The Light of Scarthey: A Romance

by Egerton Castle

  CHAPTER XXXV

  THE LIGHT REKINDLED

  Look not upon the sky at eventide, For that makes sorrowful the heart of man; Look rather here into my heart, And joyful shalt thou always be.

  _Luteplayer's Song._

  It was on the fifth day after Sir Adrian's return to his island home.Outwardly the place was the same. A man had been engaged to attend tothe lighthouse duties, but he and his wife lived apart in their owncorner of the building and never intruded into the master's apartmentsor into the turret-room which had been Captain Jack's.

  From the moment that Sir Adrian, attended by Rene, had re-entered theold rooms, the peel had resumed its wonted aspect. But the peace, theserenity which belonged to it for so many years, had fled--fled, itseemed to Sir Adrian, for ever. Still there was solitude and, in sofar, repose. It was something to have such a haven of refuge for hisbruised spirit.

  The whole morning of this day had been spent in counting out andsecuring, in separate lots, duly docketted and distinguished, aportion of that unwieldy accumulation of wealth, the charge of whichhe had accepted, against the time when it should be called for andclaimed by its depositors.

  The task was by no means simple, and required all his attention; butthere is a blessing even in mere mechanical labour, that soothes thetorment of the mind. In the particular occupation upon which he hadbeen engaged there was, moreover, a hidden touching element. It waswork for the helpless dead, work for that erring man but noble soulwho had been his loyal friend. As Sir Adrian tied up each bag of goldand labelled it with the name of some unknown creditor who had trustedJack, dimly the thought occurred that it would stand material proof,call for recognition that this Captain Smith, who had died the deathof a felon, had been a true man even in his own chosen lawless path.

  On the table, amid the papers and books, a heap of gold pieces yetuntold, remainder of his allotted day's task, awaited still hisministering hand. But he was tired. It was the dreamy hour of the daywhen the shadows grow long, the shafts of light level; and Sir Adriansat at his open window, gazing at the distant view of Pulwick, whilehis thoughts wandered into the future, immediate and distant. With theself-detachment of his nature these thoughts all bore upon the futureof the woman whom he pictured to himself lying behind those sunlitwindows yonder, framed by the verdure of leafy June, gathering slowlyback her broken strength for the long life stretching before her.

  Unlike the musings which in the lonely days of old had ever driftedirresistibly towards the past and gathered round the image of thedead, all the power of his mind was now fixed upon what was to come,upon the child, still dearer than the mother, who had all her life tolive. What would she do? What could _he_ do for her, now that sherequired his helping hand no more? Life was full of sorrow past andpresent; and in the future there lurked no promise of better things.The mind of man is always fain, even in its darkest hour, to takeflight into some distant realm of hope. To those whom life has utterlybetrayed there is always the hope of approaching death--but this,even, reason denied to him. He was so strong; illness had never takenhold of him; he came from such long-lived stock! He might almostoutlive her, might for ever stand as the one ineluctable check uponher peace of mind. And his melancholy reflections came circling backto their first starting-point--that barren rock of misery in a vastsea of despondency--there was nothing to be done.

  The barriers raised between them, on his side partly by the poisonouswords of his brother, partly by the phantom of that old love of whichthe new had at first been but an eluding reflex, and on hers, by thechilly disillusion which had fallen so soon upon her ardent nature;these sank into insignificance, contrasted to the whirl of baulkedpassion which had passed over her life, to leave it utterly blasted,to turn her indifference to hate.

  Yes, that was the burden of his thoughts: she hated and dreaded him.His love, his forbearance, his chivalrousness had been in vain. All hehad now to live upon was the memory of those few days when, under thespell of oblivion the beloved child had smiled on him in theunconscious love born of her helplessness and his care. But even thismost precious remembrance of the present was now, like that of thepast, to be obscured by its abrupt and terrible end.

  Death had given birth to the first and last avowal of love in her whohad perished between his arms under the swirling waters of theVilaine--but it was Life itself, returning life and health of mind,which had changed looks of trust and affection into the chilly stareof dread in the eyes of her whom with all the strength of his hoardedmanhood he now loved alone. The past for all its sorrows had heldsweetness: the present, the future, nothing but torment. And now, eventhe past, with its love and its sorrow was gone from him, merged inthe greater love and sorrow of the present. How long could he bearit?--Useless clamour of the soul! He must bear it. Life must beaccepted.

