CHAPTER VII.
"THE WHOLE SOUL PRISONER ..."
No more foolish passion was ever implanted in the human breast than thatof jealousy--unless it were that of which it is the direct outcome--noris there any which the average human is less potent to resist. Thevictim of either, or both, is for the time being outside reason.
Now the first-mentioned form of disease is, to the philosophical mind,of all others the most essentially foolish--indeed, we can hardly callto mind any other so thoroughly calculated to turn the averagewell-constructed man or woman into an exuberantly incurable idiot. Forwhat does it amount to when we come to pan it out? If there existgrounds for the misgiving, why then it is going begging--grovelling forsomething which the other party has not got to give; if groundless, isit not a fulfilling of the homely old saw relating to cutting off one'snose to spite one's face? (We disclaim any intent to pun.) In eithercase it is such a full and whole-souled giving of himself, or herself,away on the part of the patient; while on that of its object--is he, orshe, worth it?
Now, from a very acute form of this insanity George Falkner was achronic sufferer. He had cherished a secret weakness for Lilith, almostwhen she was yet in short frocks, but since her return from England,from the moment he had once more set eyes upon her on the deck of the_Persian_, he had tumbled madly, uncontrollably, headlong in love. Did amember of the opposite sex so much as exchange commonplaces with her,George Falkner's personality would contrive to loom, grim and dark, andalmost threatening, in the background; while such male animal who shouldenjoy the pleasure of say an hour of Lilith's society _a deux_, evenwith no more flirtatious or ultimate intent than the same period spentin the society of his grandmother, would inspire in George a fellmurderousness, which was nothing short of a reversion to firstprinciples. As for Lilith herself, she was fond of him, very, in asisterly, cousinly way--and what way, indeed, could be more fatal tothat by which he desired to travel? Nor did it mend matters any thattheir mutual relatives were the reverse of favourable to hisaspirations, on the ground of the near relationship existing between theparties. So, poor George, seeing no light, became morose andquarrelsome, and wholly and violently unreasonable--in short, a bore.All of which was a pity, because, this weakness apart, he was, on thewhole, rather a good fellow.
He had come to the Rand, like everybody else, to wait for theboom--which boom, like the chariots of Israel, though totally unlike thechildren of the same, tarried long in coming; indeed, by that time therewere not wanting those who feared that it might not come at all. He hadpleaded with his aunt to invite Lilith at the same time, artfullyputting it that the opportunity of his escort was too good to be missed;and Mrs. Falkner, with whom he was a prime favourite, although she didnot approve his aspirations, weakly agreed. And so here they werebeneath the same roof, with the addition of his second sister, theblue-eyed Mabel, whose acquaintance we have already made.
The latter, in her soft, fair-haired, pink and roses style, was a verypretty girl. She, for her part, could count "coup" to a creditableextent, and among the latest scalps which she had hung to her daintytwenty-inch girdle was that of our friend Holmes.
This--idiot, we were going to say, looked back upon that deadly,monotonous, starved, dusty, flea-bitten coach-ride of three days and twonights as a species of Elysium, and in the result was perenniallyimportuning Laurence to take a stroll down to Booyseus, "Just for aconstitutional, you know." And the latter would laugh, andgood-naturedly acquiesce. It was a cheap way of setting up a characterfor amiability, he would say to himself satirically; for as yet Holmeshardly suspected he was almost as powerfully drawn thither as Holmes washimself--more powerfully, perhaps--only, with the advantage of years andexperience and cooler brain, he had himself more in hand.
"Instead of making a prize gooseberry of me, Holmes, as a veryappropriate item against the 'silly' season," he said one day, "you hadmuch better go over by yourself. You are getting into Falkner's blackbooks. He hates me like poison, you know."
"But that's just why I want you along, Stanninghame. While he's tryingto stand you off in the other quarter, I'm in it, don't you see?"replied the other, with whole-hearted ingenuousness.
Holmes had stated no more than the truth. Of all the "rivals," real orimaginary, whom the jealous George hated and feared, _qua_ rival, nonecould touch Laurence Stanninghame. For by this time it had become patentto his watchful eyes that among the swarms of visitors of the male, andtherefore, to him, obnoxious sex, at whose coming Lilith's glance wouldbrighten, and with whom she would converse with a kind of affectionateconfidentiality when others were present, and apparently even more sowhen others were not, that objectionable personage was the said LaurenceStanninghame.
This being the case, it followed that George Falkner, looking out on the_stoep_ one fine afternoon, and descrying the approach of his bugbear,stifled a bad cuss-word or two, and then exploded aloud in more approvedand passworthy fashion.
"There's that bounder coming here again."
"'Bounder' being Dutch for somebody you detest--eh, George?" said Lilithsweetly.
"Confound it! That everlasting trying to be sharp is one of the mostdeadly things a man has to put up with. It's catching--eh, Lilith?" wasthe sneering retort.
"But who is it?" said Mrs. Falkner, who was short-sighted, or affectedto be.
"Oh, the great god, Stanninghame, of course, and his pup, Holmes."
Now the ill-conditioned George had stirred up a hornet's nest, for hissister took up the parable.
