CHAPTER XVII
THE RETURN OF MARY
Curiously enough, indirectly, but in fact, it was the circumstance ofStella's sudden and mysterious death that made Morris a rich and famousman, and caused his invention of the aerophone to come into common use.Very early on the following morning, but not before, she was missed fromthe Rectory and sought far and wide. One of the first places visitedby those who searched was the Abbey, whither they met Morris returningthrough the gale, wild-eyed, flying-haired, and altogether strange tosee. They asked him if he knew what had become of Miss Fregelius.
"Yes," he replied, "she has been crushed or drowned in the ruins of theDead Church, which was swept away by the gale last night."
Then they stared and asked how he knew this. He answered that, beingunable to sleep that night on account of the storm, he had gone into hisworkshop when his attention was suddenly attracted by the bell of theaerophone, by means of which he learned that Miss Fregelius had beencut off from the shore in the church. He added that he ran as hard as hecould to the spot, only to find at dawn that the building had entirelyvanished in the gale, and that the sea had encroached upon the land byat least two hundred paces.
Of course these statements concerning the aerophone and its capabilitieswere reported all over the world and much criticised--very roughly insome quarters. Thereupon Morris offered to demonstrate the truth of whathe had said. The controversy proved sharp; but of this he was glad;it was a solace to him, perhaps even it prevented him from plungingheadlong into madness. At first he was stunned; he did not feelvery much. Then the first effects of the blow passed; a sense of theswiftness and inevitableness of this awful consummation seemed to sinkdown into his heart and crush him. The completeness of the tragedy, itsGreek-play qualities, were overwhelming. Question and answer, seedand fruit--there was no space for thought or growth between them. Thecurtain was down upon the Temporal, and lo! almost before its folds hadshaken to their place, it had risen upon the Eternal. His naturereeled beneath this knowledge and his loss. Had it not been for thosesuspicions and attacks it might have fallen.
The details of the struggle need not be entered into, as they havelittle to do with the life-story of Morris Monk. It is enough to saythat in the end he more than carried out his promises under the severestconditions, and in the presence of various scientific bodies and otherexperts.
Afterwards came the natural results; the great aerophone company wasfloated, in which Morris as vendor received half the shares--he wouldtake no cash--which shares, by the way, soon stood at five and aquarter. Also he found himself a noted man; was asked to deliver anaddress before the British Association; was nominated on the councilof a leading scientific society, and in due course after a year ortwo received one of the greatest compliments that can be paid to anEnglishman, that of being elected to its fellowship, as a distinguishedperson, by the committee of a famous Club. Thus did Morris prospergreatly--very greatly, and in many different ways; but with all thispart of his life we are scarcely concerned.
On the day of his daughter's death Morris visited Mr. Fregelius, forwhom he had a message. He found the old man utterly crushed and broken.
"The last of the blood, Mr. Monk," he moaned, when Morris, hoarse-voicedand slow-worded, had convinced him of the details of the dreadful fact,"the last of the blood; and I left childless. At least you will feel forme and with me. _You_ will understand."
It will be seen that although outside of some loose talk in the village,which indirectly had produced results so terrible, no one had eversuggested such a thing, curiously enough, by some intuitive process, Mr.Fregelius who, to a certain extent, at any rate, guessed his daughter'smind, took it for granted that she had been in love with Morris. Heseemed to know also by the same deductive process that he was attachedto her.
"I do, indeed," said Morris, with a sad smile, thinking that if onlythe clergyman could look into his heart he would perhaps be somewhatastonished at the depth of that understanding sympathy.
"I told you," went on Mr. Fregelius, "and you laughed at me, that it wasmost unlucky her having sung that hateful Norse song, the 'Greeting toDeath,' when you found her upon the steamer Trondhjem."
"Everything has been unlucky, Mr. Fregelius--or lucky," he added beneathhis breath. "But you will like to know that she died singing it. Theaerophone told me that."
"Mr. Monk," the old man said, catching his arm, "my daughter was astrange woman, a very strange woman, and since I heard this dreadfulnews I have been afraid that perhaps she was--unhappy. She was leavingher home, on your account--yes, on your account, it's no use pretendingotherwise, although no one ever told me so--and--that she knew thechurch was going to be washed away."
"She thought you might think so," answered Morris, and he gavehim Stella's last message. Moreover, he told him more of the realcircumstances than he revealed to anybody else. He told him what nobodyelse ever knew, for on that lonely coast none had seen him enter orleave the place, how he had met her in the church--about the removal ofthe instruments, as he left it to be inferred--and at her wish had comehome alone because of the gossip which had arisen. He explained alsothat according to her own story, from some unexplained cause she hadfallen asleep in the church after his departure, and awakened to findherself surrounded by the waters with all hope gone.
"And now she is dead, now she is dead," groaned Mr. Fregelius, "and I amalone in the world."
"I am sorry for you," said Morris simply, "but there it is. It is no uselooking backward, we must look forward."
"Yes, look forward, both of us, since she is hidden from both. You see,almost from the first I knew you were fond of her," added the clergymansimply.
"Yes," he answered, "I am fond of her, though of that the less said thebetter, and because our case is the same I hope that we shall always befriends."
"You are very kind; I shall need a friend now. I am alone now, quitealone, and my heart is broken."
Here it may be added that Morris was even better than his word. Out ofthe wealth that came to him in such plenty, for instance, he was carefulto augment the old man's resources without offending his feelings, byadding permanently and largely to the endowment of the living. Also, heattended to his wants in many other ways which need not be enumerated,and not least by constantly visiting him. Many were the odd hours andthe evenings that shall be told of later, which they spent togethersmoking their pipes in the Rectory study, and talking of her who hadgone, and whose lost life was the strongest link between them. Otherwiseand elsewhere, except upon a few extraordinary occasions, her namerarely passed the lips of Morris.
Yet within himself he mourned and mourned, although even in the firstbitterness not as one without hope. He knew that she had spoken truth;that she was not dead, but only for a while out of his sight andhearing.