by J. M. Barrie
CHAPTER XXXIV
A WAY IS FOUND FOR TOMMY
The moment for which he had tried to prepare himself was come, andTommy gulped down his courage, which had risen suddenly to his mouth,leaving his chest in a panic. Outwardly he seemed unmoved, but withinhe was beating to arms. "This is the test of us!" all that was good inhim cried as it answered his summons.
They began by shaking hands, as is always the custom in the ring.Then, without any preliminary sparring, Lady Pippinworth immediatelyknocked him down; that is to say, she remarked, with a little laugh:"How very stout you are getting!"
I swear by all the gods that it was untrue. He had not got very stout,though undeniably he had got stouter. "How well you are looking!"would have been a very ladylike way of saying it, but his girth wasbest not referred to at all. Those who liked him had learned this longago, and Grizel always shifted the buttons without comment.
Her malicious Ladyship had found his one weak spot at once. He had areply ready for every other opening in the English tongue, but now hecould writhe only.
Who would have expected to meet her here? he said at last feebly. Sheexplained, and he had guessed it already, that she was again stayingwith the Rintouls; the castle, indeed, was not half a mile from wherethey stood.
"But I think I really came to see you," she informed him, withengaging frankness.
It was very good of her, he intimated stiffly; but the stiffness waschiefly because she was still looking in an irritating way at hiswaist.
Suddenly she looked up. To Tommy it was as if she had raised thesiege. "Why aren't you nice to me?" she asked prettily.
"I want to be," he replied.
She showed him a way. "When I saw you steaming towards the castle soswiftly," she said, dropping badinage, "the hope entered my head thatyou had heard of my arrival."
She had come a step nearer, and it was like an invitation to return tothe arbour. "This is the test of us!" all that was good in Tommy criedonce more to him.
"No, I had not heard," he replied, bravely if baldly. "I was taking asmart walk only."
"Why so smart as that?"
He hesitated, and her eyes left his face and travelled downward.
"Were you trying to walk it off?" she asked sympathetically.
He was stung, and replied in words that were regretted as soon asspoken: "I was trying to walk you off."
A smile of satisfaction crossed her impudent face.
"I succeeded," he added sharply.
"How cruel of you to say so, when you had made me so very happy! Doyou often take smart walks, Mr. Sandys?"
"Often."
"And always with me?"
"I leave you behind."
"With Mrs. Sandys?"
Had she seemed to be in the least affected by their meeting it wouldhave been easy to him to be a contrite man at once; any sign of shameon her part would have filled him with desire to take all the blameupon himself. Had she cut him dead, he would have begun to respecther. But she smiled disdainfully only, and stood waking. She wasstill, as ever, a cold passion, inviting his warm ones to leap at it.He shuddered a little, but controlled himself and did not answer her.
"I suppose she is the lady of the arbour?" Lady Pippinworth inquired,with mild interest.
"She is the lady of my heart," Tommy replied valiantly.
"Alas!" said Lady Pippinworth, putting her hand over her own.
But he felt himself more secure now, and could even smile at the womanfor thinking she was able to provoke him.
"Look upon me," she requested, "as a deputation sent north to discoverwhy you have gone into hiding."
"I suppose a country life does seem exile to you," he replied calmly,and suddenly his bosom rose with pride in what was coming. Tommyalways heard his finest things coming a moment before they came. "If Ihave retired," he went on windily, "from the insincerities and glitterof life in town,"--but it was not his face she was looking at, it washis waist,--"the reason is obvious," he rapped out.
She nodded assent without raising her eyes.
Yet he still controlled himself. His waist, like some fair torturedlady of romance, was calling to his knighthood for defence, but withthe truer courage he affected not to hear. "I am in hiding, as youcall it," he said doggedly, "because my life here is such a round ofhappiness as I never hoped to find on earth, and I owe it all to mywife. If you don't believe me, ask Lord or Lady Rintoul, or any otherperson in this countryside who knows her."
But her Ladyship had already asked, and been annoyed by the answer.
She assured Tommy that she believed he was happy. "I have oftenheard," she said musingly, "that the stout people are the happiest."
"I am not so stout," he barked.
"Now I call that brave of you," said she, admiringly. "That is so muchthe wisest way to take it. And I am sure you are right not to returnto town after what you were; it would be a pity. Somehow it"--andagain her eyes were on the wrong place--"it does not seem to go withthe books. And yet," she said philosophically, "I daresay you feeljust the same?"
