“Eve! this is an old friend. I met her walking by the river, and asked her to come and see you. Her name is Lilith Wastneys. You remember it, don’t you? I have spoken to you about her.”
“Yes, I remember,” Eve said. She took her hand from her husband’s, and held it out towards Lilith with a graceful gesture of greeting. Her eyes dwelt on the small, composed face with an expression of incredulous surprise. “You wished for Power! That seemed strange to me when I heard it, and now that I have seen you it seems stranger still. You look so small and gentle. I wonder what made you wish for Power!”
Lilith’s smile was as inscrutable as her eyes. She answered simply by making another statement:
“And Rupert wished for love.”
“He has got it!” said Eve deeply. She gave one glance at her husband—a wonderful, liquid glance, then turned back to her guest. “Won’t you sit down? I sit in the veranda to be out of the sun. I am so tired of the sun. In the East it is cruel, blazing down day after day, mocking at the shadows. But the shadows are there—it cannot chase them away.” She leaned back on her cushions. “Here all is so cool and calm, and the rain falls. That feels like nature weeping with us. I like to watch the rain. Have you a pretty garden to sit in?”
“I am staying at the Inn. I don’t want a garden. I can have that at home. When I want to rest I walk over the stepping-stones into the middle of the river. There is a big rock there which forms a kind of natural arm-chair. I can sit on it, looking down the stream, and no one can see me from the bank, for the rock rises up like a wall nearly all the way round. To sit there is like a peep into another life; a mermaid’s life, all grey rock, and splashing foam, and soft, ceaseless roar. When you listen to that roar from the bank it sounds harsh and monotonous. You are on another element, you see, so it is alien to you, and has no meaning, but on the rock you are part of the river itself. It tells you its secrets. You can understand!”
As she finished speaking, Lilith’s heavy lids lifted, and her eyes flashed with a sudden light. There was a moment’s silence; then Eve bent forward on her seat, while a wave of colour flamed into her pale cheeks.
“Will you take me with you?” she cried breathlessly. “Will you take me now? There is something I am always trying to hear—a secret which I am always trying to find out, and no one can help me. Perhaps the river will tell me my secret... Take me with you, and let me try!”
Eve was fascinated with the rocky seat, and spent hours of each day ensconced thereon. The river was so low that it was easy to step from one rock to another, and Rupert would see her comfortably settled, and then leave her to take the brisk walk over the hills which was his usual exercise. Eve preferred to be alone for part of the day, and he had no fear of leaving her. There had never been any suicidal tendency in her derangement; rather did she cling to life, and shrink from the thought of death. And the river soothed her, she said; the murmuring voice seemed to whisper of happiness and peace, but as yet it was only a murmur. In vain she strained her ears; the message eluded her, and floated vaguely into space. “Louder!” she would cry. “Louder!” But the river floated sleepily on its course, and refused to be aroused.
A week passed by, and Rupert grew restless and uneasy. Eve was still obsessed with love of her river seat, but the strain of listening for the message which never came added to her depression, and it irked him to feel that she was deliberately courting a disappointment which he was powerless to relieve.