A Monk of Cruta

  CHAPTER XXI

  "ADREA'S DIARY"

  "By love stalks hate, his brother and his mate."

  I am scarcely calm enough to write! Yet I must write! My heart isfull; my very pulses are throbbing with excitement! What is it thathas happened? It is all confused in my mind. Let me try and set itdown clearly; then perhaps I shall be able to see my way.

  Yesterday it seemed to me that my being was all too small for onepassion. Now it holds two! The one, perhaps, intensifies the other.That is possible, for they are opposites, and one has grown out of theother. Now I cannot tell which is the stronger, the love or the hate.

  I love one man, and I hate another. Perhaps I should say I love oneman because I hate another. You, my dumb confidant, may be trustedwith names, so I will be clearer still. I love Paul de Vaux, and Ihate Father Adrian!

  Oh! that he should have dared! that he should have dared to speak soto me! If only Paul had been there, he should have beaten him. If Ihad had the strength and the means, I would have killed him wherehe stood, and silenced those thin, cruel lips for ever. I could havestabbed him to the heart, and my hand would never have faltered.

  Let me try to recall that scene. It is not difficult. His words areringing still in my ears, and his white, passionate face seems tofollow and mock me wherever I look. I see it out there in the whitemoonlight, and it rises up from the dark corners of the room. Ithaunts me, and I hate it! I hate him as a woman hates any one whocomes between her and the man she loves!

  We were alone, Paul and I; at least, we thought so. I had heard no oneenter, nor had he. But suddenly a voice rang out and filled the room;a fierce, cruel voice, so changed and hardened with passion that Iscarcely recognised it. But when we sprang up, and peered through thetwilight of the chamber we saw him standing close to us,--so closethat he might even have heard our whispered words to one another.

  There had been some ceremony at the monastery amongst the hills wheremost of his time here is spent, and he had evidently come straightfrom there. His flowing black robes were splashed with mud and torn bybrambles, and his white face was livid with exhaustion and anger. Hisdark eyes burned like fire in their hollow depths, and his righthand was raised above his head, as though he had been on the point ofstriking or denouncing us. I shall not forget his appearance while Ilive. It will haunt me to my dying day.

  I think that it is the mystery of it all which tortures me so. Whathas Paul to fear from him? Whence comes his power? What evil is itwhich he holds suspended over his head? There is only one that I canimagine. Father Adrian must hold the key to that awful deathbed sceneat the monastery of Cruta. As I write the words, my hand shakes, myheart sickens with the horror of that memory. Well have I cause toshrink from all thought of that hideous night;--I, to whom the son ofMartin de Vaux has become the dearest amongst men! What was it Paulsaid to me? "He knows something which my father told him whilst he laydying." Is it that knowledge which gives him this strange power? Idid not believe in it! I would not have believed in it! But, in thatdreadful moment, I turned to Paul, and I saw his face!

  A volley of words seemed trembling on Father Adrian's lips; yet he didnot speak. We waited for the storm to burst; we waited till I couldbear the silence no longer, and I felt that if it was not broken Ishould go mad. So I drew near to him, and spoke a single word in hisear. Then I glided back to Paul's side.

  "Spy!"

  He treated the insult as one might treat the bite of an insect inthe face of some imminent danger. He did not reply to it; he did notappear to have heard it. His eyes traveled over me, as though theyhad been sightless, and challenged Paul's. In the excitement of themoment, his words sounded tame, and almost meaningless.

  "This is your answer, then, Paul de Vaux! Let it be so! I accept yourdecision!"

  There was no defiance in Paul's answer. His manner was quite subdued.I think that both his words and his tone surprised me.

  "You have seen! I am in your hands!"

  I looked from one to the other, troubled. I felt that there was ahidden meaning in their words which I could not understand. Therewas something between them from which I was excluded. But this muchI knew. There was a threat in Father Adrian's words, and it was I whowas the cause of it. Oh! if this man should bring evil upon Paul! Thethought of it is like madness to me! See, there goes my pen! I cannotwrite when I think of it!

  I have opened my window. The very air is sad with the moaning ofthe sea, and the rustling of the night breeze in the thick, tangledshrubbery below. But to me it is sweet and grateful! I am in no moodfor pleasant sounds or sights. The dreariness of the night finds itsecho in my heart. The damp breeze cools my forehead! To-night I feelconscious of a new strength. It is the strength of hate! My mind isfull of dim purposes; time will aid them to gather strength! As theygroup themselves together, action will suggest itself. To time I leavethem!

  Let me go back to my recital of what passed between us three. Astrange lethargic calm seemed to have fallen upon Paul. He turned tome without even a single trace of the passion which had lit up hisface a few moments before.

  "I must go!" he said quietly. "Farewell!"

  I could scarcely believe that he meant it; that he was going awaywithout another word, at what was really this priest's unspokenbidding. But it was so. From that moment, the fear of Father Adrianwhich had grown up in my heart leaped into a new strength. I wasangry, and full of resistance.

