"He thought he was the first syllable. Never mind _him_! I want you to tell me about Septimius Severus. He's what I came about. What was it that happened, exactly?" Thereupon Adrian gave the experience which the story knows already, in greater detail.
In the middle, a casual housekeeper was fain to speak to Miss Torrens, for a minute. Who therefore left the room and became a voice, housekeeping, in the distance.
Then Gwen made Adrian tell the story again, cross-examining him as one cross-examines obduracy in the hope of admissions that will at least countenance a belief in the truth that we want to be true. If Adrian had seen his way to a concession that would have made matters pleasant, he would have jumped at the chance of making it. But false hope was so much worse than false despair. Better, surely, a spurious growth of the latter, with disillusionment to come, than a stinted instalment of the former with a chance of real despair ahead. Adrian took the view that Sir Coupland was really a weak, good-natured chap who had wanted Gwen to have every excuse for hope that could be constructed, even with unsound materials; but who also wanted the responsibilities of the jerry-builder to rest on other shoulders than his own. Gwen discredited this view of the great surgeon's character in her inner consciousness, but hardly had courage to raise her voice against it, because of the danger of fostering false hopes in her lover's mind. Nevertheless she could not be off fanning a little flame of comfort to warm her heart, from the conviction that so responsible an F.R.C.S. would never have gone out of his way to show her the letter if he had not thought there was some chance, however small, of a break in the cloud.
After Sir Coupland's letter and its subject had been allowed to lapse, Gwen said:--"So now you see what I came for, and that's all about it.
What do you think I did, dearest, yesterday as soon as I had seen my old lady comfortably settled? She was dreadfully tired, you know. But she was very plucky and wouldn't admit it."
"Who the dickens _is_ your old lady?"
"Don't be impatient. I'll tell you all in good time. First I want to tell you where I went yesterday afternoon. I went across the garden through the rose-forest ... you know?--what you said must be a rose-forest to smell like that...."
"I know. And you went through the gate you came through,"--even so a Greek might have spoken to Aphrodite of "the sea-foam you sprang from"--"and along the field-path to the little bridge fat men get stuck on...." This was an exaggeration of an overstatement of a disputed fact.
"Yes, my dearest, and I was there by myself. And I stood and looked over to Swayne's Oak and thought to myself if only it all could happen again, and a dog might come with a rush and kiss me, and paw me with his dirty paws! And then if you--_you_--_you_ were to come out of the little coppice, and come to the rescue, all wet through and dripping, how I would take you in my arms, and keep you, and not let you go to be shot.
I _would_. And I would say to you:--'I have found you in time, my darling, I have found you, in time to save you. And now that I have found you, I will keep you, like this. And you would look at me, and see that it was not a forward girl, but me myself, your very own, come for you.... I wonder what you would have said."
"I wonder what I should have said. I think I know, though. I should have said that although a perfect stranger, I should like, please, to remain in Heaven as long--I am quoting Mrs. Bailey--as it was no inconvenience.
I might have said, while in Heaven, that we were both under a misapprehension, having taken for granted occurrences, to the development of which our subsequent experiences were essential. But I should have indulged the misapprehension...."
"Of course you would. Any man in his senses would...."
"I agree with you."
"Unless he was married or engaged or something."
"That might complicate matters. Morality is an unknown quantity.... But, darling, let's drop talking nonsense...."
"No--don't let's! It's such sensible nonsense. Indeed, dearest, I saw it all plain, as I stood there yesterday at Arthur's Bridge. I saw what it had all meant. I did not know _at the time_, but I should have done so if I had not been a fool. I did not see then why I stood watching you till you were out of sight. But I do see now."
Adrian answered seriously, thoughtfully, as one who would fain get to the heart of a mystery. "I knew quite well then--I am convinced of it--why I turned, when I thought I was out of sight, to see if you were still there. I turned because my heart was on fire--because my world was suddenly filled with a girl I had exchanged fifty words with. I was not unhappy before you dawned--only tranquil."
"What were you thinking of, just before you saw me, when you were wading through the wet fern? I think _I_ was only thinking how wet the ferns must have been. How little I thought then who the man was, with the dog! You were only 'the man' then."
"And then--I got shot! I'm so glad. Just think, dearest, what a difference it would have made to me if that ounce of lead had gone an inch wrong...."
"And you had been killed outright!"
"I didn't mean that. I meant the other way. Suppose it had missed, and I had finished my walk with my eyes in my head, and come back here and got an introduction to the girl I saw in the Park, and not known what to say to her when I got it!"
"I should have known you at once."
"Dearest love, some tenses of verbs are kittle-cattle to shoe behind.
