Part 21 (1/2)

”I paid a visit this morning,” Dominey said, ”to the doctor who has been in attendance upon her since her marriage. He agrees with me that there is no reason why Lady Dominey should not, in course of time, be restored to perfect health.”

”I take the liberty of finis.h.i.+ng my gla.s.s to that hope, Sir Everard,”

the lawyer murmured.

Both gla.s.ses were set down empty, only the stem of Dominey's was snapped in two. Mr. Mangan expressed his polite regrets.

”This old gla.s.s,” he murmured, looking at his own admiringly, ”becomes very fragile.”

Dominey did not answer. His brain had served him a strange trick. In the shadows of the room he had fancied that he could see Stephanie Eiderstrom holding out her arms, calling to him to fulfill the pledges of long ago, and behind her--

”Have you ever been in love, Mangan?” Dominey asked his companion.

”I, sir? Well, I'm not sure,” the man of the world replied, a little startled by the abruptness of the question. ”It's an old-fas.h.i.+oned way of looking at things now, isn't it?”

Dominey relapsed into thoughtfulness.

”I suppose so,” he admitted.

That night a storm rolled up from somewhere across that grey waste of waters, a storm heralded by a wind which came booming over the marshes, shaking the latticed windows of Dominey Place, shrieking and wailing amongst its chimneys and around its many corners. Black clouds leaned over the land, and drenching streams of rain dashed against the loose-framed sashes of the windows. Dominey lit the tall candles in his bedroom, fastened a dressing-gown around him, threw himself into an easy-chair, and, fixing an electric reading lamp by his side, tried to read. Very soon the book slipped from his fingers. He became suddenly tense and watchful. His eyes counted one by one the panels in the wall by the left-hand side of the bed. The familiar click was twice repeated.

For a moment a dark s.p.a.ce appeared. Then a woman, stooping low, glided into the room. She came slowly towards him, drawn like a moth towards that semicircle of candle. Her hair hung down her back like a girl's, and the white dressing-gown which floated diaphanously about her was unexpectedly reminiscent of Bond Street.

”You are not afraid?” she asked anxiously. ”See, I have nothing in my hands. I almost think that the desire has gone. You remember the little stiletto I had last night? To-day I threw it into the well. Mrs. Unthank was very angry with me.”

”I am not afraid,” he a.s.sured her, ”but--”

”Ah, but you will not scold me?” she begged. ”It is the storm which terrifies me.”

He drew a low chair for her into the little circle of light and arranged some cus.h.i.+ons. As she sank into it, she suddenly looked up at him and smiled, a smile of rare and wonderful beauty. Dominey felt for a moment something like the stab of a knife at his heart.

”Sit here and rest,” he invited. ”There is nothing to fear.”

”In my heart I know that,” she answered simply. ”These storms are part of our lives. They come with birth, and they shake the world when death seizes us. One should not be afraid, but I have been so ill, Everard.

Shall I call you Everard still?”

”Why not?” he asked.

”Because you are not like Everard to me any more,” she told him, ”because something has gone from you, and something has come to you. You are not the same man. What is it? Had you troubles in Africa? Did you learn what life was like out there?”

He sat looking at her for a moment, leaning back in his chair, which he had pushed a few feet into the shadows. Her hair was glossy and splendid, and against it her skin seemed whiter and more delicate than ever. Her eyes were l.u.s.trous but plaintive, and with something of the child's fear of harm in them. She looked very young and very fragile to have been swayed through the years by an evil pa.s.sion.

”I learnt many things there, Rosamund,” he told her quietly. ”I learnt a little of the difference between right doing and wrongdoing. I learnt, too, that all the pa.s.sions of life burn themselves out, save one alone.”

She twisted the girdle of her dressing-gown in her fingers for a moment. His last speech seemed to have been outside the orbit of her comprehension or interest.

”You need not be afraid of me any more, Everard,” she said, a little pathetically.

”I have no fear of you,” he answered.