The Sign of the Spider

  CHAPTER VIII.

  DARK DAYS.

  The share market at Johannesburg was rapidly going to the deuce.

  Some there were who ardently wished that Johannesburg itself had gonethither, before they had heard of its unlucky and delusive existence,and among this daily increasing number might now be reckoned LaurenceStanninghame. He, infected with the gambler's fever of speculation, hadnot thought it worth while to "hedge"; it was to be all or nothing. Andnow, as things turned out, it was nothing. The old story--a fictitiousmarket, bolstered up by fictitious and inflated prices; a sudden"slump," and then--everybody with one mind eager to dispose of scrip,barely worth the paper of which it consisted--in fact, unsaleable. KingScrip had landed his devoted subjects in a pretty hole.

  "You're not the only one, Stanninghame--no, not by a long, long chalk,"said Rainsford ruefully, as they were talking matters over one day. "I'mhard hit myself, and I could point you out men here who were worth tensof thousands a month ago, and couldn't muster a hard hundred cash atthis moment if their lives depended on it--worse, too, men whoseoverdraft is nearly as big as their capital was the same time back."

  "I suppose so. Yet most fellows of that kind are adepts at the fine oldbusiness quality of besting their neighbours, one in which I am totallylacking, possibly owing to want of practice. They can go smash and comeup smiling, and in a little while be worth more than ever. They know howto do it, you see, and I don't. Smash for me means smash, and that of asignally grievous kind."

  Rainsford looked at him curiously.

  "Oh, bother it, Stanninghame, you're no worse off than the rest of us.We've got to lie low and hang on for a bit, and watch our chances."

  "Possibly you are right, Rainsford. No doubt you are. Still every donkeyknows where his own saddle galls him."

  "Rather, old chap," replied the other, whose hat covered the total ofhis liability. "The only thing to do is to hold on tight, have a drink,and trust in Providence. We'll go and have the drink."

  They adjourned to a convenient bar. It was about noon, and the place wasfairly full. Here they found Holmes in the middle of a crowd, alsoRankin and Wheeler. The consumption of "John Walker" was proceeding at abrisk rate.

  "Hallo, Stanninghame, how are you?" cried Rankin; "haven't seen you fora long time. I think another 'smile' wouldn't hurt us, eh? What do yousay? I'm doing bitters. Nothing like Angostura--with a little drop ofgin in it; gives tone to the system. What's yours?"

  Laurence named his, and the genial Rankin having shouted for it andother "rounds," proceeded to unfold some wondrous scheme by which hewas infallibly bound to retrieve all their fortunes at least cent. percent. It was only a matter of a little capital. Anyone who had theforesight to intrust him with a few hundreds might consider his fortunemade. But, somehow, nobody could be found to hand over those fewhundreds. In point of fact, nobody had got them.

  "Here, Rainsford," sung out somebody, "we are tossing for another 'allround.' Won't your friend cut in?"

  Laurence did cut in, and then Holmes, who, being of genial disposition,and very hard hit too in the scrip line, began uproariously to suggest afurther "drown care."

  "Excuse me, eh, Holmes?" said Laurence. "It's getting too thick, and Idon't think this is a sort of care that'll bear drowning. I'm off.So-long, everybody."

  "Hold on, Stanninghame," sung out Rankin, who was the most hospitablesoul alive. "Come round to the house and dine with us. I'm just goingalong. We'd better do another bitters though, first. What do you say?"

  But Laurence declined both hospitalities. A very dark mood was uponhim--one which rendered the idea of the society of his fellowsdistasteful to the last degree. So he left the carousing crowd, andbetook himself to his quarters.

  Now the method of drowning care as thus practised commended itself tohim on no principle of practical efficacy. He had care enough to drown,Heaven knew, but against any temptation to fly to the bottle in orderto swamp it he was proof. His very cynicism, selfish, egotistical as itmight be in its hard and sweeping ruthlessness, was a safeguard to himin this connection. That he, Laurence Stanninghame, to whom the vastbulk of mankind represented a commingling of rogue and fool in aboutequal proportion, should ever come to render himself unsteady on hisfeet, and hardly responsible for the words which came from his brain,presented a picture so unutterably degraded and loathsome, that his mindrecoiled from the barest contemplation of it.

  Yes, he had care enough, in all conscience, that day as he walked backto his quarters; for unless the market took a turn for the better, sosudden as to be almost miraculous, the time when he would any longerhave a roof over his head might be counted by weeks. And now every mailbrought him grumbling, querulous letters asking for money when there wasnone to send--bitter and contentious letters, full of complaint and theraking up of old sores and soul-wearying lamentation; gibing reproaches,too, to him who had beggared himself that these might live. It wouldhave been burden enough had it mattered greatly to him whether anyone inthe world lived or not; but here the burden was tenfold by reason of itsutter lack of appreciation, of common gratitude, of consideration forthe shoulders which, sorely weighed down and chafed, yet still supportedit.

