Smith and the Pharaohs, and other Tales

  CHAPTER VI

  PARTED

  Hard indeed would it be to find a happier marriage than that of Anthonyand Barbara. They adored each other. Never a shadow came between them.Almost might it be said that their thoughts were one thought and theirhearts one heart. It is common to hear of twin souls, but how often arethey to be met with in the actual experience of life? Here, however,they really might be found, or so it would seem. Had they been oneancient entity divided long ago by the working of Fate and now broughttogether once more through the power of an overmastering attraction,their union could not have been more complete. To the eye of theobserver, and indeed to their own eyes, it showed neither seam nor flaw.They were one and indivisible.

  About such happiness as this there is something alarming, somethingominous. Mrs. Walrond felt it from the first, and they, the two personsconcerned, felt it also.

  "Our joy frightens me," said Anthony to Barbara one day. "I feel likethat Persian monarch who threw his most treasured ring into the seabecause he was too fortunate; you remember the sea refused the offering,for the royal cook found it in the mouth of a fish."

  "Then, dear, he was doubly fortunate, for he made his sacrifice and kepthis ring."

  Anthony, seeing that Barbara had never heard the story and its ending,did not tell it to her, but she read something of what was passing inhis mind, as very often she had the power to do.

  "Dearest," she said earnestly, "I know what you think. You think thatsuch happiness as ours will not be allowed to last for long, thatsomething evil will overtake us. Well, it may be so, but if it is, atleast we shall have had the happiness, which having been, will remainfor ever, a part of you, a part of me; a temple of our love not builtwith hands in which we shall offer thanks eternally, here and--beyond,"and she nodded towards the glory of the sunset sky, then turned andkissed him.

  As it chanced, that cruel devouring sea which rages at the feet ofall mankind was destined ere long to take the offering that was mostprecious to these two. Only this was flung to its waters, not by theirhands, but by that of Fate, nor did it return to them again.

  After their marriage Anthony and Barbara hired a charming littleGeorgian house at Chelsea near to the river. The drawback tothe dwelling was that it stood quite close to a place of publicentertainment called "The Gardens," very well known in those days asthe nightly haunt of persons who were not always as respectable as theymight have been. During their sojourn in London they never entered theseGardens, but often in the summer evenings they passed them when out forthe walks which they took together, since Anthony spent most of his daysat the Temple, studying law in the chambers of a leading barrister. Thustheir somewhat fantastic gateway became impressed upon Barbara's mind,as did the character of the people who frequented them. As, however,their proximity reduced the rent of their own and neighbouring housesby about one-half, personally they were grateful to these Gardens, sincethe noise of the bands and the dancing did not trouble them much, andthose who danced could always be avoided.

  When they had been married nearly a year a little daughter was born tothem, a sweet baby with violet eyes like to those of Barbara. Now indeedtheir bliss was complete, but it was not fated that it should remain,since the hungry sea took its sacrifice. The summer was very hot inLondon, and many infants sickened there of some infantile complaint,among them their own child. Like hundreds of others, it died when only afew months old and left them desolate.

  Perhaps Anthony was the more crushed of the two, since here Barbara'svivid faith came to her aid.

  "We have only lost her for a little while," she said, choking back hertears as she laid some flowers on the little grave. "We shall find heragain; I know that we shall find her again, and meanwhile she will behappier than she could have been with us in this sad world."

  Then they walked back home, pushing their way through the painted crowdsthat were gathering at the gates of "The Gardens," and listening to thestrains of the gay music that jarred upon their ears.

  In due course, having been called to the Bar, Anthony entered thechambers of an eminent Common Law leader. Although his prospectswere now good, and he was ere long likely to be independent of theprofession, he was anxious to follow it and make a name and fortune forhimself. This indeed he would have found little difficulty in doing,since soon he showed that he had studied to good purpose; moreover, hisgifts were decidedly forensic. He spoke well and without nervousness;his memory was accurate and his mind logical. Moreover, he had somethingof that imaginative and sympathetic power which brings an advocatesuccess with juries.

