Part 39 (1/2)

”That was true enough--in its way. In its way, it's still true. Evie still loves the man I was, perhaps, and the man I was loves her. The difference is that the man I was isn't sitting here in front of you.”

”One changes with years, of course. I didn't suppose one could change in a few months, like that.”

”One changes with experience--above all, with that kind of experience which people generally call--suffering. That's the great Alchemist; and he often trans.m.u.tes our silver into gold. In my case, Evie was silver; but I've found there's something else that stands for--”

”So that,” she interposed, quickly, ”you're not sorry that Evie--?”

He got up, restlessly, and stood with his back to the empty fireplace.

”It isn't a case for sorrow,” he replied, after a minute's thinking, ”as it isn't one for joy. It's one purely for acceptance. When I first knew Evie I was still something of a kid. It was so all the more because the kid element in me had never had full play. I was arrogant, and c.o.c.k-sure and certain of my ability to manipulate the world to suit myself. That was all Evie saw, and she liked it. In as far as she had it in her to fall in love with anything, she fell in love with it.”

He took a turn or two across the room, coming back to his stand on the hearth-rug.

”I've travelled far since then,” he continued; ”I've _had_ to travel far.

Evie hasn't been able to come with me; and that's all there is to the story. It isn't her fault; because when I asked her, I had no intention of taking this particular way.”

”It was I who drove you into that,” she said, with a hint of remorse.

”Yes--you--and conscience--and whatever else I honor most. I give you the credit first of all, because, if it hadn't been for you, I shouldn't have had the moral energy to a.s.sert my true self against the false one. Isn't it curious that, after having made me Herbert Strange, it should be you who turned me into Norrie Ford again? It means that you exercise supreme power over me--a kind of creative power. You can make of me what you care to. It's no wonder that I've come to see----” He paused, in doubt as to how to express himself, while her eyes were fixed on him in troubled questioning. ”It's no wonder,” he went on again, ”that I've come to see everything in a truer light--Evie as well as all the rest of it.”

With a renewed impulse to move about, he strode toward the bay-window, where he stood for a few seconds, looking out and trying to co-ordinate his thoughts. Wheeling round again, he drew up a small chair close to hers, seating himself sidewise, with his arm resting on the back. He looked like a man anxious to explain himself.

”You're blaming me, I think, because I don't take Evie's defection more to heart. Isn't that so?”

”I'm not blaming you. I may be a little surprised at it.”

”You wouldn't be surprised at it, if you knew all I've been through. It's difficult to explain to you--”

”There's no reason why you should try.”

”But I want to try. I want you to know. You see,” he pursued, speaking slowly, as if searching for the right words--”you see, it's largely a question of progress--of growth. Trouble has two stages. In the first, you think it hard luck that you should have to meet it. In the second, you see that, having met it, and gone through it, you come out into a region of big experience, where everything is larger and n.o.bler than you thought it was before. Now, you'd probably think me blatant if I said that I feel myself emerging into--_that_.”

”No, I shouldn't. As a matter of fact, I know you're doing it.”

”Well, then, having got there--out into that new kind of world”--he sketched the vision with one of his Latin gestures--”I discover that--for one reason or another--poor little Evie has stayed on the far side of it.

She couldn't pa.s.s the first gate with me, or the second, or the third, to say nothing of those I have still to go through. You know I'm not criticising, or finding fault with her, don't you?”

She a.s.sured him of that.

”And yet, I must go on, you see. There's no waiting or turning back for me, any more than for a dying man. No matter who goes or who stays, I must press forward. If Evie can't make the journey with me, I can only feel relieved that she's able to slip out of it--but I must still go on. I can't look back; I can't even be sorry--because I'm coming into the new, big land. You see what I mean?”

She signified again that she followed him.

”But the finding of a new land doesn't take anything from the old one. It only enlarges the world. Europe didn't become different because they discovered America. The only change was in their getting to know a country where the mountains were higher, and the rivers broader, and the suns.h.i.+ne brighter, and where there was a chance for the race to expand. Evie remains what she was. The only difference is that my eyes have been opened to--a new ideal.”

It was impossible for her not to guess at what he meant. Independently of words, his earnest eyes told their tale, while he bent toward her like a man not quite able to restrain himself. In the ensuing seconds of silence she had time to be aware of three distinct phases of emotion within her consciousness, following each other so rapidly as to seem simultaneous. A throb of reckless joy in the perception that he loved her was succeeded by the knowledge that loyalty to Conquest must make rejoicing vain, while it flashed on her that, having duped herself once in regard to him, she must not risk the humiliating experience a second time. It was this last reflection that prevailed, keeping her still and unresponsive. After all, his new ideal might be something--or some one--quite different from what her fond imagining was so ready to believe.

”I suppose,” she said, vaguely, for the sake of saying something, ”that trial is the first essential to maturity. We need it for our ripening, as the flowers and fruit need wind and rain.”

”And there are things in life,” he returned, quickly, ”that no immature creature can see. That's the point I want you to notice. It explains me.