RUPERT'S JOURNAL--_Continued_.
_April_ 23, 1907.
The rain has continued for four whole days and nights, and the low-lyingground is like a quagmire in places. In the sunlight the whole mountainsglisten with running streams and falling water. I feel a strange kind ofelation, but from no visible cause. Aunt Janet rather queered it bytelling me, as she said good-night, to be very careful of myself, as shehad seen in a dream last night a figure in a shroud. I fear she was notpleased that I did not take it with all the seriousness that she did. Iwould not wound her for the world if I could help it, but the idea of ashroud gets too near the bone to be safe, and I had to fend her off atall hazards. So when I doubted if the Fates regarded the visionaryshroud as of necessity appertaining to me, she said, in a way that was,for her, almost sharp:
"Take care, laddie. 'Tis ill jesting wi' the powers o' time Unknown."
Perhaps it was that her talk put the subject in my mind. The womanneeded no such aid; she was always there; but when I locked myself intomy room that night, I half expected to find her in the room. I was notsleepy, so I took a book of Aunt Janet's and began to read. The titlewas "On the Powers and Qualities of Disembodied Spirits." "Yourgrammar," said I to the author, "is hardly attractive, but I may learnsomething which might apply to her. I shall read your book." Beforesettling down to it, however, I thought I would have a look at thegarden. Since the night of the visit the garden seemed to have a newattractiveness for me: a night seldom passed without my having a lastlook at it before turning in. So I drew the great curtain and lookedout.
The scene was beautiful, but almost entirely desolate. All was ghastlyin the raw, hard gleams of moonlight coming fitfully through the massesof flying cloud. The wind was rising, and the air was damp and cold. Ilooked round the room instinctively, and noticed that the fire was laidready for lighting, and that there were small-cut logs of wood piledbeside the hearth. Ever since that night I have had a fire laid ready.I was tempted to light it, but as I never have a fire unless I sleep inthe open, I hesitated to begin. I went back to the window, and, openingthe catch, stepped out on the terrace. As I looked down the white walkand let my eyes range over the expanse of the garden, where everythingglistened as the moonlight caught the wet, I half expected to see somewhite figure flitting amongst the shrubs and statues. The whole scene ofthe former visit came back to me so vividly that I could hardly believethat any time had passed since then. It was the same scene, and againlate in the evening. Life in Vissarion was primitive, and early hoursprevailed--though not so late as on that night.
As I looked I thought I caught a glimpse of something white far away. Itwas only a ray of moonlight coming through the rugged edge of a cloud.But all the same it set me in a strange state of perturbation. Somehow Iseemed to lose sight of my own identity. It was as though I washypnotized by the situation or by memory, or perhaps by some occultforce. Without thinking of what I was doing, or being conscious of anyreason for it, I crossed the room and set light to the fire. Then I blewout the candle and came to the window again. I never thought it might bea foolish thing to do--to stand at a window with a light behind me inthis country, where every man carries a gun with him always. I was in myevening clothes, too, with my breast well marked by a white shirt. Iopened the window and stepped out on the terrace. There I stood for manyminutes, thinking. All the time my eyes kept ranging over the garden.Once I thought I saw a white figure moving, but it was not followed up,so, becoming conscious that it was again beginning to rain, I steppedback into the room, shut the window, and drew the curtain. Then Irealized the comforting appearance of the fire, and went over and stoodbefore it.
Hark! Once more there was a gentle tapping at the window. I rushed overto it and drew the curtain.
There, out on the rain-beaten terrace, stood the white shrouded figure,more desolate-appearing than ever. Ghastly pale she looked, as before,but her eyes had an eager look which was new. I took it that she wasattracted by the fire, which was by now well ablaze, and was throwing upjets of flame as the dry logs crackled. The leaping flames threw fitfullight across the room, and every gleam threw the white-clad figure intoprominence, showing the gleam of the black eyes, and fixing the starsthat lay in them.
Without a word I threw open the window, and, taking the white handextended to me, drew into the room the Lady of the Shroud.