  "Why should you go?" I cried. "I have much to say to you!"

  "I must go now, Adrea," he answered simply. "When I came I had nothought of staying. It is late!"

  I felt my face grow hot with passion as I turned swiftly round towardsFather Adrian. "It is you who should go," I cried. "Why have you comehere? Why are you always creeping across my life like a dark, noisomeshadow? Go away! Begone! I will not be left with you!"

  He turned a shade paler, but he did not sacrifice his dignity, asI hoped that he would, by answering me with anger. He did not evenanswer me at all. He looked over my head at my lover.

  "To-morrow night!" he said calmly.

  "To-morrow night!" Paul answered.

  I stood between them, angry but helpless. A log of wood had justfallen from the fire on to the hearth, and in its sudden blaze I couldsee their faces distinctly. The utter contrast between the two menthrew each into strong relief. Paul, in his scarlet coat and ridingclothes, pale and impassive, but _debonnaire_; and Father Adrian, hisstrange black garb mud-bespattered and disordered, and his dark, angryface livid with the passion so hardly suppressed. It was odd to thinkof them as creatures of the same species. Odder still to think thatthere should be this link between them.

  I walked with Paul to the door, holding to his arm, and talking,half-gaily, half-reproachfully, all the way. We stood on thestep together while his horse was being brought round, and in thehalf-lights he stooped down and kissed me. But his manner had changed.Even his lips were cold, and his eyes were no longer bright. There wasa far-away look in them, and his face was white and set. There weretears in my eyes as I watched him ride away on his great brown horse,and listened to the distant thunder of hoofs across the moor. His facehad told its own story. He was nerving himself to face some expecteddanger. From whose hands? Surely from Father Adrian's.

  The thought worked within me. I stood for a moment, trying to quietmy passion. As I turned away I heard the stable-yard doors open, and acarriage, laden with luggage, drove slowly out, and, without comingto the front at all, turned down the avenue. I ran out, heedless of myslippers, and called to it to stop. The man obeyed me, and I caught itup, breathless. The blinds were closely drawn, but I opened the door.As I expected, it was she who sat inside, closely veiled and weeping.

  "You were going, then, without a single word of farewell!" I criedreproachfully. "Is that kind? Have I deserved it from you?"

  She threw up her veil. Her eyes were red and swollen with weeping. Shelooked at me pleadingly.

  "Do not blame me more than you can help!" she said. "It was a greatshock
to me to see you--with the son of Martin de Vaux. It was morethan a shock; it was a horror to me! He is like his father! He is verylike his father!"

  I knew that she had passed through a fiery sea of suffering, and Ikept back the anger which threatened me. I pointed upwards.

  "We cannot keep the dark clouds from gathering in the sky, nor can wemake love come and go at our bidding. We are but creatures; it is fatewhich ordains!"

  She bowed her head. "Fate, or the unknown God! I am not your judge,child! I do not leave you in anger!"

  "Why do you go, then, and leave me here alone? It is not kind! It isnot what I should expect from you!"

  The tears started again into her eyes, but she shook them away. "Icannot explain as yet," she said. "You will think me ungrateful, Ifear! I cannot help it! I must go. Farewell, Adrea!"

  A sudden thought came to me. It was an inspiration. "You are not goingof your own free will," I cried. "Some one has been influencing you!"

  Her face was suddenly full of nervous terror. "Hush! hush!" she cried."He will hear you! Let me go now! Let me go, I beseech you!"

  I held her hands. "It is Father Adrian who is sending you away," Icried passionately. "He is my enemy. I hate him! Why should you obeyhim? Stay with me! Do, do stay!"

  She looked at me as one would look at an ignorant child whoblasphemes. "You are talking wildly! Father Adrian is far from beingyour enemy. You do not understand!"

  Her voice had changed; the note of sympathy had died away. I turnedaway from the carriage door in despair. Father Adrian's power wasgreater than mine.

  "You can go!" I said bitterly. "You would have left me here withoutone word, at his bidding. As you say, I do not understand."

  She leaned forward, with a strange light in her eyes. "Child," shewhispered, "I am going to Cruta."

  The carriage drove away and I walked back to the house. The air seemedfull of voices, and the grey rising mists loomed into strange shapes.Cruta! She was going to Cruta! What power had this man in his hands tosend my lover from me with a heart like a stone, and this woman backinto the living hell from which she had just freed herself. It was myturn now! Would he be able to subdue me to his bidding? The thoughtmade me shudder.

  I ran upstairs into my room, and bathed my forehead, and re-arrangedmy gown. Then I set my teeth together, and went down to him. It was tobe a battle! Well! I was prepared!

  * * * * *

  It is over now. I know his strength, and I know his weakness. Whatpassed between us I shall put down to-morrow. To-night I am weary.