"Well, there are lessons to be learned even from 'pups,'" said Mabelscathingly. "They are not _always_ growling, at any rate."
"Oh, you're on the would-be smart lay, too? Didn't I say it wascatching?" he jeered.
"Yes, and you say a great many things that are supremely foolish,"retorted Mabel, turning up her tip-tilted nose a little more, in finescorn.
"Well, I'm off to the camp," said George, with a sort of snarl, reachingfor a hat. "Clearly, I'm not wanted here."
"You're not, if you're going to do nothing but make yourself fiendishlydisagreeable," rejoined his sister, pertly pitiless. In reality she wasvery fond of him, and he of her, but he had trampled on a tender place;for she liked Holmes.
George banged on his hat, strode angrily to the door, and--got nofarther. He did not see why he should leave the field clear to allcomers, even if he were out of the running himself; a line ofirresoluteness which affords an excellent exemplification of the remarkswherewith we have opened this chapter.
By all but George, who was excusably undemonstrative, the two newarrivals were greeted with customary cordiality.
"Why, Mr. Stanninghame, it seems quite a long time since we saw youlast," said Mrs. Falkner, as they were all seated out on the _stoep_."What have you been doing with yourself?"
"The usual thing--studying the share market, and--talking about it."
"And is the outlook still as bad as it was?"
"Worse. However, we must hope it'll go better."
"I hear that you and that queer man, Mr. Hazon, have become suchfriends, Mr. Stanninghame."
This was the sort of remark with which Laurence had scant patience, themore so that it met him at every turn. What concern was it of the Randcollectively who he chose to be friendly with, that every third personhe met should rap out such kind of comment?
"Oh, we get along all right, Mrs. Falkner," he answered. "But then Ihave a special faculty for hitting it off with unpopularpersons--possibly a kind of fellow-feeling. Besides, acceptingready-made judgments concerning other people does not commend itself tomy mind on any score of logic or sound sense. It is just a trifle lessinsane than taking up other people's quarrels, but only just."
"I dare say you're right; only it is difficult for most of us to be soconsistently, so faultlessly logical. No doubt most of the things theysay about him are not true."
"But what are most of the things they say, Mrs. Falkner? Now I, for mypart, never can get anybody to _say_ anything. They will hintunutterables
and look unutterables, but when it comes to _saying_--no,thank you, they are not taking any."
"But he is such a very mysterious personage. Not a soul here knowsanything about him--about his affairs, I mean--and who he is."
"Perhaps that enhances his attractiveness in my eyes, Mrs. Falkner.There is prestige in the unknown."
"Not of a good kind, as a rule," she replied, and then stopped short,for a dry malicious cough on the part of George brought home to her theconsciousness that she was putting her foot in it pretty effectively.For the same held good of the man to whom she was talking; aboutLaurence Stanninghame and his affairs not a soul there knew anything.
Not a soul? Yes, one, peradventure. For between himself and Lilith theinterchange of ideas had been plenteous and frequent, and the subtile,sympathetic vein existing between them had deepened and grown apace.About himself and his affairs he had _told_ her nothing, yet it isprobable that he could tell her but little on this head that would benews in any sense of the word. Lilith's aunt, however, who was agood-hearted soul, without a grain of malice in her composition, feltsupremely uncomfortable and quite savage with George, who was nowgrinning, sourly and significantly.
None of this by-play was lost upon Laurence, but he showed noconsciousness. He knew that George Falkner detested him--detested himcordially, yet he in no wise reciprocated this dislike. He did not blameGeorge. Probably he would have felt the same way himself, had he been inGeorge's place and at George's age; for the latter had the advantage ofhim on the side of youth by at least ten years. He was inclined to likehim, and at any rate was sorry for him, perhaps with a dash of pity thatcame near contempt. Poor George did give himself away so, and it was sofoolish--so supremely foolish. Yet not for a moment did it occur toLaurence to efface himself in this connection. Duty? Hang duty! He hadmade a most ruinous muddle of his whole life through reverencing thatfetich word. Honour? There was no breach of honour where there was nodeception, no pretence. Consideration for others? Who on earth everdreamt of considering him--when to do so would cost them anything, thatis? Unselfishness? Everybody was selfish--everything even. What had heever gained by striving to improve upon the universal law?Nothing--nothing good; everything bad--bad and deteriorating--morallyand physically.
And now, should he put the goblet from his lips? Not he. This strong,new wine of life had rejuvenated him. Its rich, sweet fumes, so far fromclouding his brain, had cleared it. It had enwrapped his heart in a glowas of re-enkindled fire, and caused the stagnated blood to course oncemore through his veins, warm and strong and free. His very step hadgained an elasticity, a firmness, to which it had long been strange. Andyet with all this, his judgment had remained undimmed, keen, clear,subject to no illusions. The logic of the situation was rather pitiless,perchance cruel. He was under no sort of illusion on that score. Well,let it be. Here again came in the universal law of life, the battle ofthe strong. There was no weakness left in him.
