Part 48 (1/2)

Hadria was playing some joyous impromptu, which seemed to express the very spirit of Freedom herself.

”I think Hadria has something of the gipsy in her,” said Algitha. ”She is so utterly and hopelessly unfitted to be the wife of a prim, measured, elegant creature like Hubert--good fellow though he is--and to settle down for life at Craddock Dene.”

”Yes,” returned the Professor, ”it has occurred to me, more than once, that there must be a drop of nomad blood somewhere among the ancestry.”

”Hadria always says herself, that she is a vagabond in disguise.”

He laughed. Then, as he drew out a tobacco-pouch from his pocket and proceeded to light his pipe, he went on, in quiet meditative fas.h.i.+on, as if thinking aloud: ”The fact of the matter is, that in this world, the dead weight of the ma.s.s bears heavily upon the exceptional natures. It comes home to one vividly, in cases like this. The stupidity and blindness of each individual goes to build up the dead wall, the impa.s.sable obstacle, for some other spirit. The burden that we have cast upon the world has to be borne by our fellow man or woman, and perhaps is doomed to crush a human soul.”

”It seems to me that most people are engaged in that crus.h.i.+ng industry,”

said Algitha with a shrug. ”Don't I know their bonnets, and their frock-coats and their sneers!”

The Professor smiled. He thought that most of us were apt to take that att.i.tude at times. The same spirit a.s.sumed different forms. ”While we are sneering at our fellow mortal, and a.s.suring him loftily that he can certainly prevail, if only he is strong enough, it may be _our_ particular dulness or _our_ hardness that is dragging him down to a tragic failure, before our eyes.”

The sun was low when the player came out to the terrace and took her favourite seat on the parapet. The gardens were steeped in profound peace. One could hear no sound for miles round. The broad country made itself closely felt by its stirring silence. The stretches of fields beyond fields, the woodlands in their tender green, the long, long sweep of the quiet land, formed a benign circle round the garden, and led the sense of peace out and out to the horizon, where the liquid light of the sky touched the hills.

The face of the Professor had a transparent look and a singular beauty of expression, such as is seen on the faces of the dead, or on the faces of those who are carried beyond themselves by some generous enthusiasm.

They watched, in silence, the changes creeping over the heavens, the subtle trans.m.u.tations of tint; the fairylands of cloud, growing like dreams, and melting in golden annihilation; the more delicate and exquisite, the sooner the end.

The first pale hints of splendour had spread, till the whole West was throbbing with the radiance. But it was short-lived. The soul of the light, with its vital vibrating quality, seemed to die, and then slowly the glow faded, till every sparkle was gone, and the amphitheatre of the sky lay cold, and dusk, and empty. It was not till the last gleam had melted away that a word was spoken.

”It is like a prophecy,” said Hadria.

”To-morrow the dawn, remember.”

Hadria's thoughts ran on in the silence.

The dawn? Yes; but all that lost splendour, those winged islands, those wild ranges of mountain where the dreams dwell; to-morrow's dawn brings no resurrection for them. Other pageants there will be, other cloud-castles, but never again just those.

Had the Professor been following her thoughts?

”Life,” he said, ”offers her gifts as the Sibyl her books; they grow fewer as we refuse them.”

”Ah! that is the truth that clamours in my brain, warning and pointing to an empty temple, like the deserted sky, a little while ahead.”

”Be warned then.”

”Ah! but what to do? I am out of myself now with the spring; there are so many benign influences. I too have winged islands, and wild ranges where the dreams dwell; life is a fairy-tale; but there is always that terror of the departure of the sun.”

”_Carpe diem._”

Hadria turned a startled and eager face towards the Professor, who was leaning back in his chair, thoughtfully smoking. The smoke curled away serenely through the calm air of the evening.

”You have a great gift,” he said.

”One is afraid of taking a thing too seriously because it is one's own.”

The Professor turned almost angrily.

”Good heavens, what does it matter whose it is? There may be a sort of inverted vanity in refusing fair play to a power, on that ground. Alas!