The way of the spirit

by H. Rider Haggard

Then came the reception, a long, long ceremony, remarkable for the multitude of strange faces and for a room set out with wedding gifts which were “numerous and costly.” Champagne was drunk also, and the bride’s health proposed by Lord Southwick, who described her as one of the loveliest and most charming young ladies in London, a truth at which everyone cheered, for it was obvious. He ended with a panegyric on Rupert himself, briefly recapitulating his services and the distinctions which he had won, which were, he was convinced, only earnests of those greater distinctions that remained for him to win. Finally, he regretted that the call of duty, to which this gallant officer had never been able to turn a deaf ear, forced him to separate, he was glad to say for but a short while only, from his beautiful and new-wed wife.

Rupert replied, thanking the proposer and the company for their good wishes. He added that there were trials which all men had to face unexpectedly, and this early and sudden separation was one of the greatest that had come to him, especially as it had obliged him to refuse his wife’s first request, that she might be allowed to accompany him to Egypt, which he was forced to do because of the cholera that was raging there.

Then he stopped, and Edith thanked him for his words with a grateful smile while the guests began to melt away. Dick sauntered up, beautifully arrayed, and remarking sympathetically that they had only three hours before the departure of the train, asked, in a voice loud enough to attract general attention, where they had finally decided to spend their honeymoon.

Edith drew herself up and answered: “Here in London when Rupert returns from the Soudan, or perhaps in Egypt,” after which public announcement, until they were together in the carriage going to the station, her husband found it impossible to secure even a private word with her. Again the subtle Dick had succeeded in adding one more course to the wall which it was his evil aim to build between Rupert and his wife.

The one thing which always stood out in Rupert’s mind above the level of the grey and dim confusion of this marriage, like a black mountain-point from an evening mist, was his farewell to his mother. While he made his last preparations for his journey, finding that Edith was not with him, she came timidly to the room and sat by his side. Mrs. Ullershaw was sad, but strove to conquer her mood, or at any rate, to hide it, speaking cheerfully of the honour that had been done him by the Government and the advantage that he might hope for as a consequence. Rupert, too, strove to be cheerful, though the frost of gloom that fell on him, colder and yet more cold, nipped his heart and killed all joy. She felt it, and at length, poor, loving woman, her grief got the better of her and she burst into tears.

“Oh, why does not Edith accompany you?” she said. “I cannot bear to think of your going out there alone within three hours of your marriage. If only I could have had a little more time, ill and feeble as I am, I would have come with you as far as Cairo, for, my boy, my boy! how can I know that I shall ever see you again?”

Then after his manner Rupert turned and faced the situation, simply and plainly.

“You can’t know, dearest mother,” he said, “neither of us can know; but what does it matter? Sooner or later that separation must come, but fortunately we are both of us convinced that it will be the last. Even to-day when I should be so happy, I cannot pretend that the world satisfies me; indeed it seems as full of pains and troubles as ever, for things have gone wrong and my anxieties are increased. Well, very soon the world will pass from beneath our feet, and then, as you have taught me and I am sure, the true life begins. This I promise, as I promised you years ago, that while I live I will try to be honest and upright as you are, so that at the last we may be together again. If you go first, then wait for me, as, if I should be called away, I will wait for you.”

She turned her streaming face towards him and smiled and there was something in the smile that frightened and thrilled him, for it was not altogether of the earth.

“I know it,” she whispered—“all, all. It is true, and I bless God who has tied us together everlastingly. They are calling you. Go, Rupert. No, I cannot come, I do not wish those people to see my grief. Go; and God’s blessing and mine go with you, as they shall,” and she laid her trembling hand upon his head in benediction while he knelt beside her.