  Already he had been entrusted with a few cases which he held as "devil"for somebody else, when two events happened which between them broughthis career as a lawyer to an end. In the November after the death oftheir baby his father suddenly died. On receiving the news of his fatalillness Anthony hurried to Eastwich without even returning home tofetch a warm coat, and as a result took a severe cold. During the winterfollowing the funeral this cold settled on his lungs. At last towardsthe spring the crisis came. He was taken seriously ill, and on hispartial recovery several doctors held a consultation over him. Theirverdict was that he must give up his profession, which fortunately nowhe was in a position to do, live in the country and as much in the openair as possible, spending the worst months of the winter either in theSouth of England or in some warmer land. These grave and learned mentold him outright that his lungs were seriously attacked, and that hemust choose between following their advice and a speedy departure fromthe world.

  Anthony would have defied them, for that was his nature. He wished togo on with his work and take the risk. But Barbara persuaded him toobedience. She said she agreed with him that the matter of his healthwas greatly exaggerated. At the same time, she pointed out that as theywere now very well off she saw no reason why he should continue to slaveat a profession which might or might not bring him an adequate returnfifteen or twenty years later. She added that personally she detestedLondon, and would like nothing better than to live at Eastwich near herown people. Also she showed him that his rather extensive estate neededpersonal attention, and could be much improved in value if he were thereto care for it.

  The end may be guessed; Anthony gave up the Bar and the house inChelsea. After staying at Torquay for a few of the winter months,where his health improved enormously, they moved to Eastwich during thefollowing May. Here their welcome was warm indeed, not only from theRectory party, who rejoiced to have Barbara back among them, but fromthe entire neighbourhood, including the tenants and labourers on theproperty.

  The ensuing summer was one of the happiest of their married life.Anthony became so much better that Barbara began to believe he hadthrown off his lung weakness. Certain repairs and rearrangements oftheir old Elizabethan house agreeably occupied their time, and, to crownall, on Christmas Eve Barbara gave birth to a son, an extraordinarilyfine and vigorous child, red-haired, blue-eyed, and so far as could beseen at that early age entirely unlike either of his parents.

  The old doctor who ushered him into the world remarked that he had neverseen a more splendid and perfect boy, nor one who appeared to possess arobuster constitution.

  In due course Mr. Walrond christened him by the name of Anthony, afterhis father, and a dinner was given to the tenants and labourers inhonour of the event.

  That same month, there being a dearth of suitable men with an adequateknowledge of the law, Anthony, who already was a magistrate, though soyoung, was elected a Deputy-Chairman of Quarter Sessions for his county.This local honour pleased him very much, since now he knew thathis legal education would not be wasted, and that he would have anopportunity of turning it to use as a judge of minor cases.

  Yet this grateful and conciliatory appointment in the end brought himevil and not good. The first Quarter Sessions at which he was calledupon to preside in one of the courts fell in February, when he oughtto have been out of the East of England. The calendar was heavy, andAnthony acquitted himself very well in the trial of some difficul
tcases, earning the compliments of all concerned. But on leaving the hotcourt after a long day he caught a heavy cold, which awoke his latentcomplaint, and from that time forward he began to go down hill.

  Still, watched, fought against by Barbara, its progress was slow. Thewinter months they spent in warmer climates, only residing in Eastwichfrom May to November. During the summer Anthony occupied himself onmatters connected with the estate and principally with the cultivationof the home farm. Indeed, as time went on and increasing weakness forcedhim to withdraw himself more and more from the world and its affairs,the interests of this farm loomed ever larger in his eyes, as largelyindeed as though he depended upon it alone for his daily bread.Moreover, it brought him into touch with Nature, and now that they wereso near to parting, his friendship with her grew very close.

  This was one of his troubles, that when he died, and he knew that beforevery long he must die, even if he continued to live in some other form,he must bid farewell to the Nature that he knew.

