CHAPTER XIV
TOGETHER
On the afternoon of the first day after his arrival at the Abbey, somespirit in his feet moved Godfrey to go into the church. As though byinstinct, he went to the chancel, and stood there contemplating thebrass of the nameless Plantagenet lady. How long it was since he hadlooked upon her graven face and form draped in the stately habilimentsof a bygone age! Then, he remembered with a pang, Isobel was with him,and they had seemed to be very near together. Now there was no Isobel,and they were very far apart, both in the spirit and in the flesh. Forhe had not heard of her return to England and imagined that she wasstill in Mexico, whence no tidings of her came to him.
There he stood among the dead, reflecting that we do not need to passout of the body to know the meaning of death, since, as once Isobel hadsaid herself, some separations are as bad, or worse. The story of thedead is, at any rate, completed; there is nothing more to be learnedabout them, and of them we imagine, perhaps quite erroneously, that wehave no need to be jealous, since we cannot conceive that they may formnew interests in another sphere. But with the living it is otherwise.Somewhere their life is continued; somewhere they are gettingthemselves friends or lovers and carrying on the daily round of being,and we have no share in them or in aught that they may do. And probablythey have forgotten us. And, if we still happen to be attached to them,oh! it hurts.
Thus mused Godfrey, trying to picture to himself what Isobel lookedlike when she had stood by his side on that long-past autumn eve, andonly succeeded in remembering exactly what she looked like when she waskissing a rose with a certain knight in armour in a square garden,since for some perverse reason it was this picture that remained sopainfully clear to his mind. Then he drifted off into speculations uponthe general mystery of things of a sort that were common with him, andin these became oblivious of all else.
He did not even hear or see a tall young woman enter the church, cladin summer white, no, not when she was within five pace and, becomingsuddenly aware of his presence, had stopped to study him with theacutest interest. In a flash Isobel knew who he was. Of course he wasmuch changed, for Godfrey, who had matured early, as those of hisgeneration were apt to do, especially if they had led a varied life,was now a handsome and well-built young man with a fine, thoughtfulface and a quite respectable moustache.
"How he has changed, oh! how he has changed," she thought to herself.The raw boy had become a man, and as she knew at once by her woman'sinstinct, a man with a great deal in him. Isobel was a sensible memberof her sex; one, too, who had seen something of the world by now, andshe did not expect or wish for a hero or a saint built upon themid-Victorian pattern, as portrayed in the books of the lady novelistsof that period. She wanted a man to be a man, by preference with thefaults pertaining to the male nature, since she had observed that thosewho lacked these, possessed others, which to her robust womanhoodseemed far worse, such as meanness and avarice and backbiting, and allthe other qualities of the Pharisee.
Well, in Godfrey, whether she were right or wrong, with that swiftglance of hers, she seemed to recognise a man as she wished a man tobe. If that standard of hers meant that very possibly he had admiredother women, the lady whom he had pulled up a precipice, for instance,she did not mind particularly, so long as he admired her, Isobel, mostof all. That was her one _sine qua non_, that he should admire her mostof all, or rather be fondest of her in his innermost self.
What was she thinking about? What was there to show that he cared onebrass farthing about her? Nothing at all. And yet, why was he herewhere she had parted from him so long ago? Surely not to stare at thegrave of a dead woman with whom he could have had nothing to do, sinceshe left the world some five centuries before. And another question.What had brought her here, she who hated churches and all the mummerythat they signified?
Would he never wake up? Would he never realise her presence? Oh! thenhe could care nothing about her. Probably he was thinking of the girlhe had pulled up a cliff in the Alps. But why did he come to this placeto think of _her_?
Isobel stood quite still there and waited in the shadow of a Georgiantomb, till presently Godfrey did seem to grow aware that he was nolonger alone. Something or somebody had impinged upon his intelligence.He began to look about him, though always in the wrong direction. Then,convinced that he was the victim of fancy, he spoke aloud as he had abad habit of doing when by himself.
"It's very curious," he said, "but I could have sworn that Isobel washere, as near me as when we parted. I suppose that is what comes ofthinking so much about her. Or do people leave something of themselvesbehind in places where they have experienced emotion? If so, churchesought to be very full of ghosts. I dare say that they are, only then noone could know it except those who had shared the emotion, andtherefore they remain intangible. Still, I could have sworn that Isobelwas here. Indeed, I seem to feel her now, and I hope that the dreamwill go on."
Listening there in the shadow, she heard, and flushed in her flesh andrejoiced in her innermost being. So he had _not_ forgotten her, whichis the true and real infidelity that never can be forgiven, at anyrate, by a woman. So she was still something in his life, although hehad not answered her letter years ago.
