The union infused so much new blood into the declining, short-lived stock that there seemed no limit to the energy and success of the heir. Charles, fifth marquess, was a member of parliament in his twenty-second year, an under-secretary when he was twenty-six and Governor-General of Canada before he was thirty-five. Thereafter, having got him abroad, succeeding governments vied with one another to keep him abroad. The vice-royalty of India followed almost automatically; he spent two years as Lord Lieutenant of Ireland to oblige his party leaders and was now in the full vigour of middle age with nothing to do. The House of Lords offered no opportunity to an incurably bad debater; and the radicals by destroying the constitution, bullying the king and playing with revolution had made it a place of arid pomp, whose futility took away something of a man's dignity every time that he went there. Nevertheless, once a viceroy, always a viceroy, as his daughter sometimes reminded him. Lord Crawleigh ruled Berkeley Square and Crawleigh Abbey as though he were still in India, as though, too, he were suppressing the Mutiny single-handed. "Once a mutineer, always a mutineer," Lady Barbara would occasionally say of herself.
This week-end she had irritated her parents by choosing a train convenient neither to family nor guests, by arriving speechless with fatigue and by retiring to her bedroom and announcing that she would probably stay there. Lady Crawleigh felt that prudence, after so long delay, might have timed its coming more opportunely; a houseful of young people could be trusted, in dealing with her sentences, to complete the ruin which her husband had begun; but late hours, excitement and the legacy of her illness had reduced Barbara's strength until Dr. Gaisford pronounced that he could not answer for the result if any pressure were put upon her.
Though the windows were now thickly curtained and a bright fire was burning, Barbara could never come into her bedroom without a shiver. In the spring and summer of 1915, when Crawleigh Abbey was a military hospital, she had worked by night and lain awake by day, deliberately and with the sun shining on her face, for fear of dreaming. Madness or death could be no worse than the torture of being pitilessly and unceasingly watched when she knew that she was only dreaming but could not wake. Of late the form of her dreams had changed, growing less defined; there was no longer the old accusing pair of eyes to reproach and spy on her as soon as the room was in darkness, but she was conscious of vague presences which she could not clearly see. After fainting in the train a month before, she had heard Eric's voice in her sleep, though she could not recognize a face which she had never seen; none of her dream-faces had features. There was a shadow somewhere in all her visions of Eric; some day she feared that the shadow would take form, the eyes would return to watch her.…
The fire was so bright that the room grew no darker when she turned off the light; and, though she placed a coloured handkerchief over her eyes, it gave her no protection. When she pulled it impatiently away, the glare was so fierce that she could not see the familiar bookcases and chairs. Gradually the whole room was enveloped in a sheet of flame, and in the midst she saw a gigantic figure on a throne.
"God," she whispered—and knew that she was dead and had come to be judged.
The throne was familiar from an old picture in Siena; God was the Ancient of Days, drawn by Blake for the Book of Job. Strange that, after all, these stories were true.… She wondered why He was old or, being old, why He was no older.… The white flame beat mercilessly upon her eyes, and she could see that they were alone in Space.
God was waiting for her to confess.…
It was idle to confess when God was omniscient, and she kept her lips obstinately closed.
But God and she were alone in Time. He had sat for an eternity before she came to the judgement-seat; He would wait for an eternity and condemn her for an eternity.…
"Vanity.… I suppose that's what you want me to say." She wondered whether her voice would carry through Space; she was no bigger than God's right hand … alone … and naked. "I've always been spoiled, and that makes any one vain. Some allowance …"