'Should have' is one of the kittlest of the whole lot. You would have thought me an interesting author, and I should have sent you a copy of my next book. And then we should have married somebody else."
"Where is the organ of nonsense in Poets' heads, I wonder. It must be this big one, on the top."
"No--that's veneration. My strong point. It shows itself in the readiness with which I recognise the Finger of Providence. I discern in the nicety with which old Stephen's bullet did its predestined work a special intervention on my behalf. A little more and I should have been sleeping with my fathers, or have joined the Choir of Angels, or anyhow been acting up to my epitaph to the best of my poor ability. A little less, and I should have gone my way rejoicing, ascribing my escape from that bullet to the happy-go-lucky character of the Divine disposition of human affairs. I should never have claimed the attentions due to a slovenly, unwholesome corpse...."
"You shall _not_ talk like that. Blaspheme as much as you like. I don't mind blasphemy."
Adrian kissed the palm of the hand that stopped his mouth, and continued speech, under drawbacks. "An intelligent analysis will show that my remarks are reverential, not blasphemous. You will at least admit that there would have been no Mrs. Bailey."
Gwen removed her hand. "None whatever! Yes, you may talk about Mrs.
Bailey. There would have been no Mrs. Bailey, and I should never have lain awake all night with your eyes on my conscience.... Yes--the night after mamma and I had tea with you...."
"My eyes on your conscience! Oh--my eyes be hanged! Would I have my eyes back now?--to lose _you_! Oh, Gwen, Gwen!--sometimes the thought comes to me that if it were not for my privation, my happiness would be too great to be borne--that I should scarcely dare to live for it, had the price I paid for it been less. What is the loss of sight for life to set against...."
"Are you aware, good man, that you are talking nonsense? Be a reasonable Poet, at least!"
She was drawing her hand caressingly over his, and just as she said this, lifted it suddenly, with a start. "Your ring scratches," said she.
"Does it?" said he, feeling it. "Oh yes--it does. I've found where. I'll have it seen to.... I wonder now why I never noticed that before."
"It's a good ring that won't scratch its wearer. I suppose I was unpopular with it. It didn't hurt. Perhaps it was only in fun. Or perhaps it was to call attention to the fact that you have never told me about it. You haven't, and you said you would."
"So I did, when we had The Scene." He meant the occasion on which, according to Gwen's mamma, she had made him an offer of her affections in the Jacobean drawing-room. "It's a ring with magic powers--nothing to do with any young lady, as you thought. It turns pale at the approach of poison."
"Let's get some poison, and try. Isn't there some poison in the house?"
"I dare say there is, in the kitchen. You might touch the bell and ask."
"I shall do nothing of the sort. I mean private poison--doctor's bottles--blue ones with embossed letters.... _You_ know?"
"_I_ know. My maternal parent has any number. But all empty, I'm afraid.
She always finishes them. Besides--don't let's bring her in! She has such high principles. However, I've got some poison--what an Irish suicide would consider the rale cratur--only I won't get it out even for this experiment, because I may want it...."
"You _may want it_!"
"Of course." He suddenly deserted paradox and levity, and became serious. "My dearest, think of this! Suppose I were to lose you, here in the dark!... Oh, I know all that about duty--_I_ know! I would not kill myself at once, because it would be unkind to Irene. But suppose I lost Irene too?"
"I can't reason it out. But I can't believe it would ever be right to destroy oneself."
"Possibly not, but once one was effectually destroyed...."
"That sounds like rat-paste." Gwen wanted to joke her way out of this region of horrible surmise.
But Adrian was keen on his line of thought. "Exactly!" said he. "Vermin destroyer. _I_ should be the vermin. But once destroyed, what contrition should I have to endure? Remorse is a game that takes two selves to play at it--a criminal and a conscientious person! Suppose the rat-paste had destroyed them both!"
"But would it?"
"Absolute ignorance, whether or no, means an even chance of either. I would risk it, for the sake of that chance of rich, full-blown Non-Entity. Oh, think of it!--after loneliness in the dark!--loneliness that once was full of life...."
"But suppose the other chance--how then?"
"Suppose I worked out as a disembodied spirit--and I quite admit it's as likely as not, neither more nor less--it does not necessarily follow that Malignity against Freethinkers is the only attribute of the Creator. When one contemplates the extraordinary variety and magnitude of His achievements, one is tempted to imagine that He occasionally rises above mere personal feeling. It certainly does seem to me that damning inoffensive Suicides would be an unwarrantable abuse of Omnipotence. The fact is, I have a much better opinion of the Most High than many of His admirers."
"But, nonsense apart.... Yes--it _is_ nonsense!... do you mean that you would kill yourself about me?"