Part 32 (2/2)
Then looking towards the door of Beatrice's room, he gazed at it with the peculiar reverence that sometimes afflicts people who are very much in love, and, with a sigh, turned and sought his own.
He could not sleep, it was impossible. For nearly two hours he lay turning from side to side, and thinking till his brain seemed like to burst. To-morrow he must leave her, leave her for ever, and go back to his coa.r.s.e unprofitable struggle with the world, where there would be no Beatrice to make him happy through it all. And she, what of her?
The storm had lulled a little, now it came back in strength, heralded by the lightning. He rose, threw on a dressing-gown, and sat by a window watching it. Its tumult and fury seemed to ease his heart of some little of its pain; in that dark hour a quiet night would have maddened him.
In eight hours--eight short hours--this matter would be ended so far as concerned their actual intercourse. It would be a secret locked for ever in their two b.r.e.a.s.t.s, a secret eating at their hearts, cruel as the worm that dieth not. Geoffrey looked up and threw out his heart's thought towards his sleeping love. Then once more, as in a bygone night, there broke upon his brain and being that mysterious spiritual sense. Stronger and more strong it grew, beating on him in heavy unnatural waves, till his reason seemed to reel and sink, and he remembered naught but Beatrice, knew naught save that her very life was with him now.
He stretched out his arms towards the place where she should be.
”Beatrice,” he whispered to the empty air, ”Beatrice! Oh, my love! my sweet! my soul! Hear me, Beatrice!”
There came a pause, and ever the unearthly sympathy grew and gathered in his heart, till it seemed to him as though separation had lost its power and across dividing s.p.a.ce they were mingled in one being.
A great gust shook the house and pa.s.sed away along the roaring depths.
Oh! what was this? Silently the door opened, and a white draped form pa.s.sed its threshold. He rose, gasping; a terrible fear, a terrible joy, took possession of him. The lightning flared out wildly in the eastern sky. There in the fierce light she stood before him--she, Beatrice, a sight of beauty and of dread. She stood with white arms outstretched, with white uncovered feet, her bosom heaving softly beneath her night-dress, her streaming hair unbound, her lips apart, her face upturned, and a stamp of terrifying calm.
”In the wide, blind eyes uplift Thro' the darkness and the drift.”
Great Heaven, she was asleep!
Hus.h.!.+ she spoke.
”You called me, Geoffrey,” she said, in a still, unnatural voice. ”You called me, my beloved, and I--have--come.”
He rose aghast, trembling like an aspen with doubt and fear, trembling at the sight of the conquering glory of the woman whom he wors.h.i.+pped.
See! She drew on towards him, and she was _asleep_. Oh, what could he do?
Suddenly the draught of the great gale rus.h.i.+ng through the house caught the opened door and crashed it to.
She awoke with a wild stare of terror.
”Oh, G.o.d, where am I?” she cried.
”Hush, for your life's sake!” he answered, his faculties returning.
”Hus.h.!.+ or you are lost.”
But there was no need to caution here to silence, for Beatrice's senses failed her at the shock, and she sank swooning in his arms.
CHAPTER XXIII
A DAWN OF RAIN
That crash of the closing door did not awake Beatrice only; it awoke both Elizabeth and Mr. Granger. Elizabeth sat up in bed straining her eyes through the gloom to see what had happened. They fell on Beatrice's bed--surely--surely----
Elizabeth slipped up, cat-like she crept across the room and felt with her hand at the bed. Beatrice was not there. She sprang to the blind and drew it, letting in such light as there was, and by it searched the room. She spoke: ”Beatrice, where are you?”
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