Part 35 (2/2)
Presently he harked back to the topic that was never closed between us.
”By this time next week you will have touched the heart of our eternal problem. The mystery of it will perhaps be all clear to you then. 'Tis most strange how at one sweep all a man's turbulent questing life pa.s.ses into the quiet of--of what? That is the question: of unending death or of achieved knowledge?” Then he added, coming abruptly to the issue: ”The day draws near. Do you think better of my offer now?”
”Sir Robert, I have lived a tempestuous life these past months. I have known hunger and cold and weariness; I have been at the top of fortune's wave and at the bottom; but I have never found it worth my while to become divorced from honour. You find me near dead from privations and disease.
Do you think I would pay so much for such an existence? Believe me, when a man has pa.s.sed through what I have he is empty of fears.”
”I could better spare a better man,” he said.
”Sorry to inconvenience you,” I told him grimly.
”I' faith, I think you're destined to do that dead or alive.”
”I think I am. You will find me more in your way dead than alive.”
”I'll outlive your memory, never fear.” Then quietly, after a moment's hesitation: ”There's one thing it may be a comfort for you to know. I've given up any thought of putting her on the rack. I'll win fairly or not at all.”
I drew a deep free breath. ”Thank you for telling me.”
”I mean to marry her though. I swear to you, Montagu, that my heart is wrapped up in her. I thought all women alike until I met this one. Now I know better. She could have made a different man of me; sometimes I think she could even yet. I vow to you I would not now injure a hair of her head, but w.i.l.l.y-nilly, in the end I shall marry the girl.”
”To ruin her life?”
”To save mine rather.”
”Do you think yourself able to change the whole course of your life for her?”
He mused. ”Ah, Montagu! There your finger falls pat on the pulse of my doubt. My heart cries aye, my reason gives a negative.”
”Don't worry overmuch about it,” I answered, railing at him. ”She'll never look at you, man. My grave will be an insurmountable barrier. She will idealize my memory, think me a martyr and herself a widowed maid.”
The shot scored. 'Twas plain he must have often thought of that himself.
”It may interest you to know that we are engaged to be married,” I added.
”Indeed! Let me congratulate you. When does the happy event occur, may I ask? Or is the day set?”
He had no need to put into words more clearly the irony of the fate that encompa.s.sed us.
”Dead or alive, as you say, I bar your way,” I said tartly.
”Pooh, man! I give you six weeks of violent grief, six months of tender melancholy.”
”You do not know the Scotch. She will die a maid,” I answered.
”Not she! A live lover is more present than a dead one. Has she sworn pretty vows to you, Montagu? 'At lovers' perjuries, they say, love laughs.' Is there nothing to be said for me? Will her heart not always whisper that I deserve grat.i.tude and love, that I perilled my life for her, saved the lives of her brother and her lover, neither of them friends of mine, again reprieved her lover's life, stood friend to her through all her trouble? You know a woman's way--to make much of nothing.”
”Forgive, if I prod a lagging memory, Miss Westerleigh?”
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