CHAPTER XXIII
BY MOONLIGHT
May waited within the gates of the Lodgings for some moments. She didnot open the door and enter the house. She walked up and down on thegravelled court. She wanted to be alone, to speak to no one just now;her heart was full of weariness and loneliness.
When she felt certain that Boreham was safely away, she went to thegates and out into the narrow street again, where she could hear subduedsounds of the evening traffic of the city.
The dusky streets had grown less dim; the shining overhead was moreluminous as the moon rose.
The old buildings, as she passed them on her solitary walk, lookedmysterious and aloof, as if they had been placed there magically forsome secret purpose and might vanish before the dawn. This was theancient Oxford, the Oxford of the past, the Oxford that was about topass away, leaving priceless memories of learning and romance behind it,something that could never be again quite what it had been. Before dawnwould it vanish and something else, still called Oxford, would bestanding there in its place?
May was tempted to let her imagination wander thus, and to see in thismysterious Oxford the symbol of the personality of a single man, apersonality that haunted her when she was alone, a personality which,when it stood before her in flesh and blood, seemed to fill space andobliterate other objects.
She had, in the chapel, re-affirmed over and over again her resolutionto overcome this obsession, and now, as she walked that evening, herheart cried out for indulgence just for one brief moment, for permissionto think of this personality, and to read details of it in every moonlitfacade of old Oxford, in every turn of the time-worn lanes and passages.
The temptation had come upon her, because it was so dreary to be lovedby Boreham. His talk seemed to mark her spiritual loneliness with suchpoignant insistence; it made it so desperately plain to her that thosesharp cravings of her heart could not be satisfied except by one man. Ithad made her see, for the first time, that the sacred dead, to whom shehad raised a shrine, was a memory and not a present reality to her; andthis thought only added to her confusion and her grief.
What was there to hold on to in life?
"O, put thy trust in God!" came the answer.
"Help me to make the mischance of my life a motive for greater moraleffort. Help me to be a willing sacrifice and not an unwilling victim."And as she uttered these words she moved with more rapid steps.
Shadows were visible on the roadway; roofs glimmered and the edges ofthe deep window recesses were tinged with a dark silver. She passedunder the walls of All Souls and emerged again into the High. A figureshe recognised confronted her. She tried to pass it without appearing tobe aware of it, and she hurried on with bent head. But it turned, andBingham's voice spoke to her.
"Mrs. Dashwood," he called softly.
She was forced to slacken her pace. "Oh, Mr. Bingham!" she said, and hecame and walked by her, making pretence that he was disturbing hersolitude because he had never been told the dinner-hour at the Lodgings,when Lady Dashwood invited him, and, what was more important, he hadforgotten to say that he would be very glad if Mrs. Dashwood would makeuse of him as a cicerone if she wanted any more sight-seeing in Oxfordand the Warden was unable to accompany her. This was the pretence he putbefore her.
Then, when he had said all this and had walked a few yards along thestreet with her, he seemed to forget that his business with her ought tobe over, and remarked that he had been trying to save Boreham's soul.
"His soul!" said May, with a sigh.
"I've been trying to make him work."
"Doesn't he work?" asked May.
"No, he preaches," said Bingham. "If he had a touch of genius he mightinvent some attractive system of ethics in which his own characteristicswould be the right characteristics; some system in which humility andpatience would take a back seat."
May could not help smiling a little, Bingham's voice was so smooth andsoft; but she felt Boreham's loneliness again and ceased smiling.
"Or he might invent a new god," said Bingham, "a sort of compositephotograph of himself and the old gods. He might invent a new creed togo along with it and damn all the old creeds. But he is incapable ofconstruction, so he merely preaches the destruction of Sodom andGomorrah, which is a soft job. Wherever he is, there is Sodom andGomorrah! You see my point? Egotism is always annoyed at egotisms. Anegotist always sees the egotism of other people. The egotism of thoseround him, jump at him, they get on his nerves! He has to love peoplewho are far, far away! You see my point? Well, I've been trying to makehim take on a small bit of war work!"
"And will he take it?" asked May.
"I don't know," said Bingham; "I've just left him, a prey to conflictingpassions."
May was silent.
"Are you going back to King's?" asked Bingham.
She and Bingham were walking along, just as she and Boreham had beenwalking along the same street, past these same colleges not an hour ago.Was she going back to the Lodgings? Yes, she thought, in fact she knewshe was going back to the Lodgings.
"May I see you to the Lodgings?" asked Bingham.
There seemed no alternative but to say "Yes."
"There are many things I should like to talk over with you, Mrs.Dashwood," said Bingham, stepping out cheerfully. "I should like to roamthe universe with you."
"I'm afraid you would find me very ignorant," said May.
"I would present you with facts. I would sit at your feet and hold themout for your inspection, and you, from your throne above, wouldpronounce judgment on them."
"It is the ignorant people who always do pronounce judgment," said May."So that will be all right. You spoke of Mr. Boreham preaching. Well,I've just been preaching. It's a horrid habit."
Bingham gave one of his surprising and most cultured explosions oflaughter. May turned and looked at him with her eyebrows very muchraised.
"I am laughing at myself," he explained. "I thought to buy things toocheaply."
May looked away, pondering on the meaning of his words. At last themeaning occurred to her.
"You mean you wanted to flatter me, and--and I began to talk aboutsomething else. Was that what made you laugh?" she asked.
"That's it," said Bingham. "I wanted to flatter you because it is apleasure to flatter you, and I forgot what a privilege it was."
"Ah!" said May, quietly.
