II
It struck a quarter-past six from the little clock on the mantel-shelfas she laid down her pen. Then she took up the closely written sheets,leaned back in her deep chair, and began to read.
"HOME OF REST,
"NO 3A MANCHESTER WEST.
"MY DEAR: I am very sorry, but it has come back to me. I really cannotgo on any longer, so I am going to escape in the only way left, as Ionce told you. I have had a very quiet and happy time here; they havebeen most kind and considerate. You see, of course, from the heading onthis paper, what I mean....
"Well, you have always been very dear to me; you are still, even at thismoment. So you have a right to know my reasons so far as I know themmyself. It is very difficult to understand myself; but it seems to methat I am not strong enough to live. So long as I was pleased andexcited it was all very well--especially when He came. But I think I hadexpected it to be different; I did not understand as I do now how itmust come to this--how it is all quite logical and right. I could bearit, when I thought that they had acted through passion, but this isdeliberate. I did not realise that Peace must have its laws, and mustprotect itself. And, somehow, that Peace is not what I want. It is beingalive at all that is wrong.
"Then there is this difficulty. I know how absolutely in agreement youare with this new state of affairs; of course you are, because you areso much stronger and more logical than I am. But if you have a wife shemust be of one mind with you. And I am not, any more, at least not withmy heart, though I see you are right.... Do you understand, my dear?
"If we had had a child, it might have been different. I might have likedto go on living for his sake. But Humanity, somehow--Oh! Oliver! Ican't--I can't.
"I know I am wrong, and that you are right--but there it is; I cannotchange myself. So I am quite sure that I must go.
"Then I want to tell you this--that I am not at all frightened. I nevercan understand why people are--unless, of course, they are Christians. Ishould be horribly frightened if I was one of them. But, you see, weboth know that there is nothing beyond. It is life that I am frightenedof--not death. Of course, I should be frightened if there was any pain;but the doctors tell me there is absolutely none. It is simply going tosleep. The nerves are dead before the brain. I am going to do it myself.I don't want any one else in the room. In a few minutes the nursehere--Sister Anne, with whom I have made great friends--will bring inthe thing, and then she will leave me.
"As regards what happens afterwards, I do not mind at all. Please doexactly what you wish. The cremation will take place to-morrow morningat noon, so that you can be here if you like. Or you can senddirections, and they will send on the urn to you. I know you liked tohave your mother's urn in the garden; so perhaps you will like mine.Please do exactly what you like. And with all my things too. Of course Ileave them to you.
"Now, my dear, I want to say this--that I am very sorry indeed now thatI was so tiresome and stupid. I think I did really believe yourarguments all along. But I did not want to believe them. Do you see nowwhy I was so tiresome?
"Oliver, my darling, you have been extraordinarily good to me.... Yes, Iknow I am crying, but I am really very happy. This is such a lovelyending. I wish I hadn't been obliged to make you so anxious during thislast week: but I had to--I knew you would persuade me against it, if youfound me, and that would have been worse than ever. I am sorry I toldyou that lie, too. Indeed, it is the first I ever did tell you.
"Well, I don't think there is much more to say. Oliver, my dear,good-bye. I send you my love with all my heart.
"MABEL."
* * * * *
She sat still when she had read it through, and her eyes were still wetwith tears. Yet it was all perfectly true. She was far happier than shecould be if she had still the prospect of going back. Life seemedentirely blank: death was so obvious an escape; her soul ached for it,as a body for sleep.
She directed the envelope, still with a perfectly steady hand, laid iton the table, and leaned back once more, glancing again at her untastedbreakfast.
Then she suddenly began to think of her conversation with Mr. Francis;and, by a strange association of ideas, remembered the fall of the volorin Brighton, the busy-ness of the priest, and the Euthanasia boxes....
When Sister Anne came in a few minutes later, she was astonished at whatshe saw. The girl crouched at the window, her hands on the sill, staringout at the sky in an attitude of unmistakable horror.
Sister Anne came across the room quickly, setting down something on thetable as she passed. She touched the girl on the shoulder.
"My dear, what is it?"
There was a long sobbing breath, and Mabel turned, rising as she turned,and clutched the nurse with one shaking hand, pointing out with theother.
"There!" she said. "There--look!"
