CHAPTER XIII
THE EFFECT OF SUGGESTION
The clock struck midnight, and yet the Warden had not done what he hadintended to do before he picked up that letter and read it. He had notgone to bed. He was still in his library, not at his desk, but in agreat shabby easy-chair by the fire. He had put the lights out and wassmoking in the half-dark.
So deeply absorbed was the Warden in his own thoughts that he did nothear the first knock on the door. But he heard the second knock, whichwas louder.
"Come in," he called, and he leaned forward in his chair. Who wanted himat such an hour? It would not be any one from the college?
The door opened and Lady Dashwood came in. She was in a dressing-gown.
"You haven't gone to bed," she said.
It was obvious that he hadn't gone to bed.
"No, not yet," said the Warden. And he added, "Do you want me?"
"I ought not to want you, dear," she said, "for I know you must be verytired."
Then she came up to the fireplace and stood looking down at her brother.She saw that the spring and the hope had gone out of his face. He lookedolder.
"I have put Gwen to bed in my room, but even that has not quieted her,"said Lady Dashwood, speaking slowly.
The Warden's face in the twilight looked set. He did not glance at hissister now.
"She has lost her self-control. Do you know what the silly child thinksshe saw?"
Here Lady Dashwood paused, and waited for his reply.
"I hadn't thought. She fancied she saw something--a man!" he answered,in his deep voice.
He hadn't thought! There had been no room in his mind for anything butthe doom that was awaiting him. One of his most bitter thoughts in thetwilight of that room had been that a woman he could have loved wasalready under his roof when he took his destiny into his own hands andwrecked it.
"I don't know," he said, repeating mechanically an answer to hissister's question.
"She thought she saw the Barber's ghost," said Lady Dashwood.
The Warden looked up in surprise. There was a slight and bitter smile atthe corners of his mouth. Then he straightened himself in his chair andlooked frowning into the fire. That Gwendolen should have taken acollege "story" seriously and "made a scene" about it was particularlyrepugnant to him.
"She came in here; why I don't know, and no doubt was full of the storyabout the Barber appearing in the library," said Lady Dashwood. "Weought not to have talked about it to any one so excitable. Then sheknocked her head against the book-case and was in a state of daze, inwhich she could easily mistake the moonlight coming through an openingin the curtains for a ghost, and if a ghost, then of course the Barber'sghost. And so all this fuss!"
"I see," said the Warden, gloomily.
"As soon as we got upstairs, I had to pack Louise off before she hadtime to hear anything, for I can't have the whole household upset simplybecause a girl allows herself to become hysterical. May is now sittingwith Gwen, as she won't be left alone for a moment."
"What are you going to do?" asked the Warden, in a slow hard voice.
"That's the question," she said, looking down at him narrowly.
"Do you want a doctor?" he asked. "Is it bad enough for that? It israther late to ask any one to come in when there isn't any actualillness."
"A doctor would be worse than useless."
"Well, then, what do you suggest?" he asked.
"Couldn't you say something to her to quiet her?" said Lady Dashwood.
The Warden looked surprised. "I couldn't say anything, Lena, that youcouldn't say. You can speak with authority when you like."
"More is wanted than that. She must be made to think she saw nothinghere in this library," said Lady Dashwood. "You used to be able to'suggest.' Don't you remember?"
The Warden pondered and said nothing.
"She would like to keep the whole house awake--if she had the chance,"said Lady Dashwood, and the bitterness in her voice made her brotherwince.
"Couldn't you make her believe that the ghost won't, or can't comeagain, or that there are no such things as ghosts?"
The Warden sat still; the glow was dying out of the cigar he heldbetween his fingers. He did not move.
"When you were a boy you found it easy enough to suggest; I remember Idisapproved of it. I want you to do it now, because we must have quietin the house."
"She may not be susceptible to suggestion!" said the Warden, stillobstinately keeping his seat.
"You think she is too flighty, that she has too little power ofconcentration," suggested Lady Dashwood, with a sting in her voice. "Youmust try: come, Jim! I want to get some rest, I'm very tired."
She did, indeed, look hollow-eyed, and seeing this he rose and threw hiscigar into the fire. So this was the first thing he had to do as anengaged man: he had to prevent his future wife from disturbing thehousehold. He had to distract her attention from absurd fears, he had toimpose his will upon her. Such a relationship between them, the husbandand wife that were to be, would be a relationship that he did not wishto have with any one whom he ought to respect, much less any one whom heought to love.