"I feel very much the same," he replied warningly.
"That is the tragedy of it," said she.
She told him that the new book had brought the Tommy Society to lifeagain. "And it could not hold its meetings with the old enthusiasm,could it," she asked sweetly, "if you came back? Oh, I think you actmost judiciously. Fancy how melancholy if they had to announce thatthe society had been wound up, owing to the stoutness of the Master."
Tommy's mouth opened twice before any words could come out. "Takecare!" he cried.
"Of what?" said she, curling her lip.
He begged her pardon. "You don't like me, Lady Pippinworth," he said,watching himself, "and I don't wonder at it; and you have discovered away of hurting me of which you make rather unmerciful use. Well, Idon't wonder at that, either. If I am--stoutish, I have at least thesatisfaction of knowing that it gives you entertainment, and I owe youthat amend and more." He was really in a fury, and burning to goon--"For I did have the whip-hand of you once, madam," etc., etc.; butby a fine effort he held his rage a prisoner, and the admiration ofhimself that this engendered lifted him into the sublime.
"For I so far forgot myself," said Tommy, in a glow, "as to try tomake you love me. You were beautiful and cold; no man had ever stirredyou; my one excuse is that to be loved by such as you was no smallambition; my fitting punishment is that I failed." He knew he had notfailed, and so could be magnanimous. "I failed utterly," he said, withgrandeur. "You were laughing at me all the time; if proof of it wereneeded, you have given it now by coming here to mock me. I thought Iwas stronger than you, but I was ludicrously mistaken, and you taughtme a lesson I richly deserved; you did me good, and I thank you forit. Believe me, Lady Pippinworth, when I say that I admit mydiscomfiture, and remain your very humble and humbled servant."
Now was not that good of Tommy? You would think it still better were Ito tell you what part of his person she was looking at while he saidit.
He held out his hand generously (there was no noble act he could nothave performed for her just now), but, whatever her Ladyship wanted,it was not to say good-bye. "Do you mean that you never cared for me?"she asked, with the tremor that always made Tommy kind.
"Never cared for you!" he exclaimed fervently. "What were you not tome in those golden days!" It was really a magnanimous cry, meant tohelp her self-respect, nothing more; but it alarmed the good in him,and he said sternly: "But of course that is all over now. It is only asweet memory," he added, to make these two remarks mix.
The sentiment of this was so agreeable to him that he was halfthinking of raising her hand chivalrously to his lips when LadyPippinworth said:
"But if it is all over now, why have you still to walk me off?"
"Have you never had to walk me off?" said Tommy, forgetting himself,and, to his surprise, she answered, "Yes."
"But this meeting has cured me," she said, with dangerousgraciousness.
"Dear Lady Pippinworth
," replied Tommy, ardently, thinking that hisgenerosity had touched her, "if anything I have said----"
"It is not so much what you have said," she answered, and again shelooked at the wrong part of him.
He gave way in the waist, and then drew himself up. "If so little athing as that helps you----" he began haughtily.
"Little!" she cried reproachfully.
He tried to go away. He turned. "There was a time," he thundered.
"It is over," said she.
"When you were at my feet," said Tommy.
"It is over," she said.
"It could come again!"
She laughed a contemptuous No.
"Yes!" Tommy cried.
"Too stout," said she, with a drawl.
He went closer to her. She stood waiting disdainfully, and his armsfell.
"Too stout," she repeated.
"Let us put it in that way, since it pleases you," said Tommy,heavily. "I am too stout." He could not help adding, "And be thankful,Lady Pippinworth, let us both be thankful, that there is some reasonto prevent my trying."
She bowed mockingly as he raised his hat. "I wish you well," he said,"and these are my last words to you"; and he retired, not withoutdistinction. He retired, shall we say, as conscious of his waist as ifit were some poor soldier he was supporting from a stricken field. Hesaid many things to himself on the way home, and he was many Tommies,but all with the same waist. It intruded on his noblest reflections,and kept ringing up the worst in him like some devil at the telephone.
No one could have been more thankful that on the whole he had kept hispassions in check. It made a strong man of him. It turned him into ajoyous boy, and he tingled with hurrahs. Then suddenly he would hearthat jeering bell clanging, "Too stout, too stout." "Take care!" heroared. Oh, the vanity of Tommy!
