Part 29 (1/2)

'When she finds that I don't write, she'll stop writing. It's better so. I couldn't be any use to her now,' d.i.c.k argued, and the tempter suggested that he should make known his condition. Every nerve in him revolted. 'I have fallen low enough already. I'm not going to beg for pity. Besides, it would be cruel to her.' He strove to put Maisie out of his thoughts; but the blind have many opportunities for thinking, and as the tides of his strength came back to him in the long employless days of dead darkness, d.i.c.k's soul was troubled to the core. Another letter, and another, came from Maisie. Then there was silence, and d.i.c.k sat by the window, the pulse of summer in the air, and pictured her being won by another man, stronger than himself. His imagination, the keener for the dark background it worked against, spared him no single detail that might send him raging up and down the studio, to stumble over the stove that seemed to be in four places at once. Worst of all, tobacco would not taste in the darkness. The arrogance of the man had disappeared, and in its place were settled despair that Torpenhow knew, and blind pa.s.sion that d.i.c.k confided to his pillow at night. The intervals between the paroxysms were filled with intolerable waiting and the weight of intolerable darkness.

'Come out into the Park,' said Torpenhow. 'You haven't stirred out since the beginning of things.'

'What's the use? There's no movement in the dark; and, besides,'--he paused irresolutely at the head of the stairs,--'something will run over me.'

'Not if I'm with you. Proceed gingerly.'

The roar of the streets filled d.i.c.k with nervous terror, and he clung to Torpenhow's arm. 'Fancy having to feel for a gutter with your foot!' he said petulantly, as he turned into the Park. 'Let's curse G.o.d and die.'

'Sentries are forbidden to pay unauthorised compliments. By Jove, there are the Guards!'

d.i.c.k's figure straightened. 'Let's get near 'em. Let's go in and look.

Let's get on the gra.s.s and run. I can smell the trees.'

'Mind the low railing. That's all right!' Torpenhow kicked out a tuft of gra.s.s with his heel. 'Smell that,' he said. 'Isn't it good?' d.i.c.k sniffed luxuriously. 'Now pick up your feet and run.' They approached as near to the regiment as was possible. The clank of bayonets being unfixed made d.i.c.k's nostrils quiver.

'Let's get nearer. They're in column, aren't they?'

'Yes. How did you know?'

'Felt it. Oh, my men!--my beautiful men!' He edged forward as though he could see. 'I could draw those chaps once. Who'll draw 'em now?'

'They'll move off in a minute. Don't jump when the band begins.'

'Huh! I'm not a new charger. It's the silences that hurt. Nearer, Torp!--nearer! Oh, my G.o.d, what wouldn't I give to see 'em for a minute!--one half-minute!'

He could hear the armed life almost within reach of him, could hear the slings tighten across the bandsman's chest as he heaved the big drum from the ground.

'Sticks crossed above his head,' whispered Torpenhow.

'I know. I know! Who should know if I don't? H's.h.!.+'

The drum-sticks fell with a boom, and the men swung forward to the crash of the band. d.i.c.k felt the wind of the ma.s.sed movement in his face, heard the maddening tramp of feet and the friction of the pouches on the belts. The big drum pounded out the tune. It was a music-hall refrain that made a perfect quickstep--

He must be a man of decent height, He must be a man of weight, He must come home on a Sat.u.r.day night In a thoroughly sober state; He must know how to love me, And he must know how to kiss; And if he's enough to keep us both I can't refuse him bliss.

'What's the matter?' said Torpenhow, as he saw d.i.c.k's head fall when the last of the regiment had departed.

'Nothing. I feel a little bit out of the running,--that's all. Torp, take me back. Why did you bring me out?'

CHAPTER XII

There were three friends that buried the fourth, The mould in his mouth and the dust in his eyes And they went south and east, and north,-- The strong man fights, but the sick man dies.

There were three friends that spoke of the dead,-- The strong man fights, but the sick man dies.-- 'And would he were with us now,' they said, 'The sun in our face and the wind in our eyes.'

--Ballad.

THE NILGHAI was angry with Torpenhow. d.i.c.k had been sent to bed,--blind men are ever under the orders of those who can see,--and since he had returned from the Park had fluently sworn at Torpenhow because he was alive, and all the world because it was alive and could see, while he, d.i.c.k, was dead in the death of the blind, who, at the best, are only burdens upon their a.s.sociates. Torpenhow had said something about a Mrs.