"Well, my dear, what is it? I see nothing. It is a little dark!"
"Dark!" said the other. "You call that dark! Why, why, it isblack--black!"
The nurse drew her softly backwards to the chair, turning her from thewindow. She recognised nervous fear; but no more than that. But Mabeltore herself free, and wheeled again.
"You call that a little dark," she said. "Why, look, sister, look!"
Yet there was nothing remarkable to be seen. In front rose up thefeathery hand of an elm, then the shuttered windows across the court,the roof, and above that the morning sky, a little heavy and dusky asbefore a storm; but no more than that.
"Well, what is it, my dear? What do you see?"
"Why, why ... look! look!--There, listen to that."
A faint far-away rumble sounded as the rolling of a waggon--so faintthat it might almost be an aural delusion. But the girl's hands were ather ears, and her face was one white wide-eyed mask of terror. The nursethrew her arms round her.
"My dear," she said, "you are not yourself. That is nothing but a littleheat-thunder. Sit down quietly."
She could feel the girl's body shaking beneath her hands, but there wasno resistance as she drew her to the chair.
"The lights! the lights!" sobbed Mabel.
"Will you promise me to sit quietly, then?"
She nodded; and the nurse went across to the door, smiling tenderly; shehad seen such things before. A moment later the room was full ofexquisite sunlight, as she switched the handle. As she turned, she sawthat Mabel had wheeled herself round in the chair, and with claspedhands was still staring out at the sky above the roofs; but she wasplainly quieter again now. The nurse came back, and put her hand on hershoulder.
"You are overwrought, my dear.... Now you must believe me. There isnothing to be frightened of. It is just nervous excitement.... Shall Ipull down the blind?"
Mabel turned her face.... Yes, certainly the light had reassured her.Her face was still white and bewildered, but the steady look was comingback to her eyes, though, even as she spoke, they wandered back morethan once to the window.
"Nurse," she said more quietly, "please look again and tell me if yousee nothing. If you say there is nothing I will believe that I am goingmad. No; you must not touch the blind."
No; there was nothing. The sky was a little dark, as if a blight werecoming on; but there was hardly more than a veil of cloud, and the lightwas scarcely more than tinged with gloom. It was just such a sky asprecedes a spring thunderstorm. She said so, clearly and firmly.
Mabel's face steadied still more.
"Very well, nurse.... Then---"
She turned to the little table by the side on which Sister Anne had setdown what she had brought into the room.
"Show me, please."
The nurse still hesitated.
"Are you sure you are not too frightened, my dear? Shall I get youanything?"
"I have no more to say," said Mabel firmly. "Show me, please."
Sister Anne turned resolutely to the table.
There rested upon it a white-enamelled box, delicately painted withflowers. From this box emerged a white flexible tube with a broadmouthpiece, fitted with two leath
er-covered steel clasps. From the sideof the box nearest the chair protruded a little china handle.
"Now, my dear," began the nurse quietly, watching the other's eyes turnonce again to the window, and then back--"now, my dear, you sit there,as you are now. Your head right back, please. When you are ready, youput this over your mouth, and clasp the springs behind your head....So.... it works quite easily. Then you turn this handle, round that way,as far as it will go. And that is all."
Mabel nodded. She had regained her self-command, and understood plainlyenough, though even as she spoke once again her eyes strayed away to thewindow.
"That is all," she said. "And what then?"
The nurse eyed her doubtfully for a moment.
"I understand perfectly," said Mabel. "And what then?"
"There is nothing more. Breathe naturally. You will feel sleepy almostdirectly. Then you close your eyes, and that is all."
Mabel laid the tube on the table and stood up. She was completelyherself now.
"Give me a kiss, sister," she said.
The nurse nodded and smiled to her once more at the door. But Mabelhardly noticed it; again she was looking towards the window.
"I shall come back in half-an-hour," said Sister Anne.
Then her eyes caught a square of white upon the centre table. "Ah! thatletter!" she said.
"Yes," said the girl absently. "Please take it."
The nurse took it up, glanced at the address, and again at Mabel. Stillshe hesitated.
"In half-an-hour," she repeated. "There is no hurry at all. It doesn'ttake five minutes.... Good-bye, my dear."
But Mabel was still looking out of the window, and made no answer.