A Monk of Cruta

  CHAPTER IX

  "AH! HOW FAIR MY WEAKNESS FINDS THEE"

  Paul found no one in the hall of the house where Adrea lived to takehim to her, so after waiting a few minutes for her maid, whom theporter had twice fruitlessly summoned, he ascended the stairs alone,and knocked at the door of her rooms.

  At first there was no reply. He tried again a little louder, and thistime there was a sound of some one stirring within.

  "Come in, Celeste," was the drowsy answer.

  He turned the handle and walked in, carefully closing the door behindhim. At first the room appeared to be in semi-darkness, for a clearspring day's sunshine was brightening the streets which he had justleft, and here the heavy curtains were closely drawn, as thoughto keep out every vestige of daylight. But gradually his eyes grewaccustomed to the shaded twilight and he could make out the familiarobjects of the room; for although it was only his second visit, theywere familiar already in his thoughts.

  Strangely enough it seemed to him, after his first hasty glancearound, that the room was empty; but just then a sudden gleam fromthe bright fire fell upon Adrea's hair, and he saw her. He stood for amoment silent and motionless. She was curled up on a huge divandrawn close to the fireplace, with her limbs doubled under her like apanther's, and her arms, from which the loose sleeves had fallen back,clasped half-bare underneath her head. The peculiar grace of movementand carriage, which had made her dancing so famous, was even morestriking in repose, for there was a faint, insidious suggestion ofvoluptuous movement in those motionless, crouching limbs, and the_abandon_ of the shapely, dusky head, with its crown of dark, wavyhair thrown back amongst the cushions. It was beauty of a strangesort, the beauty almost of some wild animal; but Paul felt a mostunwilling admiration steal through his senses as he gazed down uponher. Her tea-gown, a wonderful shade of shimmering green, tumbled anddisarranged out of all similitude to its original shape, followed thesoft perfections of her outline with such peculiar faithfulness thatit seemed to suggest even more than it concealed, leaving the gentletracery of her figure outlined there like a piece of living Greekstatuary. She turned slightly upon the couch, and a slipperless littlefoot stole out from a sea of lace and white draperies which her uneasymovement had left exposed, and swayed slowly backwards and forwards,trying to reach the ground. Her eyes were still closed, but she wasnot sleeping, for in a moment or two she spoke in a low, drowsy tone.

  "Celeste, I told you not to disturb me for an hour. It isn't fiveo'clock yet, is it?"

  He roused himself, and moved a step further into the room. "It isstill a quarter to five, I think," he said. "I have come before mytime."

  She opened her eyes, and then, seeing him, sprang into a sittingposture. Her hair, which had escaped all bounds, was down to hershoulders, and her gown, still further disarranged by her hastymovement, floated around her in wonderful curves and angles. Had shebeen a past mistress in the art of picturesque effects she could haveconceived nothing more striking. Paul felt all the old fear upon himas he watched the firelight gleaming upon her startled, dusky face,and the faint pink colouring, wonderfully suggestive of a blush, stealinto her cheeks. It seemed to him that she was as beautiful as a womancould be, and yet so different from Lady May.

  She rose, and, with a shrug of the shoulders and a quick, gracefulmovement, shook out her skirts, and pushed the hair back from herface. Then she held out her hand, and Paul found himself compelled,against his will, to stand by her side.

  "How strange that I should have overslept like this, and have takenyou for Celeste!" she said. "Yet perhaps it was natural; for, MonsieurPaul, save Celeste, no one yet has permission to enter my chamberunannounced. How comes it that I find you here to laugh at my_deshabille_?"

  He was silent for a moment, while she looked at him questioningly.Her soft, delicate voice, with its very slight but piquant foreignintonation, had often sounded in his reluctant yet charmed ears sincetheir last meeting; but now that he heard it again he felt how weakwere his imaginings, and what sweet music it indeed was.

  "I am sorry," he answered; and the constraint which he was placingupon his voice made it sound hard and cold. "The porter rang for yourmaid twice whilst I waited in the hall; but as she did not come, Ithought I had better try and find the way myself."

  "And I mistook your knock for Celeste's, and let you discover me_comme cela_. Well, you were not to blame. See, I will just arrange myhair here, and you need not look at me unless you like."

  She stood up in front of a mirror, over which she lighted a shadedcandle, and for a moment or two her white hands flashed deftly in andout amongst the dark, silky coils of disordered hair. Paul sat down,and taking up a magazine which he found lying on the divan, tried toconcentrate his thoughts upon its contents. But he could not. Everymoment he found his eyes and his thoughts straying to that slim, lithefigure, watching the play of her arms and the grace of her backwardpose. When she looked suddenly round, on the completion of her task,their eyes met.