The errand on which he was going was a repulsive one. If even a fainttrace of romantic appreciation of the girl's beauty had survived in him,it would have vanished now. What he was going to do seemed like a denialof her identity, and yet it seemed necessary to do it. Had he still muchof that "pity" left for her that had impelled him to offer her a home?
They left the library and, as they passed the curtained door of theWarden's bedroom, Lady Dashwood said, "You'll go to bed afterwards,Jim?"
She had spoken a moment ago of her own fatigue as if it was important.She had now forgotten it. Her mind was never occupied for many momentswith herself, she was now back again at her old habit, thinking of him.He was tired. No wonder, worn out with worries, of his own making, alas!
"Yes," said the Warden, "yes, dear."
The lights in the hall were still burning, and he turned them out fromthe wall by the head of the staircase. Then they went up the short stepsinto the corridor. Lady Dashwood's room was at the end.
At the door of her room Lady Dashwood paused and listened, and turnedround to her brother as if she were going to say something.
"What?" whispered the Warden, bending his head.
"Oh, nothing!" said Lady Dashwood, as if exasperated with her ownthoughts. Then she opened the door and went in, followed by the Warden.
The room was not spacious, and the canopied bedstead looked too massivefor the room. It had stood there through the reign of four of theWardens, and Lady Dashwood had kept it religiously. Gwen was propped upon pillows at one side of it, looking out of her luminous eyes withgreat self-pity. Her dark hair was disordered. She glanced roundtearfully and apprehensively. An acute observer might have detected thather alarm was a little over expressed: she had three spectators--and oneof them was the Warden!
Near her stood May Dashwood in a black dressing-gown illumined by herauburn hair. It was tied behind at her neck and spread on each side anddown her back in glistening masses. She looked like some priestess of anancient cult, ministering to a soul distressed. The Warden stood for amoment arrested, looking across at them, and then his eyes rested on Mayalone.
Gwen made a curious movement into her pillows and May moved away fromthe bed. She seemed about to slip away from the room, but Lady Dashwoodmade her a sign to stay. It was such an imperative sign that May stayed.She went to the fireplace silently and stood there, and Lady Dashwoodcame to her. No one spoke. Lady Dashwood stood with face averted fromthe bed and closed her eyes, like one who waits patiently, but takes nopart and no responsibility. May did not look at the bed, but she heardwhat was said and saw, without looking.
The Warden was now walking quietly round to the side where Gwendolen waspropped. She made a convulsive movement of her arms towards him andsobbed hysterically--
"Oh, I'm so frightened!"
He approached her without responding either
to her exclamation or hergestures. He put his hand on the electric lamp by the bed, raised theshade, and turned it so as to cast its light on his own face. While hedid this there was silence.
Then he began to speak, and the sound of his voice made May's heart stirstrangely. She leaned her elbow on the mantelpiece and pressed her handover her eyes. All her prayers that night, all her self-reproach, meantvery little. What were they but a pretence, a cloak to hide from herselfthe nakedness of her soul? No, they were not a pretence. Her prayer hadbeen a real prayer for forgetfulness of herself. But in his presence thepast seemed to slip away and leave her clamouring for relief from thisstrange present suffering, and from this dull empty aching below herheart when she drew her breath. She knew now how weak she was.
She could hear his voice saying: "What is it you are afraid of?" and ashe spoke, it seemed to May herself that fear, of all things in theworld, was the least real, and fear of spirits was an amazing folly.
"I thought I saw something," said Gwendolen, doubtfully; for already shewas under the influence of his voice, his manner, his face; and her mindhad begun to relax the tenacity of its hold on that one distractingfear.
"You thought you saw something," he said, emphasising the word"thought"; "you made a mistake. You saw nothing--you imagined yousaw--there _was_ nothing!"
May could not hear whether Gwendolen made any reply.
"And now I am going to prevent you from frightening yourself byimagining such foolish things again."
Although she did not look towards them, but kept her eyes on the ground,May was aware that the Warden was now bending over the bed, and he wasspeaking in an inaudible voice. She could hear the girl move round onthe pillow in obedience to some direction of his. After this there camea brief silence between them that seemed an age of intolerable misery toMay, and then she perceived that the Warden was turning out the bedlight, and she heard him move away from the bed. He walked to the doorvery quietly, as if to avoid awakening a sleeper.
"Good night," he said in a low voice, and then, without turning towardsthem, he went out of the room.
The door was closed. The two women moved, looked at each other, and thenglanced at the bed. Gwen was lying still; she had slid down low on herpillows, with her face towards the windows and her eyes closed. Theystood motionless and intent, till they could see in the dim light thatthe girl was breathing quietly and slowly in sleep. Then Lady Dashwoodspoke in a whisper.