As she entered and felt the warmth of the blazing fire, a glad lookspread over her face. She made a movement as if to run to it. But shedrew back an instant after, looking round with instinctive caution. Sheclosed the window and bolted it, touched the lever which spread thegrille across the opening, and pulled close the curtain behind it. Thenshe went swiftly to the door and tried if it was locked. Satisfied as tothis, she came quickly over to the fire, and, kneeling before it,stretched out her numbed hands to the blaze. Almost on the instant herwet shroud began to steam. I stood wondering. The precautions ofsecrecy in the midst of her suffering--for that she did suffer was onlytoo painfully manifest--must have presupposed some danger. Then andthere my mind was made up that there should no harm assail her that I byany means could fend off. Still, the present must be attended to;pneumonia and other ills stalked behind such a chill as must infalliblycome on her unless precautions were taken. I took again thedressing-gown which she had worn before and handed it to her, motioningas I did so towards the screen which had made a dressing-room for her onthe former occasion. To my surprise she hesitated. I waited. Shewaited, too, and then laid down the dressing-gown on the edge of thestone fender. So I spoke:
"Won't you change as you did before? Your--your frock can then be dried.Do! It will be so much safer for you to be dry clad when you resume yourown dress."
"How can I whilst you are here?"
Her words made me stare, so different were they from her acts of theother visit. I simply bowed--speech on such a subject would be at leastinadequate--and walked over to the window. Passing behind the curtain, Iopened the window. Before stepping out on to the terrace, I looked intothe room and said:
"Take your own time. There is no hurry. I dare say you will find thereall you may want. I shall remain on the terrace until you summon me."With that I went out on the terrace, drawing close the glass door behindme.
I stood looking out on the dreary scene for what seemed a very shorttime, my mind in a whirl. There came a rustle from within, and I saw adark brown figure steal round the edge of the curtain. A white hand wasraised, and beckoned me to come in. I entered, bolting the window behindme. She had passed across the room, and was again kneeling before thefire with her hands outstretched. The shroud was laid in partiallyopened folds on one side of the hearth, and was steaming heavily. Ibrought over some cushions and pillows, and made a little pile of thembeside her.
"Sit there," I said, "and rest quietly in the heat." It may have beenthe effect of the glowing heat, but there was a rich colour in her faceas she looked at me with shining eyes. Without a word, but with acourteous little bow, she sat down at once. I put a thick rug across hershoulders, and sat down myself on a stool a couple of feet away.
For fully five or six minutes we sat in silence. At last, turning herhead towards me she said in a sweet, low voice:
"I had intended coming earlier on purpose to thank you for your verysweet and gracious courtesy to me, but circumstances were such that Icould not leave my--my"--she hesitated before saying--"my abode. I amnot free, as you and others are, to do what I will. My existence issadly cold and stern, and full of horrors that appal. But I _do_ thankyou. For myself I am not sorry for the delay, for every hour shows memore clearly how good and understanding and sympathetic you have been tome. I only hope that some day you may realize how kind you have been,and how much I appreciate it."
"I am only too glad to be of any service," I said, feebly I felt, as Iheld out my hand. She did not seem to see it. Her eyes were now on thefire, an
d a warm blush dyed forehead and cheek and neck. The reproof wasso gentle that no one could have been offended. It was evident that shewas something coy and reticent, and would not allow me to come at presentmore close to her, even to the touching of her hand. But that her heartwas not in the denial was also evident in the glance from her gloriousdark starry eyes. These glances--veritable lightning flashes comingthrough her pronounced reserve--finished entirely any wavering theremight be in my own purpose. I was aware now to the full that my heartwas quite subjugated. I knew that I was in love--veritably so much inlove as to feel that without this woman, be she what she might, by myside my future must be absolutely barren.
It was presently apparent that she did not mean to stay as long on thisoccasion as on the last. When the castle clock struck midnight shesuddenly sprang to her feet with a bound, saying:
"I must go! There is midnight!" I rose at once, the intensity of herspeech having instantly obliterated the sleep which, under the influenceof rest and warmth, was creeping upon me. Once more she was in a frenzyof haste, so I hurried towards the window, but as I looked back saw her,despite her haste, still standing. I motioned towards the screen, andslipping behind the curtain, opened the window and went out on theterrace. As I was disappearing behind the curtain I saw her with thetail of my eye lifting the shroud, now dry, from the hearth.