He did not tell Grizel that he had met her Ladyship. All she knew wasthat he came back to her more tender and kind, if that were possible,than he had gone away. His eyes followed her about the room until shemade merry over it, and still they dwelt upon her. "How much morebeautiful you are than any other woman I ever saw, Grizel!" he said.And it was not only true, but he knew it was true. What was LadyPippinworth beside this glorious woman? what was her damnable coldnesscompared to the love of Grizel? Was he unforgivable, or was it someflaw in the making of him for which he was not responsible? Withclenched hands he asked himself these questions. This love that allhis books were about--what was it? Was it a compromise betweenaffection and passion countenanced by God for the continuance of therace, made beautiful by Him where the ingredients are in rightproportion, a flower springing from a soil that is not all divine? Oh,so exquisite a flower! he cried, for he knew his Grizel. But he couldnot love her. He gave her all his affection, but his passion, like anoutlaw, had ever to hunt alone.
Was it that? And if it was, did there remain in him enough of humanityto give him the right to ask a little sympathy of those who can love?So Tommy in his despairing moods, and the question ought to find someplace in his epitaph, which, by the way, it is almost time to write.
On the day following his meeting with Lady Pippinworth came a notefrom Lady Rintoul inviting Grizel and him to lunch. They had been toRintoul once or twice before, but this time Tommy said decisively, "Wesha'n't go." He guessed who had prompted the invitation, though hername was not mentioned in it.
"Why not?" Grizel asked. She was always afraid that she kept Tommy toomuch to herself.
"Because I object to being disturbed during the honeymoon," he repliedlightly. Their honeymoon, you know, was never to end. "They wouldseparate us for hours, Grizel. Think of it! But, pooh! the thing isnot to be thought of. Tell her Ladyship courteously that she must bemad."
But though he could speak thus to Grizel, there came to himtempestuous desires to be by the side of the woman who could mock himand then stand waiting.
Had she shown any fear of him all would have been well with Tommy; hecould have kept away from her complacently. But she had flung down theglove, and laughed to see him edge away from it. He knew exactly whatwas in her mind. He was too clever not to know that her one desire wasto make him a miserable man; to remember how he had subdued and lefther would be gall to Lady Pippinworth until she achieved the sametriumph over him. How confident she was that he could never prove thestronger of the two again! What were all her mockings but a beckoningto him to come on? "Take care!" said Tommy between his teeth.
And then again horror of himself would come to his rescue. The man hehad been a moment ago was vile to him, and all his thoughts were nowheroic. You may remember that he had once taken Grizel to a seasideplace; they went there again. It was Tommy's proposal, but he did notgo to flee from temptation; however his worse nature had been stirredand his vanity pricked, he was too determinedly Grizel's to fear thatin any fierce hour he might rush into danger. He wanted Grizel to comeaway from the place where she always found so much to do for him, sothat there might be the more for him to do for her. And that week wasas the time they had spent there before. All that devotion which hadto be planned could do for woman he did. Grizel saw him planning itand never admitted that she saw. In the after years it was sweet toher to recall that week and the hundred laboriously lover-like thingsTommy had done in it. She knew by this time that Tommy had never triedto make her love him, and that it was only when her love for himrevealed itself in the Den that desire to save her pride made himpretend to be in love with her. This knowledge would have been a greatpain to her once, but now it had more of pleasure in it, for it showedthat even in those days he had struggled a little for her.
We must hasten to the end. Those of you who took in the newspapers aquarter of a century ago know what it was, but none of you know why heclimbed the wall.
They returned to Thrums in a week. They had meant to stay longer, butsuddenly Tommy wanted to go back. Yes, it was Lady Pippinworth whorecalled him, but don't think too meanly of Tommy. It was not that heyielded to one of those fierce desires to lift the gauntlet; he hadgot rid of them in fair fight when her letter reached him, forwardedfrom Thrums. "Did you really think your manuscript was lost?" it said.That was what took Tommy back. Grizel did not know the reason; he gaveher another. He thought very little about her that day. He thoughtstill less about Lady Pippinworth. How could he think of anything butit? She had it, evidently she had it; she must have stolen it from hisbag. He could not even spare time to denounce her. It was alive--hismanuscript was alive, and every moment brought him nearer to it. Hewas a miser, and soon his hands would be deep among the gold. He was amother whose son, mourned for dead, is knocking at the door. He was aswain, and his beloved's arms were outstretched to him. Who said thatTommy could not love?