  Of course, there was much of her, her cruel side, that he would rejoiceto lose. He could scarcely conceive a future existence framed upon thoselines of struggle, which in its working involves pain and cruelty anddeath. Putting aside sport and its pleasures, which he had abandonedbecause of the suffering and extinction entailed upon the shot or huntedcreatures, to him it seemed inexpressibly sad that even his honestfarming operations, at least where the beasts were concerned, shouldalways culminate in death. Why should the faithful horse be knocked onthe head when it grew old, or the poor cow go to the butcher as a rewardfor its long career of usefulness and profit?

  What relentless power had thus decreed? In any higher life surely thisdecree would be rescinded, and of that side of Nature he had seen morethan enough upon the earth. It was her gentler and harmless aspects fromwhich he did not wish to part--from the flower and the fruit, from thespringing blade and the ripened corn; from the beauty that broodedover sea and land; from the glory of the spreading firmament alive withlight, and the winds that blew beneath it, and the rains that washedthe face of earth; from the majestic passage of the glittering starsshedding their sweet influences through the night. To bid farewell tosuch things as these must, to his mind, indeed be terrible.

  Once he said as much to Barbara, who thought a while and answered him:

  "Why should we be taken beyond all things? If seems scarcely reasonable.I know we have not much to go on, but did not the Christ speak ofdrinking the fruit of the vine 'new with you in my Father's kingdom'?Therefore surely there must be a growing plant that produces the fruitand a process directed by intelligence that turns it into wine. Theremust be husbandmen or farmers. There must be mansions or abiding places,also, for they are spoken of, and flowers and all things that arebeautiful and useful; a new earth indeed, but not one so different tothe old as to be utterly unfamiliar."

  Anthony said no more of the matter at this time, but it must haveremained in his mind. At any rate, a month or two later when he woke upone morning he said to Barbara:

  "Will you laugh very much if I tell you of a dream that came to me lastnight--if it was a dream, for I seemed to be still awake?"

  "Why should I laugh at your dream?" she asked, kissing him. "I oftenthink that there is as much truth in dreams as in anything else. Tell itto me."

  "I dreamed that I saw a mighty landscape which I knew was not of theearth. It came to me like a picture, and a great stillness brooded overit. At the back of this landscape stood a towering cliff of stern rockthousands of feet high. Set at intervals along the edge of the cliffwere golden figures, mighty and immovable. Whether they were livingguards or only statues I do not know, for I never came near to them.Here and there, miles apart, streams from the lands beyond pouredover the edge of the cliff in huge cascades of foam that became ragingtorrents when they reached its lowest slopes. One of these rivers feda lake which lay in a chasm on the slopes, and from either end of thislake poured two rivers which seemed to me about twenty miles apart, aswe should judge. They ran through groves of cedars and large groupsof forest trees not unlike to enormous oaks and pines, and yet not thesame.

  "One river, that to the right if I looked towards the lake, was verybroad, so broad that after it reached the plain and flowed slowly,great ships could have sailed upon it. The other, that to the left, wassmaller and more rapid, but it also wandered away across the plaintill my sight could follow it no farther. I observed that the broad,right-hand river evidently inundated its banks in seasons of flood, muchas the Nile does, and that all along those banks were fields filled withrich crops, of what sort I do not know. The plain itself, which I takeit was a kind of delta, the gift of the great river, was limitless. Itstretched on and on, broken only by forests, along the edges of whichmoved many animals.

  "When first I saw this landscape it was suffused with a sweet and pearlylight, that came not from sun or moon or stars, but from a luminous bodyin shape like a folded fan, of which the handle rested on the earth. Bydegrees this fan began to open; I suppose that it was the hour of dawn.Its ribs of gorgeous light spread themselves from one side of heavento the other and were joined together by webs of a thousand colours,of such stuff as the rainbow, only a hundred times more beautiful. Thereflection from these rainbow webs lay upon the earth, divided byand sometimes mingled with those from the bars of light, and made itglorious.