  But if the refuge which is the resort of the weak held out no temptationto him, there was another refuge of which the exact opposite held good.In weird and gloomy form all the recollections and failures of his pastlife would rise up and confront him. What an unutterable hash he hadmade of it and its opportunities! It did not do to run straight--theworld was not good enough for it; so he had found. That for the past;for the future--what? Nothing. For some there was no future, and he wasone of these. He saw no light.

  Lying on his bed, in the heat of the early afternoon, he realized allthis for the hundredth time. The temptation to end it all was strongupon him. Stronger and stronger it grew, as though shadowy demon-shapeswere hovering in the shaded, half-darkened room. It grew until it waswell-nigh overmastering. His eyes began to wander meaningly towards alocked drawer, and he half rose.

  Against this temptation his hardened cynicism was no safeguard at all;rather did it tend to foster it, and that by reason of a corrosivedisgust with life and the conditions thereof which it engendered withinhim. Then, in his half-dreamy state, a sweet and softening influenceseemed to steal in upon his soul. He thought he would like to see LilithOrmskirk once more. Was it foolishness, weakness? Not a bit. Rather wasit hard, matter-of-fact, logical philosophy. He had made an unparalleledhash of life. If he were going to leave it now it was sound logic to doso with, as it were, a sweet taste upon his mental palate.

  Was it an omen for good, an earnest of a turn in the wheel of ill-luck?On reaching Booyseus he was so fortunate as to find Lilith not only athome but alone. Her face lighted up at the sight of him.

  "How sweet of you to toil out here this hot afternoon," she said, as hetook within his the two hands she had instinctively held out to him. Fora moment he looked at her without replying, contrasting the grim motivewhich had brought him hither with this perfect embodiment of youth, andhealth, and beauty, with all of life, all of the future yet beforeher--all of life with its possibilities. She was in radiant spirits, andthe hazel eyes shone entrancingly, and the slight flush under the darkwarmth of the satin skin, caused by the unaffected pleasure inspired byhis arrival, rendered even his strong head a trifle unsteady, as thoughwith a rich, sweet, overpowering intoxication.

  "Well, the reward is great," he answered, still retaining her hands in alingering pressure. "Are you all alone, child?"

  "Yes," she said, that pleased flush mantling again, the diminutivesounding strangely sweet to her ears as coming from him.

  "But you--we may not be much longer. People might drop in at any moment,and I want to be alone with you this afternoon. I am spoiling for one ofour long talks, so put on a hat and come for a stroll across the veldt.Or is it too hot?"

  "You know it is not," she answered. "Now, I won't be a minute."

  She was as good as her word, for she reappeared al
most immediately witha hat and sunshade, and they set forth, striking out over the bare openveldt which extended around and behind the Booyseus estate. The heat wasgreat, greater than most women would have cared to face, but the bluecloudlessness of the sky, the sheeny glow of the sun upon the free opencountry was so much delight to Lilith Ormskirk. In her love for all thatwas bright and glowing she was a true daughter of the South.

  "Oh, Laurence, how good it is to live!" she exclaimed, as they steppedout at a brisk pace in the glorious openness of the warm air. "Do youknow, I feel at times so bright, and well, and happy in the very joy andthankfulness of being alive, that it almost brings tears. Do youunderstand the feeling? Tell me."

  "I think so."

  "But did you ever feel that way yourself?"

  "Perhaps--in fact, I must have, because I understand so thoroughly whatyou mean; but it must have been a very, very long time ago."

  His tone was that of one gravely amused, indulgently caressing. Heavens!he was thinking. The contrast here was quite delicious; in fact, it wasunique. If only Lilith could have seen into his thoughts at that moment,if only she had had the faintest inkling as to their nature an hour orso back. Still something in his look or in his tone sobered her.

  "Ah, Laurence, forgive me," she cried. "How unfeeling I am, throwing mylight-heartedness at you in this way, when things are going so badlywith you."

  "Unfeeling? Why, child, I love to see you rejoicing in the brighthappiness of your youth and glowing spirits. I would not have youotherwise for all the world."

  "No, I ought not to feel that way just now, when you--when so many allround us--are passing through such a dreadfully anxious and criticaltime. Tell me, Laurence, are things brightening for you even a little?"

  "Not even a little; the case is all the other way. But don't you thinkabout it, child. Be happy while you can and as long as you can. It isthe worst possible philosophy to afflict yourself over the woes of otherpeople."

  Now the tears did indeed well to Lilith's eyes, but assuredly this timethey were not tears of joy and thankfulness. One or two even fell.

  "Don't sneer, Laurence. You must keep the satire and cynicism for allthe world, if you will, but keep the inner side of your nature for me,"said she, and in the sweet, pleading ring in her voice there was no lackof feeling now. "You have had about ten times more than your share ofall the dark and bitter side of life. You will not refuse mysympathy--my deepest, most heartfelt sympathy--will you, dear? Ah, wouldthat it were only of any use at all!"

