Part 24 (1/2)
”Things are changing, Halcyone,” he had said, with the whimsical raising of his left penthouse brow. ”Perhaps you will not want to learn Greek much longer with your crabbed old Cheiron in his cave.”
And she had flung her arms round his neck and buried her face in his silver beard, and a.s.sured him she would always want to learn--all her life. But now she felt a twinge of sadness--she would indeed miss him, her dear old master, and he, too, would be lonely without her. Then she fought with herself. Feelings of depression were never permitted to stay for a moment, and she looked away into the trees for comfort--but only a deathly stillness and a sullen roll of distant thunder answered, and left her uncomforted.
And then some force stronger than her will seemed to drive her back to the house, and to the long gallery, and just at the very moment when she had pa.s.sed beyond her lover's sight it was as if something chased her, so that she ran the last few yards, and paused not until she stood in front of Aphrodite's shrine.
It would be difficult to carry the marble head with the other few things she proposed to take, but none the less was the necessity imperative.
She could not be married without the presence of her beloved mother to bless her.
As she lifted her G.o.ddess out, with her silken wrappings, the first flash of the nearing storm lit up the dark room with lurid flame.
Halcyone s.h.i.+vered. It was the one aspect of Nature with which she was out of harmony. When thunder rolled and lightning quivered, her vitality seemed to desert her and she experienced what in her came nearest to fear.
”Ah! someone has angered G.o.d greatly,” she whispered aloud; and then she carried the head to the secret door, knowing full well she would be unwatched in her entry there--on such a day, with thunder pealing, not a servant would have ventured into the long gallery.
Another and louder rumble reached her with m.u.f.fled sound, as she made her way in the dark underground, and as she came to the place where there was the contrived gleam of light and outer air, the lightning turned the narrow s.p.a.ce into a green dusk.
Halcyone was trembling all over, and when she had put her precious bundle safely into the bag with the rest of her simple preparations, she laid it on the iron-bound box which had never been stirred, all ready for her to lift up and take with her in the morning. Then she ran back, cold and pale, and hastily sought Priscilla in her own room, and talked long to her of old days, glad indeed to hear a human voice, until presently the rain began to pour in torrents and the storm cried itself out.
But with each crash before this came her heart gave a bound, as if in pain. And a wild longing grew in her for the morrow and safety in her lover's arms.
And he--alas! that hapless lover!--was lying there in the haw-haw, with broken ankle and damaged head, half recovering consciousness in the pouring rain, but unable to stir or climb from his low bed, or even to cry aloud enough to make anyone hear him. And so at last the night came, and the pure moonlight, and when her usual evening duties were over with her aunts, Halcyone was free to go to bed.
She opened her window wide, but she did not seek to wander in the wet park. John would not be there, and she must rest, so as to be fair for him when tomorrow they should start on life's sweet journey--together.
But her heart was not quiet. All her prayers and pure thoughts seemed to bring no peace, and even when, after a while, she fell into a sleep, it was still troubled.
And thus the day dawned that was to have seen her wedding!
She told herself that the dull, sullen oppression she awoke with was the result of the storm in the night, and with firm determination she banished all she could of heaviness, and got through her usual avocations until the moment came for her to start for the oak avenue gate. She timed her arrival to be exactly at ten o'clock so that she need not wait, as this of the three outlets was the one where there might be a less remote chance of a pa.s.ser-by. They had had to choose it because it was on the road to Bristol.
The sun was s.h.i.+ning gorgeously again when she emerged from the secret door, carrying her heavy bundle, and except in the renewed freshness of all the green there seemed no trace of the storm. Yes--as she got near the gate she saw that one huge tree beyond that old friend who had played the part of the holder of the Golden Fleece was stricken and cleft through by the lightning. It had fallen in helpless fas.h.i.+on, blackened and yawning, its proud head in the dust.
This grieved her deeply, and she paused to pa.s.s a tender hand over the gaping wound. Then she went on to the gate, and there waited--waited first in calm belief, then in expectancy, and at last in a numb agony.
The sun seemed to scorch her, the light hurt her eyes, every sound made her tremble and start forward, and at last she cried aloud:
”O G.o.d, why do I feel so troubled? I who have always had peace in my heart!”
But no bird even answered her. There was a warm stillness, and just there, under these trees, there were no rabbits which could have comforted her with their living forms scuttling to and fro.
She tried to reason calmly. Motors were uncertain things--this one might have broken down, and that had delayed her lover. She must not stir, in case he should come and think his lateness had frightened her and that she had gone back to the house. Whatever befell, she must be brave and true.
But at last, when the afternoon shadows were lengthening, the agony became intense. Only the baker had pa.s.sed with his cart, and a farm wagon or two, during the whole day. Gradually the conviction grew that it could not only be an accident to the motor--if so, John would have procured some other vehicle, or, indeed, he could have come to her on foot by now. Something had befallen him. There must have occurred some accident to himself; and in spite of all her calm fort.i.tude, anguish clutched her soul.
She knew not what to do or which way to go. At last, as the sun began to sink, faint and weary, she decided the orchard house would be the best place. There, if there was any news of an accident, Sarah Porrit, the Professor's one female servant, would have heard it.
She started straight across the park, carrying her heavy bag, and crossed the beech avenue, and so on to the trysting tree. A cold feeling like some extra disquietude seemed to overcome her as she neared the haw-haw and the copse. It was as if she feared and yet longed to get there. But she resisted the temptation, and went straight on to the little gate and so up the garden to the house.