The ecstasies that came over him and would not let him sit still madeGrizel wonder. "Is it a book?" she asked; and he said it was abook--such a book, Grizel! When he started for the castle nextmorning, she thought he wanted to be alone to think of the book. "Ofit and you," he said; and having started, he came back to kiss heragain; he never forgot to have an impulse to do that. But all the wayto the Spittal it was of his book he thought, it was his book he waskissing. His heart sang within him, and the songs were sonnets to hisbeloved. To be worthy of his beautiful manuscript--he prayed for thatas lovers do; that his love should be his, his alone, was as wondrousto him as to any of them.
But we are not noticing what proved to be the chief thing. Thoughthere was some sun, the air was shrewd, and he was wearing the olddoctor's coat. Should you have taken it with you, Tommy? It lovedGrizel, for it was a bit of him; and what, think you, would the olddoctor have cared for your manuscript had he known that you were goneout to meet that woman? It was cruel, no, not cruel, but thoughtless,to wear the old doctor's coat.
He found no one at the Spittal. The men were out shooting, and theladies had followed to lunch with them on the moors. He came uponthem, a gay party, in the hollow of a hill where was a spring suddenlyconverted into a wine-cellar; and soon the men, if not the ladies,were surprised to find t
hat Tommy could be the gayest of them all. Hewas in hilarious spirits, and had a gallantly forgiving glance for theonly one of them who knew why his spirits were hilarious. But he wouldnot consent to remain to dinner. "The wretch is so hopelessly in lovewith his wife," Lady Rintoul said, flinging a twig of heather at him.It was one of the many trivial things said on that occasion and longremembered; the only person who afterwards professed her inability toremember what Tommy said to her that day, and she to him, was LadyPippinworth. "And yet you walked back to the castle with him," theyreminded her.
"If I had known that anything was to happen," she replied indolently,"I should have taken more note of what was said. But as it was, Ithink we talked of our chance of finding white heather. We werelooking for it, and that is why we fell behind you."
That was not why Tommy and her Ladyship fell behind the others, and itwas not of white heather that they talked. "You know why I am here,Alice," he said, as soon as there was no one but her to hear him.
She was in as great tension at that moment as he, but more anxious notto show it. "Why do you call me that?" she replied, with a littlelaugh.
"Because I want you to know at once," he said, and it was the truth,"that I have no vindictive feelings. You have kept my manuscript fromme all this time, but, severe though the punishment has been, Ideserved it, yes, every day of it."
Lady Pippinworth smiled.
"You took it from my bag, did you not?" said Tommy.
"Yes."
"Where is it, Alice? Have you got it here?"
"No."
"But you know where it is?"
"Oh, yes," she said graciously, and then it seemed that nothing couldever disturb him again. She enjoyed his boyish glee; she walked by hisside listening airily to it.
"Had there been a fire in the room that day I should have burned thething," she said without emotion.
"It would have been no more than my deserts," Tommy repliedcheerfully.
"I did burn it three months afterwards," said she, calmly.
He stopped, but she walked on. He sprang after her. "You don't meanthat, Alice!"
"I do mean it."
With a gesture fierce and yet imploring, he compelled her to stop."Before God, is this true?" he cried.
"Yes," she said, "it is true"; and, indeed, it was the truth about hismanuscript at last.
"But you had a copy of it made first. Say you had!"
"I had not."
She seemed to have no fear of him, though his face was ratherterrible. "I meant to destroy it from the first," she said coldly,"but I was afraid to. I took it back with me to London. One day I readin a paper that your wife was supposed to have burned it while she wasinsane. She was insane, was she not? Ah, well, that is not my affair;but I burned it for her that afternoon."
They were moving on again. He stopped her once more.
"Why have you told me this?" he cried. "Was it not enough for you thatI should think she did it?"
"No," Lady Pippinworth answered, "that was not enough for me. I alwayswanted you to know that I had done it."
"And you wrote that letter, you filled me with joy, so that you shouldgloat over my disappointment?"
"Horrid of me, was it not!" said she.
"Why did you not tell me when we met the other day?"
"I bided my time, as the tragedians say."
"You would not have told me," Tommy said, staring into her face, "ifyou had thought I cared for you. Had you thought I cared for you alittle jot--"
"I should have waited," she confessed, "until you cared for me a greatdeal, and then I should have told you. That, I admit, was myintention."