Then she grew angry with herself. What did it matter to her what hewas, or thought, or did? It was absurd that she could be dependentmorally upon anyone, who must rely in life or death upon herself aloneand on the strong soul within her. She was wroth with Godfrey forexciting such disturbance in--what was it--her spirit or her body?Nonsense, she had no spirit. That was a phantasy. Therefore it must bein her body which was her own particular property that should remainuninfluenced by any other body.
So it came about that the first words she spoke to him were somewhatrough in their texture. She stepped forward out of the shadow of theGeorgian tomb and confronted him with a defiant air, her head thrownback, looking, to tell the truth, rather stately.
"I hoped that by this time you had given up talking to yourself,Godfrey, which, as I always told you, is a bad habit. I did not hearmuch of what you were mumbling, but I understood you to say that youthought I was here. Well, why shouldn't I be here?"
He stared at her blankly and answered:
"God knows, I don't! But since you ask the question, _why_ are youhere, Isobel? It is Isobel, isn't it, or am I still dreaming? Let metouch you and I shall know."
She drew back a little way, quite three inches.
"Of course it is Isobel, don't your senses tell you that withoutwanting to touch me? Why, I knew it was you from the end of the church.But you ask me why I am here. I wish you would tell me. I was passing,and something drew me into this place. I suppose it was you, and if so,I say at once that I resent it; you have no right----"
"No, no, certainly not, but do let me touch you to make sure that youare Isobel."
"Very well," she said, and stretched out a hand towards him.
He caught it with his left which was nearest, and then with his righthand reached forward and seized her other hand. With a masterfulmovement he draw her towards him, and though she was a strong woman sheseemed to have no power to resist. She thought that he was going tokiss her and did not care greatly if he did.
But he checked himself in time, and instead of pressing his lips uponhers, only kissed her hands, first one and then the other, for quite along while: nor did she attempt to deny him, perhaps because a wildimpulse took possession of her to kiss his in answer. Yes, his hands,or his lips, or even his coat or anything about him. Oh! it made hervery angry, but there it was, for something rushed up in her which shehad never felt before, something mad and wild and sweet.
She wrenched herself away at last and began to scold him again.
"What have you been doing all these years? Why did you never write tome?"
"Because I was too proud, as you never wrote to me."
"Too proud! Pride will be your ruin; it goes before every sort of fall.Besides, I did write to you. I can show you a copy of the letter, if Ihaven't
torn it up."
"I never got it; did you post it yourself?"
"Yes, that is I took it to the Abbey House and left it to be addressedthere."
"Oh! then perhaps it is there still," and he looked at her.
"Nonsense, no one could have been so mean, not even----"
He shrugged his shoulders, a trick he had learned abroad, then said:
"Well, it doesn't matter now, does it, Isobel?"
"Yes, it matters a lot. Years of misunderstanding and doubt and loss,when life is so short. I might have married or all sorts of things."
"What has my not receiving your letter got to do with that?" he asked,astonished.
"Nothing at all. Why do you ask such silly questions? I only meant thatif I had married I should not have been here, and we should never havemet again."
"Well, you are here and we have met in this church, where we parted."
"Yes, it's odd, isn't it? I wish it had been somewhere else. I don'tlike this gloomy old place with its atmosphere of death. Come outside."
They went, and when they were through the churchyard gates walked athazard towards the stream which ran through the grounds of Hawk's Hall.Here they sat down upon a fallen willow, watching the swallows skimover the surface of the placid waters, and for a while were silent.They had so much to say to each other that it seemed as though scarcelythey knew where to commence.
"Tell me," she said at length, "were you in the square garden on thenight of that dance at which I came out? Oh! I see by your look thatyou were. Then why did you not speak to me instead of standing behind abush, watching in that mean fashion?"
"I wasn't properly dressed for parties, and--and--you seemed tobe--very much engaged--with a rose and a knight in armour."
"Engaged! It was only part of a game. I wrote and told you all about itin the letter you did not get. Did you never kiss a flower for a jokeand give it to someone, not knowing that you were being watched?"
Godfrey coloured and shifted uneasily on his log.
"Well, as a matter of fact," he said, "it is odd that you should haveguessed--for something of the sort did once happen quite by accident.Also I _was_ watched."
"I!--you mean _we_. One doesn't kiss flowers by oneself and give themto the air. It would be more ridiculous even than the other thing."
"I will tell you all about it if you like," he stammered confusedly.
She looked at him with her large, steady grey eyes, and answered in acold voice:
"No, thank you, I don't like. Nothing bores me so much as otherpeople's silly love affairs."
Baffled in defence, Godfrey resorted to attack.