"Cheap, cheap, always cheap!" said Bingham. "Cheapness is the curse ofour age. The old Radical belief in the right to buy cheaply, that poisonhas soaked into the very bone of politics. It has contaminated ourreligion. The pulpit has decided in favour of cheap salvation."
May looked round again at Bingham's moonlit profile.
"No more hell!" he said, "no more narrow way, no more strait gate toheaven! On the contrary, we bawl ourselves blue asserting that the wayis broad, and that every blessed man Jack of us will find it. Yes," hewent on more slowly, "we have no use now for a God who can deny to anyone a cheap suburban residence in the New Jerusalem. And so," he added,"I flatter you, stupidly, and--and you forgive me."
They walked on together for a moment in silence.
"I don't deserve your forgiveness," he said. "But I desire yourforgiveness. I desire your toleration as far as it will go. Perhaps, ifyou were to let me talk on, I might go too far for your toleration," andnow he turned and looked at her.
"You would not go too far," said May. "You are too much detached; youlook on----" and here she hesitated.
"Oh, damn!" said Bingham, softly; "that is the accursed truth," and hestared before him at the cracks in the pavement as they stood outsharply in the moonlight.
"You mustn't mind," said May, soothingly.
"I do mind," said Bingham; "I should like to be able to take my ownemotions seriously. I should like to feel the importance of my beinghighly strung, imaginative, a lover of beauty and susceptible to thecharms of women. Instead of which I am hopelessly critical of myself. Isee myself a blinking fool, among other fools." Bingham's lips went onmovi
ng as if he were continuing to speak to himself.
"When a woman takes you and your emotions seriously, what happens then?"asked May very softly, and she looked at him with wide open eyes and hereyebrows full of inquiry.
"Ah!" sighed Bingham, "that was long ago. I have forgotten--or nearly."Then he added, after a moment's silence: "May I talk to you about thepresent?"
"Yes, do," said May.
"There!" said Bingham, resentfully, "see how you trust me! You know thatif I begin to step on forbidden ground, you have only to put out yourfinger and say 'Stop!' and I shall retire amiably, with a jest."
"That is part of--of your--your charm," said May, hesitatingly.
"My charm!" repeated Bingham, in a tone of sarcasm.
"I'm sorry I used the word charm," said May. "I will use a better term,your personality. You are so alarming and yet so gentle."
Bingham turned and gazed at her silently. They were now very near theLodgings.
"Thanks," he said at last. "I know where I am. But I knew it before."
A great silence came upon them. Sounds passed them as they walked; menhurried past them, occasionally a woman, a Red Cross nurse in uniform.The sky above was still growing more and more luminous. All the rest ofthe way they walked in silence, each thinking their own thoughts,neither wishing to speak. When they reached the Lodgings Bingham walkedinto the court with her.
"Won't you come in?" she asked, but it was a mere formality, for sheknew that he would refuse.
"It's too late," he said.
"And you are coming to dinner to-morrow at eight?" She laid emphasis onthe hour, to hide the fact that she was really asking whether he meantto come at all, after their talk about his personality.
"Yes, at eight," he said. "Good-bye."
As he spoke the moon showed full and gloriously, coming out for a momentsharply from the fine gauzy veil of grey that overspread the sky, andthe Court was distinct to its very corners. The gravel, the shallowstone steps at the door, the narrow windows on each side of the door,the sombre walls; all were illumined. And Bingham's face, as he liftedhis cap, was illumined too. It was a very dark face, so dark that Maydoubted if she really had quite grasped the details of it in her ownmind. His eyes seemed scarcely to notice her as she smiled, and yet hetoo smiled. Then he went back over the gravel to the gate without sayinganother word. She did not look at his retreating figure. She opened thedoor and went in. Other people in the world were suffering. Why can'tone always realise that? It would make one's own suffering easier tobear.
The house seemed empty. There was not a sound in it. The dim portraitson the walls looked out from their frames at her. But they had nothingto do with her, she was an outsider!
She walked up the broad staircase. She must endure torture fortwo--nearly three more days! The hours must be dealt with one by one,even the minutes. It would take all her strength.
At the head of the stairs she paused. Her desire was to go straight toher room, and not to go into the drawing-room and greet her Aunt Lena.Gwendolen would very likely be there in high spirits--the futuremistress of the house--the one person in the world to whom the Wardenwould have to say, "May I? Can I?"
"Don't be a coward! Other people in the world are suffering besidesyou," said the inner voice; and May went straight to the drawing-roomdoor and opened it.
The room was dark except for a glimmer from a red fire. May was goingout again, and about to close the door, when her aunt's voice called toher, and the lights went up on each side of the fireplace. May pushedthe door back again and came inside.
"Aunt Lena!" she called.
Lady Dashwood had been sitting on the couch near it. She was standingnow. It was she who had put up the lights. Her face was pale and hereyes brilliant.
"May, it's all over!" she called under her breath.
May stood by the door. It was still ajar and in her hand.
"All over! What is all over?" she asked apprehensively.
"Shut the door!" said Lady Dashwood, in a low voice.
May shut the door.
"Gwendolen has broken off her engagement!" said Lady Dashwood,controlling her voice.
May always remembered that moment. The room seemed to stretch about herin alleys fringed with chairs and couches. There was plenty of room towalk, plenty of room to sit down. There was plenty of time too. It wasextraordinary what a lot of time there was in the world, time foreverything you wanted to do. Then there was the portrait over themantelpiece. He seemed to have nothing to do. She had not thought ofthat before. He was absolutely idle, simply looking on. And below thesetrivial thoughts, tossed on the surface of her mind, flowed a strange,confused, almost overwhelming, tide of joy.