  "Monsieur Paul, you are like all your sex--curious," she said lightly."Tell me, then, do you admire my coiffure?"

  "Very much," he answered, glancing at the loose Grecian knot intowhich she had gathered her disordered hair, and confined it with aband of dull gold. "It is quite oriental, and it seems to suit you.Not that I am any judge of such matters," he added quickly.

  She moved away with a little, low laugh, and lit two or three more ofthe shaded candles or fairy lamps which were placed here and there onbrackets round the room. Then she rang the bell, and gave some ordersto the maid.

  "So you think my hair looks oriental," she said, sinking down upon ahuge cushion in front of the fire. "That is what the papers call mesometimes--oriental. My early associations asserting themselves, yousee. I think I remember more of Constantinople than any place," shewent on dreamily, with her eyes fixed on the fire. "I was only a childin those days, but it seemed to me then that nothing could be morebeautiful than the City of Mosques and the Golden Horn on a clearsummer evening. Why do I think of those days?" she added, shaking herhead impatiently. "Such folly! And yet I always think of them when Iam lonely."

  He was suddenly and deeply moved with altogether a new feeling towardsher--one of responsibility. She was alone in the world, and it was hisfather's hand which had rendered her so. How empty and barren had beenhis conception of the burden which that deed had laid upon him! Like aflash he seemed to see the whole situation in a new light. If, indeed,she had drifted into ruin, the sin lay at his door. He should havefound her a mother; it should have been his care to have watched hercontinually, and to have assured himself that she was contented andhappy. In those few moments the whole situation seemed to change, andhe even felt a hot flush of shame at his own coldness towards her. Heforgot the dancer, the woman of strange fascinations, the idol of the_jeunesse doree_ of West London clubdom, and he remembered only thefact that she was a lonely orphan with a most womanly light in hersoft, dark eyes, and that he had failed in his duty towards her.Paul was essentially a "manly" man, self-contained, and with allhis feelings very much at his control; but at that moment he feltsomething like a rush of tenderness towards this strange, dark-eyedgirl who lay coiled up at his feet. Involuntarily he stretched out hishand and laid it, with an almost caressing gesture, upon her hair.

  She started around, as though electrified, and looking up saw thechange in his face. It was the first kindly look or speech she hadhad from him since they had met in London, and it had come so suddenlythat it seemed to have a strange effect upon her. A deep flush stoleinto her face, and her eyes gleamed brilliantly. She drew a longbreath, and underneath her loose gown he could see her bosom risingand falling quickly. Yet it all seemed so softened and womanly thatthe thoughts which he had once had of her seemed like a distantnightmare to him. The ethical and physical horror of her being--of herever becoming--what he feared, rose up strong within him, and deepenedat once his sense of responsibility towards her, and his new-borntenderness. He took her hand gently, and was startled to f
ind how coldit was.

  "So you do feel lonely, Adrea, sometimes," he said softly, "althoughyou have so many acquaintances."

  The colour burned deeper for a moment in her cheeks. She looked at himhalf reproachfully, half indignantly.

  "Acquaintances! You mean the people who come to see me! I hate themall! Sometimes they amuse me a little, but that is all. They arenothing!"

  "And you have no women friends?"

  "None! How should I! But I do not care. I do not like English-women!"

  "But, Adrea, it is not good for you,--this isolation from your sex."

  At the sound of her Christian name, coming from his lips so gently,almost affectionately, she looked up quickly. It seemed to himalmost as though some softening change had crept over her. Was it thefirelight, he wondered, or was it fancy?

  "Good for me!" she said softly. "Have you just thought of that,Monsieur Paul?"

  Again he felt that pang of conscience; and yet, was she not a littleunjust to him?

  "You took your life into your own hands," he reminded her. "You chosefor yourself."

  "Yes, yes!" she answered, drawing a little nearer to him, till herhead almost rested upon his knees. "I do not blame you."

  "It would have been so easy before to have found a home for you," hewent on, "and now you have made it so difficult."

  "There is no need," she interrupted proudly; "I could keep myself now.I do not want anything from you, Monsieur Paul,--save one thing!"

  She raised her face to his, and it seemed to him to be all aglow witha wonderful, new light. There was no mistaking the soft entreaty ofthose strange, dark eyes so close to his, or the tremor in his tones.And then, before he could answer her, before he could summon upresolution enough to draw away, she had stolen softly into his arms,and, with a little murmur of content, had rested her small, duskyhead, with its coronet of dark, braided hair, upon his shoulder, andtwined her hands around his neck.

  "Paul! Monsieur Paul! I am lonely and miserable. Love me just alittle, only a little!" she pleaded.