She was out through the window in an incredibly short time, now clothedonce more in that dreadful wrapping. As she sped past me barefooted onthe wet, chilly marble which made her shudder, she whispered:
"Thank you again. You _are_ good to me. You can understand."
Once again I stood on the terrace, saw her melt like a shadow down thesteps, and disappear behind the nearest shrub. Thence she flitted awayfrom point to point with exceeding haste. The moonlight had nowdisappeared behind heavy banks of cloud, so there was little light to seeby. I could just distinguish a pale gleam here and there as she wendedher secret way.
For a long time I stood there alone thinking, as I watched the course shehad taken, and wondering where might be her ultimate destination. As shehad spoken of her "abode," I knew there was some definitive objective ofher flight.
It was no use wondering. I was so entirely ignorant of her surroundingsthat I had not even a starting-place for speculation. So I went in,leaving the window open. It seemed that this being so made one barrierthe less between us. I gathered the cushions and rugs from before thefire, which was no longer leaping, but burning with a steady glow, andput them back in their places. Aunt Janet might come in the morning, asshe had done before, and I did not wish to set her thinking. She is muchtoo clever a person to have treading on the heels of amystery--especially one in which my own affections are engaged. I wonderwhat she would have said had she seen me kiss the cushion on which mybeautiful guest's head had rested?
When I was in bed, and in the dark save for the fading glow of the fire,my thoughts became fixed that whether she came from Earth or Heaven orHell, my lovely visitor was already more to me than aught else in theworld. This time she had, on going, said no word of returning. I hadbeen so much taken up with her presence, and so upset by her abruptdeparture, that I had omitted to ask her. And so I am driven, as before,to accept the chance of her returning--a chance which I fear I am or maybe unable to control.
Surely enough Aunt Janet did come in the morning, early. I was stillasleep when she knocked at my door. With that purely physicalsubconsciousness which comes with habit I must have realized the cause ofthe sound, for I woke fully conscious of the fact that Aunt Janet hadknocked and was waiting to come in. I jumped from bed, and back againwhen I had unlocked the door. When Aunt Janet came in she noticed thecold of the room.
"Save us, laddie, but ye'll get your death o' cold in this room." Then,as she looked round and noticed the ashes of the extinct fire in thegrate:
"Eh, but ye're no that daft after a'; ye've had the sense to light yerfire. Glad I am that we had the fire laid and a wheen o' dry logs readyto yer hand." She evidently felt the cold air coming from the window,for she went over and drew the curtain. When she saw the open window,she raised her hands in a sort of dismay, which to me, knowing how littlebase for concern could be within her knowledge, was comic. Hurriedly sheshut the window, and then, coming close over to my bed, said:
"Yon has been a fearsome nicht again, laddie, for yer poor auld aunty."
"Dreaming again, Aunt Janet?" I asked--rather flippantly as it seemed tome. She shook her head:
"Not so, Rupert, unless it be that the Lord gies us in dreams what we inour spiritual darkness think are veesions." I roused up at this. WhenAunt Janet calls me Rupert, as she always used to do in my dear mother'stime, things are serious with her. As I was back in childhood now,recalled by her word, I thought the best thing I could do to cheer herwould be to bring her back there too--if I could. So I patted the edgeof the bed as I used to do when I was a wee kiddie and wanted her tocomfort me, and said:
"Sit down, Aunt Janet, and tell me." She yielded at once, and the lookof the happy old days grew over her face as though there had come a gleamof sunshine. She sat down, and I put out my hands as I used to do, andtook her hand between them. There was a tear in her eye as she raised myhand and kissed it as in old times. But for the infinite pathos of it,it would have been comic:
Aunt Janet, old and grey-haired, but still retaining her girlish slimnessof figure, petite, dainty as a Dresden figure, her face lined with thecare of years, but softened and ennobled by the unselfishness of thoseyears, holding up my big hand, which would outweigh her whole arm;sitting dainty as a pretty old fairy beside a recumbent giant--for mybulk never seems so great as when I am near this real little good fairyof my life--seven feet beside four feet seven.