  "Your sympathy? Why, I value and prize it more than anything else in theworld--in fact it is the only thing in the world I do value. 'Of any useat all?' It is of some use--of incalculable use, perhaps."

  A smile lit up the clouded sadness of her face.

  "If I only thought that," she said. "Still it's more than sweet to hearyou say so. Tell me, Laurence, what was the strange sympatheticmagnetism that existed between us from the very first--yes, long beforewe talked together? I was conscious of it, if you were not--a sympathythat makes it easy for me to follow you, when you talk so darkly thatnobody else could."

  "Oh, there is such a sympathy, then?"

  "Of course there is, and you know it."

  "Perhaps. Tell me, Lilith, do you still cherish certain fusty andantiquated superstitions which make that good results and beneficial cannever come out of abstract wrong? Abstract wrong being for presentpurposes a mere conventionality."

  She looked at him for a moment. The interchange of that steady silentglance was sufficient.

  "No, I do not," she said.

  "I thought not. Well, that being so, you can perhaps realize of what'use,' as you put it, that sweetest gift of your deepest, most heartfeltsympathy may be to its object, and in its results wholly beneficial. Doyou follow?"

  "Why, of course. And is it really in my power to brighten life for youever so little? Ah, that would be happiness indeed."

  "Continue to think so, then, for it is in your power to do just that,and you are doing it at this moment. And, child, when you feel thatsense of boundless elation with the joy of living, add this to thehappiness you are feeling, not to lessen but to enhance it."

  "I will do that, Laurence," she said. "And if the consciousness that youhave what you say is of use to you, let it be to strengthen you.Clear-headed, strong as you are, dear, there must come hours of terriblegloom, even to you. Well, when such come on, think of our talk to-dayand strive to throw them off because of it--because of thestrengthening influences of it."

  Thus she spoke, bravely, but beneath her outwardly sweet serenity a hardbattle was being waged. She was fighting with her innermost self;striving hard to retain her self-control. She would not even raise hereyes to his lest she should lose it, lest she should betray herself. Andall the while the chords of her innermost being thrilled and quiveredwith an indescribable tenderness, taking words within her mind: "MyLaurence, my love, my ideal, what would I not do to brighten life foryou--you for whom life is all too hard! I would draw down thatlife-weary head till it rested on my breast; I would wind my arms roundyour neck and whisper into your tired ear words of comfort, and ofsoothing, and of love. Ah, how I would love you, care for you, shieldyour ear from ever being hurt by a discordant word! And I would drawyour heart within mine to rest there, and would feel life all tooblissfully, ineffably sweet to live."

  His voice broke in upon her meditations, causing her a very perceptiblestart, so rapt were they.

  "What is the subject of your very deep thought, my Lilith? Are youwreathing some strange and hitherto unsuspected spell, sorceress?"

  The tone, playful, half sad, nearly upset her self-control then andthere. Was it with design that, after the first keen penetrating gaze,he half averted his glance?

  "I am afraid I am poor company," she said rather lamely. "I must havebeen silent quite a long time. I was thinking--thinking out some knottyproblem which would draw down your superior lordship's indulgent pity,"with a flash of all her former bright spirits.

  "And its nature?"

  "If you will promise not to sneer I'll tell you. You will? Well, then, Iwas thinking whether I would have that gold-yellow dress done up withmauve sleeves or black, for Wednesday week."

  Whether he believed her or not it was impossible to determine from thedemeanour wherewith this statement was received. She was inclined tothink he did, which spoke volumes for his tactfulness; and is it not ofthe very essence of that far too uncommon virtue to impress yourinterlocutor with the conviction that you believe exactly as he--orshe--wants you to? In point of fact, there was something heroicallypathetic in the way in which each mind strove to veil from the other itsinner workings, while every day showed more and more the impossibilityof keeping up the figment.

  Yet, for all this, there were times when the possession, the certaintyof Lilith's--"sympathy" she had called it, would fail to cheer, tostrengthen. Darker and darker grew the days, more hopeless the prospect,and soon Laurence Stanninghame found himself not merely face to facewith poverty, but on the actual verge of destitution. Grim, fellspectres haunted his waking hours no less than his dreams. Did he returnfrom a few hours of hard exercise with a fine appetite, that healthypossession served but to remind him how soon he would be without themeans of gratifying it. He pictured himself utterly destitute, andthrough his sleeping visions would loom hideous spectres of want anddegradation. Day or night, waking or sleeping, it was ever the same; thehorror of the position was ever before him and would not be laid. Hismind was a hell to him, his heart of lead, his hard, clear brain deadly,self-pitiless in its purpose. Obviously, there was no further room inthe world for such as he.