  It was the supreme moment for both of them. To her, coveting thislove with all the passionate force of her fiery oriental nature, timeseemed to stand still while she rested passively in his arms, neitheraltogether accepted nor altogether repulsed. And to him, as he satthere pale and shaken, fighting fiercely against this great temptationwhich threatened his self-respect, his liberty of body and soul, lifeseemed to have turned into a grim farce, full of grotesque lights andshadows, mocking and gibing at all which had seemed to him sweet andpure and strong. Her warm breath fell upon his cheek, and her eyesmaddened him. A curiously faint perfume from her clothes floated uponthe air, and oppressed him with its peculiar richness. He was a strongman but at that moment he faltered. It seemed as though some unseenhand were weaving a spell upon him, as though his whole environmentwas being drawn in around him, and he himself were powerless. Yet,even in that moment of intoxication, his reason did not altogetherdesert him. He knew that if he opened his arms to receive thatclinging figure, and drew the delicate, tear-stained face, fullof mute invitation, down to his, to be covered with passionatekisses,--he knew that at that moment he would sign the death-warrantto all that had seemed fair and sweet and comely in his life. Foreverhe must live without self-respect, a dishonoured man in his own eyes,perhaps some day in hers,--for he had no more faith in her love thanin his.

  He held her hands tightly in his,--he had unwound them gently from hisneck,--and stood up face to face with her upon the hearthrug. The softfire-light threw up strange, ruddy gleams, which glowed around her andshown in her dark eyes, fixed so earnestly and so passionately uponhis.

  "Adrea," he said, and his low, hoarse tone sounded harsh andunfamiliar to his ears, "you do not know----"

  She interrupted him, she threw her arms again around his neck, and herupturned face almost met his.

  "I do know! I do know! I understand--everything! Only I--cannot livewithout you, Paul!"

  Her head sank upon his shoulder; he could not thrust her away. Verygently he passed his arms around her, and drew her to him. He knewthat he could trust himself. For him the battle was over. Even as shehad crept into his arms, there had come to him a flash of memory--asudden, swift vision. The walls of the dimly lit, dainty littlechamber, with all its charm of faint perfume, soft lights, andluxurious drapings, had opened before him, and he looked out uponanother world. A bare Northumbrian moor, with its tumbled masses ofgrey rock, its low-hanging, misty clouds and silent tarns, stretchedaway before his eyes. A strong, fresh breeze, salt-smelling andbracing, cooled his hot face. The roar of a great ocean thundered inhis ears, and an angry sunset burned strange colours into thewestern sky. And with these actual memories came a healthier tone offeeling--something, indeed, of the old North-country puritanism whichwas in his blood. The sea spoke to him of the vastness of life, anddared him to cast his away, soiled and tarnished, for the sake of abrief, passionate delight. The breeze, nature's very voice, whisperedto him to stand true to himself, and taste once more and for ever thedeep joy of pure and perfect communion with her. The voices of hispast life spoke to him in one long, sweet chorus, and held up to himthose ideals to which he had been ever true. And blended with all werememories, faint but sweet, of a fair womanly face, into whose cleargrey eyes he could never dare to look again if he yielded now to thisfierce temptation. A new strength came upon him, and brought with it agreat tenderness.

  "Adrea, my child," he said softly, "you make me almost forget that Iam your guardian and you are my ward. Sit down here! I want to talk toyou."

  He led her, dumb and unresisting, to a chair, and stood by her side.

  "Adrea----"

  She interrupted him, throwing his arms roughly from her shoulder, andspringing to her feet.

  "How dare you touch me! How dare you stand there and mock me! Oh! howI hate you! hate you! hate you!"

  Her voice and every limb trembled with passion, and her face was aspale as death. Before her anger he bowed his head and was silent.Against the sombre background of dark curtains, her slim form seemedto gain an added strength and dignity.

  "You have insulted me, Paul de Vaux! Do I not owe you enough already,without putting this to the score! Dare you think that it was indeedmy love I offered you--you who stood by and saw my father murderedthat you might be spared from shame and disgrace! Bah! Listen to meand go! You have a brother? Good! I shall ruin him, shall break hisheart; and, when the task is over, I shall cast him away like an oldglove! Oh, it will be easy, never fear! I shall do it. Arthur is nocold hypocrite, like you. He is my slave. And when I have ruined him,have set my foot upon him, it will be your turn, Monsieur Paul deVaux. Listen! I will know my father's secret! I will know why he wasmurdered! I will discover everything! Some day the whole world shallknow--from me. Now go! Out of my sight, I say! Go! go! go!"

  With bowed head and face as white as death Paul walked out of theroom, with her words ringing in his ears like the mocking echoes ofsome hideous nightmare.