfulness were called forth by this crisis; and her suspicions of gertrude had vanished for ever.