"Now, I suppose, I can go to bed!"
Then she looked round at May. "Go to bed, May! You look worn out."
"Shall you sleep?" whispered May Dashwood, but she spoke as if shewasn't listening for an answer.
"I don't know," said Lady Dashwood, in a whisper too. "It's so likelife. The person who has made all the fuss is comfortably asleep, and wewho have had to endure the fuss, we who are worn out with it, are awakeand probably won't sleep."
May moved towards the door and her aunt followed her. When May openedthe door and went outside, Lady Dashwood did not close the door or saygood night. She stood for a moment undecided, and then came outsideherself and pulled the door to softly behind her.
"May!" she said, and she laid a detaining hand on her niece's arm.
"What, Aunt Lena?"
"If he liked, he could repel her, make her dislike him! If he liked hecould make her refuse to marry him! You understand what I mean? He mustknow this now. The idea will be in his mind. He'll think it over. ButI've no hope. He won't act on it. He'll only think of it as a temptationthat he must put aside."
May did not answer.
"He could," said Lady Dashwood; "but he won't. He thinks himselfpledged. And he isn't even in love with her. He isn't even infatuatedfor the moment!"
"You can't be sure."
"I am sure," said Lady Dashwood.
"How?" And now May turned back and listened for an answer with downcasteyes.
"I asked him a question--which he refused to answer. If he were in lovehe would have answered it eagerly. Why, he would have forced me tolisten to it."
May Dashwood moved away from her aunt. "Still--they are engaged," shesaid. "They are engaged--that is settled."
Lady Dashwood spoke in a low, detaining voice. "Wait, May! Somehow shehas got hold of him--somehow. Often the weak victimise the strong. Thosewho clamour for what they want, get it. Every day the wise aresacrificed to fools. I know it, and yet I sleep in peace. But when Jimis to be sacrificed--I can't sleep. I am like a withered leaf, blown bythe wind."
May took her aunt's arm and laid her cheek against her shoulder.
"How can I sleep," said Lady Dashwood, "when I think of him, worriedinto the grave by petty anxieties, by the daily fretting of anirresponsible wife, by the hopeless daily task of trying to makesomething honourable and worthy--out of Belinda and Co.? When I sayBelinda and Co., I think not merely of Belinda Scott and her child, butof all that Jim hates: the whole crew of noisy pleasure-hunters thatfloat upon the surface of our social life. The time may come when weshall say to our social parasites, 'Take up your burden of life andwork!' The time _will_ come! But meanwhile Jim has to be sacrificedbecause he is hopelessly just. And yet I wouldn't have him otherwise.Go, dear, try and sleep, for all my talk." Then, as she drew away fromher niece, she said in a tense whisper: "What an unforgivable fool hehas been!"
May closed her eyes intently and said nothing.
"Oh, May," sighed Lady Dashwood, "forgive me; I feel so bitter that Icould speak against God."
May looked up and laid her hand on her aunt's arm.
"You know those lines, Aunt Lena--
"Measure thy life by loss and not by gain, Not by the wine drunk, but the wine poured forth!"
Lady Dashwood's eyes flashed. "If Jim had offered his life for England Icould say that: but are we to pour forth wine to Belinda and Co.?"
The two women looked at each other; stared, silently.
Then Lady Dashwood began to turn the handle of the door.
"Why should he be sacrificed to--to--futilities?" Then she added verysoftly: "I have had no son of my own, May, so Jim fills the vacantplace. I think I could, like Abraham, have sacrificed my son to theGreat God of my nation, but this sacrifice! Oh, May, it's so silly! Hemight have married some nice, quiet Oxford girl any day. And he haswaited for this!"
She saw the pain in May's eyes and added: "I am wearing you out with mytalk. I am getting very selfish. I am thinking too much of my ownsuffering. You, too, have suffered, dear, and you say nothing," and asshe spoke her voice softened to a whisper. "But, May, your sacrifice_was_ to the Great God of your nation--the Great God of all nations."
"The sacrifice had nothing to do with me," said May, turning away. "Itwas his."
"But you endure the loss, the vacant place," said Lady Dashwood.
"I know what a vacant place means," said May, quietly, "and my vacantplace will never be filled--except by the children of other women! Goodnight, dear aunt," and she walked away quickly, without looking back.Then she found the door of her room and went in.
Lady Dashwood's eyes followed her, till the door closed.
"I ought not to have said what I did," murmured Lady Dashwood. "Oh, dearMay, poor May," and she went back into her room.
Gwen was still sleeping peacefully.