"For my part, I like Hazon," cut in Holmes decisively; "he only wantsknowing. And because he doesn't let himself go for the benefit of everybounder on the Rand, they talk about him as if he'd committed no end ofmurders. It's my belief that half the fellows who abuse him are tenthousand times worse than him," he added, with the robust partisanshipof hearty youth.
Further discussion of Hazon and his derelictions, real or imaginary, wascut short by the arrival of more visitors, mostly of the sterner sex;for Mrs. Falkner liked her acquaintance to drop in informally--apredilection her acquaintance, if young and especially of the harder sexaforesaid, for obvious reasons, delighted just at present to humour.George, however, in no wise shared his aunt's expansiveness in thisdirection, if only that it meant that Lilith was promptly surrounded byan adoring phalanx, even as on the deck of the _Persian_.
Now it was voted cool enough for lawn tennis--for which distraction,indeed, some of the droppers-in were suitably attired--and there waskeen competition for Lilith as a partner; and Holmes, being first in thefield, resolutely bore off Mabel Falkner as his auxiliary. And George,realizing that he was "out of it" for some time to come, perhaps, too,taking a vague comfort in the thought that there is safety in numbers,actually did proceed to carry out his threat, and betook himselftownwards.
Laurence remained seated on the _stoep_, talking to Mrs. Falkner and oneof the visitors; but all the while, though never absent-minded oranswering at random, his eyes were following, with a soothing andrestful sense of enjoyment, every movement of Lilith's form--a veryembodiment of grace and supple ease, he pronounced it. The movement ofthe game suited her as it suited but few. She never seemed to grow hot,or flurried, or dishevelled, as so many of the fair are wont to do whileengaged in that popular pastime. Every movement was one of unstudied,unconscious grace. In point of hard fact, she played indifferently; butshe did so in a manner that was infinitely good to look at.
"Don't you play at this, Mr. Stanninghame?" said the other visitor, "orhave you got a soul above such frivolities?"
"That doesn't exactly express it," he answered. "The truth is, I don'tderive sufficient enjoyment from skipping about on one or both legs atthe end of a racket, making frantic attempts to stop a ball which theother side is making equally frantic and fruitless efforts to drive atme through a net. As a dispassionate observer, the essence of the gameseems to me to consist in sending the ball against the net as hard andas frequently as practicable."
At this the visitor spluttered, and, being of the softer sex, declaredthat he must be a most dreadful cynic; and Lilith, who was near enoughto hear his remarks, turned her head, with a rippling flash of mirth inher eyes, and said "Thank you!" which diversion indeed caused her toperform the very feat he had been so whimsically describing.
Presently, growing tired of talking, he withdrew from the others. Ithappened that there was a book in the drawing room which had caught hisattention during a former visit; and now he sought it, and taking it upfrom the table, stood there alone in the cool shaded room turning frompage to page, absorbed in comparing passages of its contents. Then alight step, a rustle of skirts, a lilt of song--which broke off short ashe raised his eyes. Lilith was passing through, her tennis racket stillin her hand. Slightly flushed with her recent exercise, she lookedradiantly sweet, in her dark, brilliant beauty.
"Oh, I didn't know anyone was here; least of all, you," she said. "Youstartled me."
"Sorceress, remove those unholy spells; for thou art indeed good to lookupon this day."
She flashed a smile at him, throwing back her head with that slight,quick movement which constituted in her a very subtile and potent charm.
"Flatterer! Do you think so? Well, I am glad."
She dropped her hand down upon his, as it rested on the table, with aswift, light, caressing pressure, and her eyes softened entrancingly asthey looked up into his. Then she was gone.
He stood there, cool, immovable, self-possessed, outwardly still to allappearance intent upon the book which he held. But in reality he saw itnot. His whole mental faculties were called into play to endeavourimagination to retain that soft, light pressure upon his hand. Hisresources of memory were concentrated upon the picture of her as shestood there a moment since,--lovely, smiling, enchanting,--and then thesombre brain-wave, reminding of the hopelessness, the mockery of life'sinexorable circumstance, would roll in upon his mind; and heart wouldseem tightened, crushed, strangled with a pain that was actuallyphysical--of such acuteness indeed, that, had that organ been weak, hewould be in danger of falling dead on the spot. And this was a part ofthe penalty he had to pay for his well-nigh superhuman self-control.
He loved her--this man who loved nothing and nobody living, not evenhimself. He loved her--this man whose life was all behind him, and whoseheart was of stone, and whose speech was acrid as the most corrosiveelement known to chemistry. But a few "passes" of sweet SorceressLilith's magical wand and the stone heart had split to fragments,pouring forth, giving release to, a warm well-spring. A well-spring? Avery torrent, deep, fierce, strong, but not irresisti
ble--as yet. Stillthere were moments when to keep it penned within its limits wasagony--agony untold, superhuman, well-nigh unendurable.
He loved her--he who was bound by legal ties until death. With all thestrong concentrative might of his otherwise hard nature, he loved her.The dead dismal failure of the past, the sombre vistas of the future,were as nothing compared with such moments as this. Yet none suspected,so marvellously did he hold himself in hand. Even the most jealous ofthose who saw them frequently together--George Falkner, for instance,and others--were blind and unsuspecting. But--what of Lilith herself?
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