CHAPTER XX
STELLA'S DIARY
It seems to be a law of life that nothing can stand completely still andchangeless. All must vary, must progress or retrograde; the very rocksin the bowels of the earth undergo organic alterations, while theeternal hills that cover them increase or are worn away. Much more isthis obvious in the case of ephemeral man, of his thoughts, his works,and everything wherewith he has to do, he who within the period of a fewshort years is doomed to appear, wax, wane, and vanish.
Even the conversations of Mr. Fregelius and Morris were subject tothe working of this universal rule; and in obedience to it must traveltowards a climax, either of fruition, however unexpected, or, theirpurpose served, whatever it may have been, to decay and death, for lackof food upon which to live and flourish. The tiniest groups of impulsesor incidents have their goal as sure and as appointed as that of thecluster of vast globes which form a constellation. Between them theprincipal distinction seems to be one of size, and at present we are notin a position to say which may be the most important, the issue of thesmallest of unrecorded causes, or of the travelling of the great worlds.The destiny of a single human soul shaped or directed by the one, foraught we know, may be of more weight and value than that of a multitudeof hoary universes naked of life and spirit. Or perhaps to the Eye thatsees and judges the difference is nothing.
Thus even these semi-secret interviews when two men met to talk overthe details of a lost life with which, however profoundly it may haveinfluenced them in the past, they appeared, so far as this world isconcerned, to have nothing more to do, were destined to affect thefuture of one of them in a fashion that could scarcely have beenforeseen. This became apparent, or put itself in the way of becomingapparent, when on a certain evening Morris found Mr. Fregelius seatedin the rectory dining-room, and by his side a little pile of manuscriptvolumes bound in shabby cloth.
"What are those?" asked Morris. "Her translation of the Saga of the CaveOutlaws?"
"No, Morris," answered Mr. Fregelius--he called him Morris when theywere alone--"of course not. Don't you remember that they were bound inred?" he added reproachfully, "and that we did them up to send to thepublisher last week?"
"Yes, yes, of course; he wrote to me yesterday to say that he would beglad to bring out the book"--Morris did not add, "at my risk."--"Butwhat are they?"
"They are," replied Mr. Fregelius, "her journals, which she appears tohave kept ever since she was fourteen years of age. You remember shewas going to London on the day that she was drowned--that Christmas Day?Well, before she went out to the old church she packed her belongingsinto two boxes, and there those boxes have lain for three years andmore, because I could never find the heart to meddle with them. But, afew nights ago I wasn't able to sleep--I rest very badly now--so Iwent and undid them, lifting out all the things which her hands had putthere. At the bottom of one of the boxes I found these volumes, exceptthe last of them, in which she was writing till the day of her death.That was at the top. I was aware that she kept a diary, for I have seenher making the entries; but of its contents I knew nothing. In fact,until last night I had forgotten its existence."
"Have you read it now?" asked Morris.
"I have looked into it; it seems to be a history of her thoughts andtheories. Facts are very briefly noted. It occurred to me that you mightlike to read it. Why not?"
"Yes, yes, very much," answered Morris eagerly. "That is, if you thinkshe will not mind. You see, it is private."
Mr. Fregelius took no notice of the tense of which Morris made use, forthe reason that it seemed natural to him that he should employ it. Theirstrange habit was to talk of Stella, not as we speak of one dead, but asa living individuality with whom they chanced for a while to be unableto communicate.
"I do not think that she will mind," he answered slowly; "quite thereverse, indeed. It is a record of a phase and period of her existencewhich, I believe, she might wish those who are--interested in her--tostudy, especially as she had no secrets that she could desire toconceal. From first to last I believe her life to have been as clear asthe sky, and as pure as running water."
"Very well," answered Morris, "if I come across any passage that I thinkI ought not to read, I will skip."
"I can find nothing of the sort, or I would not give it to you," saidMr. Fregelius. "But, of course, I have not read the volumes throughas yet. There has been no time for that. I have sampled them here andthere, that is all."