‘Is it always right to follow our ideal of duty, when nature points so clearly another way?’ he still urged. ‘What reason have we always to regard our judgment as better than hers, since she is so big and mighty, and we so small and helpless.’ He held her hand pressed against his lips, and I could hear his murmuring speech through the trembling fingers. ‘What is the past with such a present as ours, such a future as we might have? My love would soon blot it from your memory. Trust me, Brases, I too have my past with its burden of regrets I would fain forget.’
‘Ah, had I met you before fatality crossed my path,’ she said, upon a quick sob, ‘when my palm was as clean as a child’s, how my spirit would have bounded to the wedding of yours! But that may never be now.’
Her arms dropped renouncingly, and the smile that travelled slowly over her blanched face shed a rapturous light upon his. His eyes held hers in willing bondage. Though this was her farewell I could divine the supreme effort that kept her from his arms, by the fingers fluttering like the wings of a bird against her dress, while it were hard to say which her half-lifted, gently averted face, with the eyes straining back to his, most eloquently expressed: surrender or renouncement.
Trueberry sprang to her and caught her to him, and their lips met in a kiss that had the solemnity of a sacrament. I staggered back, clapping my hand over my mouth to prevent a shout of white-hot anguish, and could see the darkness sweep down upon me like a big comforting wing. I hoped it was death come to gather me like a suffering, inarticulate child, into its soft mother’s arms.
But I struggled back into life, and had again to front the road of care and blind endeavour. How long later I cannot say, but I saw Brases standing over me, looking at me in pitying wonder. She took my hand in both of hers, and bending, softly kissed my cheek. This was the mother’s kiss I hoped death had given me. I stared at her, too broken for wonder or emotion, and sitting down beside me, with my hand still in hers, she said—
‘We were very much frightened, you were so long unconscious. Mr. Trueberry told me you have not slept of late, and that you are very unhappy. I, too, am unhappy, and that is why I kissed you. But you are better now, and you will try to forget your pain, or, at least, to bear it well. It is the best any of us can do. They will drive you to Kilstern, and you will return to France alone, carrying my best wishes for your welfare. Mr. Trueberry has gone already.’
I struggled to my feet, swallowed the wine she poured out for me, and then, in a dull, uneager voice, asked, ‘Did Trueberry leave no message for me, Madame?’
‘He was very much concerned, and full of sympathy, but he has his own trouble to bear, and thinks he will bear it best alone. He will write to you to Paris in a few days.’
A trap was at the door, and she came out with me, and when we had shaken hands in silence, stood looking after me, as I was indeed forcibly carried away. She was dim to my sight, a mere blurred grey figure, with light about her head, and the landscape looked watery and broken, as if seen through bits of bobbing glass.
A PAGE OF PHILOSOPHY