"What has become of the knight in armour?" he asked.
"He is married and has twins. I saw the announcement of their birth inthe paper yesterday. And what has become of the lady with the flower?For since there was a flower, there must have been a lady; I supposethe same whom you pulled up the precipice."
"She is married also, to her cousin, but I don't know that she has anychildren yet, and I never pulled her up any precipice. It was a man Ipulled, a very heavy one. My arm isn't quite right yet."
"Oh!" said Isobel. Then with another sudden change of voice she wenton. "Now tell me all about yourself, Godfrey. There must be such lotsto say, and I long to hear."
So he told her, and she told him of herself, and they talked and talkedtill the shadows of advancing night began to close around them.Suddenly Godfrey looked at his watch, of which he could only just seethe hands.
"My goodness!" he said, "it is half-past seven."
"Well, what about it? It doesn't matter when I dine, for I have comedown alone here for a few days, a week perhaps, to get the house readyfor my father and his friends."
"Yes, but my father dines at seven, and if there is one thing he hatesit is being kept waiting for dinner."
She looked as though she thought that it did not much matter whether orno Mr. Knight waited for his dinner, then said:
"Well, you can come up to the Hall and dine with me."
"I think I had better not," he answered. "You see, we are getting on sowell together--I mean my father and I, and I don't want to begin a rowagain. He would hate it."
"You mean, Godfrey, that he would hate your dining with me. Well, thatis true, for he always loathed me like poison, and I don't think he isa man to change his mind. So perhaps you had better go. Do you think weshall be allowed to see each other again?" she added with sarcasm.
"Of course. Let's meet here to-morrow at eleven. My father is going toa Diocesan meeting and won't be back till the evening. So we mightspend the day together if you have nothing better to do."
"Let me see. No, I have no engagement. You see, I only came down halfan hour before we met in the church."
Then they rose from their willow log and stood looking at each other, avery proper pair. Something welled up in him and burst from his lips.
"How beautiful you have grown," he said.
She laughed a little, very softly, and said:
"Beautiful! _I_? Those Alpine snows affect the sight, don't they? Ifelt like that on Popocatepetl. Or is it the twilight that I have tothank? Oh! you silly old Godfrey, you must have been living among veryplain people."
"You _are_ beautiful," he replied stubbornly, "the most beautiful womanI ever saw. You always were, and you always will be."
Again she laughed, for who of her sex is there that does not like to becalled beautiful, especially when she knows that it is meant, and thatwhatever her personal shortcomings, to the speaker she is beautiful?But this time the only answer she attempted was:
"You said you were late, and you are getting later. Run home, there's agood little boy."
"Why do you laugh at me?" he asked.
"Because I am laughing at myself," she answered, "and you should haveyour share."
Then very nearly he kissed her, only he was in such a hurry, also thewillow log, a large one, was between them; possibly she had arrangedthat this should be so. So he could only press her hand and depart,muttering something indistinguishable. She watched him vanish, afterwhich she sat down again on the log and really did laugh. Still, it wasa queer kind of merriment, for by degrees it turned into little sobsand tears.
"You little fool, what has happened to you?" she asked herself. "Areyou--are you--and if so, is he--? Oh! nonsense, and yet, something hashappened, for I never felt like this before. I thought it was allrubbish, mere natural attraction, part of Nature's scheme and so on, asthey write in the clever books. But it's more than that--at least itwould be if I were---- Besides, I'm ages older than he is, although Iwas born six months later. I'm a woman full-grown, and he is only aboy. If he hadn't been a boy he would have taken his advantage when hemust have known that I was weak as water, just for the joy of seeinghim again. Now he has lost his chance, if he wanted one, for byto-morrow I shall be strong again, and there shall be no more----"
Then she looked at the backs of her hands which she could not seebecause of the gathering darkness, and as they were invisible, kissedthem instead, just as though they belonged to someone else. After thisshe sat a while brooding and listening to the pulsing of her heart,which was beating with unusual strength this night. As she did so inthat mysterious hour which sometimes comes to us in English summers, agreat change fell upon her. When she sat down upon that fallen tree shewas still a girl and virginal; when she rose from it she was adeveloped, loving woman. It was as though a spirit had visited her andwhispered in her ear. She could almost hear the words. They were:
"Fulfil your fate. Love and be loved with body and with spirit, withheart and soul and strength."
At length she rose, and as she did so said aloud:
"I do not know who or what I have to thank for life and all that makesme, me. But I am glad to have been born, now, who have often wishedthat I had never been born. Even if I knew that I must pass awayto-night, I should still be glad, since I have learned that there issomething in me which cannot die. It came when that man kissed myha
nds, and it will endure for ever."