  Sir Adrian rose and, standing, paused a moment to let his sight,wandering beyond the immense sands, seek repose for a moment in theblue haze marking the horizon of the hills. The day was pure,exquisite in its waning beauty; the breeze as light and soft as acaress. In the great stillness of the bay the sisters sea and landtalked in gentle intermittent murmurs. Now and then the cries ofcircling sea-fowl brought a note of uncanny joy into the harmony thatseemed like silence in its unity.

  A beautiful harmonious world! But to him the very sense of the outerpeace gave a fresh emphasis to the discordance of his own life. Hebrought his gaze from afar and slowly turned to resume his work. Buteven as he turned a black speck upon the nearer arm of sea challengedhis fleeting attention. He stood and watched--and, as he watched, asensation, the most poignant and yet eerie he had ever known clutchedhim by the heart.

  A boat was approaching: a small row-boat in which the oars were plyedby a woman. By the multi-coloured, glaring shawl (poor Jack'sappreciated gift) he knew her, but without attaching name orpersonality to his recognition; for all his being was drawn to thesomething that lay huddled, black and motionless, in the stern. Hefelt to the innermost fibre of him that this something was a womantoo--this woman Molly. But the conviction seized him with a force thatwas beyond surprise. And all the vital heat in him fled to his heart,leaving him deadly cold.

  As her face grew out of the distance towards him, a minute white patchamid the dark cloud of silk and lace that enwrapt it, it seemed asthough he had known for centuries that she was thus to come to him.And the glow of his heart spread to his brain.

  When the boat was about to land, he began, like one walking in hissleep, to move away; and, slowly descending the stairs of the keep, headvanced towards the margin of the sea. He walked slowly, for the bodywas heavy whilst the soul trembled within its earthly bounds.

  Molly had alighted and was toiling, with her new born and yet butfeeble strength upon the yielding sand, supported between Rene andMoggie. She halted as she saw him approach, and, when he came close,looked up into his face. Her frail figure wavered and bent, and shewould have fallen on her knees before him, but that he opened his armswide and caught her to him.

  An exclamation rose to Moggie's lips, to die unformed under animperious glance from Rene who, with shining eyes and set mouth, hadstood apart to watch the momentous issue.

  Adrian felt his wife nestle to him as he held her. And then the tideof his long-bound love overflowed. And gathering her up in his arms asif she were a child, he turned to carry the broken woman with him intothe shelter, the silence of the ruins.

  At the foot of the outer wall, just out of reach of high water, yetwithin reach of its salt spray, a little mound of red stony soil rosevery slightly above the green turf; at its head, a small stone cross,roughly hewn, was let into the masonry itself. The grave of HubertCochrane was not obtrusive: in a few months it would have merged againinto the greensward, and its humble memorial symbol would be coveredwith moss and lichen like the matrix of stone which encompassed it.

  Involuntarily as he passed it, the man, with his all too light burden,halted. A flame shot through him as Molly turned her head to gaze too:he shoo
k with a brief agony of jealousy--jealousy of the dead! Thenext instant he felt her recoil, look up pleadingly and cling to himagain, and he knew into the soul of his soul that the words spoken bythose loyal lips--now clay beneath that clay--were coming true, that,out of his house laid desolate to him was to rise a new and statelymansion.

  Grasping her closer he hurried into the sanctuary of the old room,where he had first seen her bright young beauty.

  At the door he gently suffered her to stand, still supporting her withone arm about her waist. As they entered, she cast a rapid glancearound: her eyes, bedewed with rising tears, fell upon the heap ofgold glinting under the rays of the sinking sun, and she understoodthe nature of the task her coming had interrupted. Her tears gushedforth; catching his hand between hers, and looking up at him with astrange, wonderful humility, she pressed it to her lips.

  What need for words between them, then?

  He stood a little while motionless in front of her, entranced yetstill almost incredulous, as one suddenly freed from long intolerablepain, when there rose once more, for the last time, before his mind'seye the ideal image that had been the companion of twenty years of hisexistence. It was vivid almost as life. He saw Cecile de Savenaye bendover her child with grave and tender look, then turn and smile uponhim with the old exquisite sweetness that he had adored so madly inthat far off past. And then, it was as if she had merged into Molly.Behold, she was gone! there was no Cecile, only Molly the woman heloved. Molly, whom now he seized to his heart, who smiled at himthrough her tears as he bent to kiss her lips.

  Twilight was waning and the light of Scarthey beamed peacefully overthe yellow sands; and the waves receded dragging away sand and shinglefrom the foot of the hidden grave.