So she began as of old, as though she were about to soothe a frightenedchild with a fairy tale:
"'Twas a veesion, I think, though a dream it may hae been. But whicheveror whatever it was, it concerned my little boy, who has grown to be a biggiant, so much that I woke all of a tremble. Laddie dear, I thought thatI saw ye being married." This gave me an opening, though a small one,for comforting her, so I took it at once:
"Why, dear, there isn't anything to alarm you in that, is there? It wasonly the other day when you spoke to me about the need of my gettingmarried, if it was only that you might have children of your boy playingaround your knees as their father used to do when he was a helpless weechild himself."
"That is so, laddie," she answered gravely. "But your weddin' was noneso merry as I fain would see. True, you seemed to lo'e her wi' all yerhairt. Yer eyes shone that bright that ye might ha' set her afire, forall her black locks and her winsome face. But, laddie, that was notall--no, not though her black een, that had the licht o' all the stars o'nicht in them, shone in yours as though a hairt o' love an' passion, too,dwelt in them. I saw ye join hands, an' heard a strange voice thattalked stranger still, but I saw none ither. Your eyes an' her eyes, an'your hand an' hers, were all I saw. For all else was dim, and thedarkness was close around ye twa. And when the benison was spoken--Iknew that by the voices that sang, and by the gladness of her een, aswell as by the pride and glory of yours--the licht began to glow a weemore, an' I could see yer bride. She was in a veil o' wondrous finelace. And there were orange-flowers in her hair, though there weretwigs, too, and there was a crown o' flowers on head wi' a golden bandround it. And the heathen candles that stood on the table wi' the Bookhad some strange effect, for the reflex o' it hung in the air o'er herhead like the shadow of a crown. There was a gold ring on her finger anda silver one on yours." Here she paused and trembled, so that, hoping todispel her fears, I said, as like as I could to the way I used to when Iwas a child:
"Go on, Aunt Janet."
She did not seem to recognize consciously the likeness between past andpresent; but the effect was there, for she went on more like her oldself, though there was a prophetic gravity in her voice, more marked thanI had ever heard from
her:
"All this I've told ye was well; but, oh, laddie, there was a dreadfullack o' livin' joy such as I should expect from the woman whom my boy hadchosen for his wife--and at the marriage coupling, too! And no wonder,when all is said; for though the marriage veil o' love was fine, an' thegarland o' flowers was fresh-gathered, underneath them a' was nane itherthan a ghastly shroud. As I looked in my veesion--or maybe dream--Iexpectit to see the worms crawl round the flagstane at her feet. If'twas not Death, laddie dear, that stood by ye, it was the shadow o'Death that made the darkness round ye, that neither the light o' candlesnor the smoke o' heathen incense could pierce. Oh, laddie, laddie, waeis me that I hae seen sic a veesion--waking or sleeping, it matters not!I was sair distressed--so sair that I woke wi' a shriek on my lips andbathed in cold sweat. I would hae come doon to ye to see if you werehearty or no--or even to listen at your door for any sound o' yer beingquick, but that I feared to alarm ye till morn should come. I've countedthe hours and the minutes since midnight, when I saw the veesion, till Icame hither just the now."
"Quite right, Aunt Janet," I said, "and I thank you for your kind thoughtfor me in the matter, now and always." Then I went on, for I wanted totake precautions against the possibility of her discovery of my secret.I could not bear to think that she might run my precious secret to earthin any well-meant piece of bungling. That would be to me disasterunbearable. She might frighten away altogether my beautiful visitor,even whose name or origin I did not know, and I might never see heragain:
"You must never do that, Aunt Janet. You and I are too good friends tohave sense of distrust or annoyance come between us--which would surelyhappen if I had to keep thinking that you or anyone else might bewatching me."