  "All these things I saw from an eminence on which I stood that rosebetween the rivers at the head of the plain. At length, overcome by thesplendour, drunk as it were with beauty, I turned to look behind me, andthere, quite close, in the midst of stately gardens with terraces andtrees and fountains and banks of flowers, I saw a house, and--now indeedyou will laugh--for so far as I can recollect it, in general style itwas not unlike our own; that is to say, its architecture seemed to bemore or less Elizabethan. If one who was acquainted with Elizabethanbuildings had gone to that land and built a house from memory, butwith more beautiful materials, he might have produced such a one as Iimagined in my dream.

  "Presently from the door of the house emerged two figures. One of thesewas my brother George and the other, Barbara, was our baby grown to alittle fair-haired child. The child perceived me first and ran tome through the flowers. It leapt into my arms and kissed me. Then mybrother came and said--I do not mean he spoke, but his meaning wasconveyed to me:

  "'You see, we are making your home ready. We hope that you will like itwhen you come, but if not you can change it as you wish.'

  "Then I woke up, or went to sleep--I do not know which."

  Barbara made light of Anthony's dream, which seemed to her to be afterall but a reflection or an echo of earthly things tricked out with somebizarre imagination. Was not this obvious? The house? A vague replica ofhis own house. The river? Something copied from the Nile, delta and all.The waterfalls? Niagara on a larger scale. The great trees? Doubtlesstheir counterparts grew in America. The brother and the babe--would henot naturally be thinking of his brother and his babe? The thing stoodself-convicted. Echo, echo, echo, flung back in mockery of our agonisedpleadings from the cliffs of the Beyond.

  And yet this dream haunted her, especially as it returned to him morethan once, always with a few added details. They often talked of thissupernatural landscape and of the great radiant fan which closed atnight and opened itself by day, wherewith it was illuminated. Barbarathought it strange that Anthony should have imagined so splendid athing. And yet why should he not have done so? If she could picture itin her own mind, why should he not be able to originate it in his.

  She told him all this, only avoiding allusions to the child, the babyBarbara whom they had lost. For of this child, although she longedto ask him details as to her supposed appearance, she could not bringherself to speak. Supposing that he were right, supposing that theirdaughter was really growing up yonder towards some celestial womanhood,and waiting for him and waiting for her, the mother upon whose breastshe had lain, the poor, bereaved mother. Oh! then would not all be worthwhile?

  Ant
hony listened and said that he agreed with her; as a lawyer he hadanalysed the dream and found in it nothing at all. Nothing more, forinstance, than on analysis is to be found in any and every religion.

  "And yet," he added, with that pleasant smile of his which was beginningto grow so painfully sweet and plaintive in its character, "and yet, itis very odd how real that landscape and that house are becoming to me.Do you know, Barbara, that the other night I seemed to be sitting init in a great cool room, looking out at the river and the vast fertileplain. Then you came in, my dear, clad in a beautiful robe embroideredwith violets. Yes, you came in glancing round you timidly like one whohad lost her way, and saw me and cried aloud."

  Towards the end Anthony grew worse with a dreadful swiftness. He was tohave gone abroad as usual that winter, but when the time came his statewas such that the doctors shrugged their shoulders and said that hemight as well stop at home in comfort.

  Up to the middle of October he managed to get out upon the farm on finedays to see to the drilling of the wheat and so forth. One rather roughafternoon he went out thus, not because he wished to, but for the sakeof his spaniel dog, Nell, which bothered him to come into the fresh air.Not finding something that he sought, he was drawn far afield and caughtin a tempest of rain and wind, through which he must struggle home.Barbara who, growing anxious, had gone to seek him, found him leaningagainst an oak unable to speak, with a little stream of blood tricklingfrom the corner of his mouth. Indeed, it was the dog, which seemeddistressed, that discovered her and led her to him.