She had returned his gaze smilingly, and as she strolled on she gavehim another smile over her shoulder; it became a protesting poutalmost when she saw that he was not accompanying her. Tommy stoodstill for some minutes, his hands, his teeth, every bit of him thatcould close, tight clenched. When he made up on her, the devil was inhim. She had been gathering a nosegay of wild flowers. "Pretty, arethey not?" she said to him. He took hold of her harshly by bothwrists. She let him do it, and stood waiting disdainfully; but she wasless unprepared for a blow than for what came.
"How you love me, Alice!" he said in a voice shaking with passion.
"How I have proved it!" she replied promptly.
"Love or hate," he went on in a torrent of words, "they are the samething with you. I don't care what you call it; it has made you comeback to me. You tried hard to stay away. How you fought, Alice! butyou had to come. I knew you would come. All this time you have beenlonging for me to go to you. You have stamped your pretty feet becauseI did not go. You have cried, 'He shall come!' You have vowed youwould not go one step of the way to meet me. I saw you, I heard you,and I wanted you as much as you wanted me; but I was always thestronger, and I could resist. It is I who have not gone a step towardsyou, and it is my proud little Alice who has come all the way. Proudlittle Alice!--but she is to be my obedient little Alice now."
His passion hurled him along, and it had its effect on her. She mightcurl her mouth as she chose, but her bosom rose and fell.
"Obedient?" she cried, with a laugh.
"Obedient!" said Tommy, quivering with his intensity. "Obedient, notbecause I want it, for I prefer you as you are, but because you arelonging for it, my lady--because it is what you came here for. Youhave been a virago only because you feared you were not to get it. Whyhave you grown so quiet, Alice? Where are the words you want totorment me with? Say them! I love to hear them from your lips. I lovethe demon in you--the demon that burned my book. I love you the morefor that. It was your love that made you do it. Why don't you scratchand struggle for the last time? I am half sorry that little Alice isto scratch and struggle no more."
"Go on," said little Alice; "you talk beautifully." But though hertongue could mock him, all the rest of her was enchained.
"Whether I shall love you when you are tamed," he went on withvehemence, "I don't know. You must take the risk of that. But I loveyou now. We were made for one another, you and I, and I love you,Alice--I love you and you love me. You love me, my peerless Alice,don't you? Say you love me. Your melting eyes are saying it. How youtremble, sweet Alice! Is that your way of saying it? I want to hearyou say it. You have been longing to say it for two years. Come, love,say it now!"
It was not within this woman's power to resist him. She tried to drawaway from him, but could not. She was breathing quickly. The mockinglight quivered on her face only because it had been there so long. Ifit went out she would be helpless. He put his hands on her shoulders,and she was helpless. It brought her mouth nearer his. She wasoffering him her mouth.
"No," said Tommy, masterfully. "I won't kiss you until you say it."
If there had not been a look of triumph in his eyes, she would havesaid it. As it was, she broke from him, panting. She laughed nextminute, and with that laugh his power fell among the heather.
"Really," said Lady Pippinworth, "you are much too stout for this kindof thing." She looked him up and down with a comic sigh. "You talk aswell as ever," she said condolingly, "but heigh-ho, you don't look thesame. I have done the best I could for you for the sake of old times,but I forgot to shut my eyes. Shall we go on?"
And they went on silently, one of them very white. "I believe you areblaming me," her Ladyship said, making a face, just before theyovertook the others, "when you know it was your own fault for"--shesuddenly rippled--"for not waiting until it was too dark for me to seeyou!"
They strolled with some others of the party to the flower-garden,which was some distance from the house, and surrounded by a high wallstudded with iron spikes and glass. Lady Rintoul cut him some flowersfor Grizel, but he left them on a garden-seat--accidentally, everyonethought afterwards in the drawing-room when they were missed; but hehad laid them down, because how could those degraded hands of hiscarry flowers again to Grizel? There was great remorse in him, butthere was a shrieking vanity also, and though the one told him to begone, the other kept him la
gging on. They had torn him a dozen timesfrom each other's arms before he was man enough to go.
It was gloaming when he set off, waving his hat to those who had cometo the door with him. Lady Pippinworth was not among them; he had notseen her to bid her good-bye, nor wanted to, for the better side ofhim had prevailed--so he thought. It was a man shame-stricken anddetermined to kill the devil in him that went down that longavenue--so he thought.
A tall, thin woman was standing some twenty yards off, among someholly-trees. She kissed her hand mockingly to him, and beckoned andlaughed when he stood irresolute. He thought he heard her cry, "Toostout!" He took some fierce steps towards her. She ran on, lookingover her shoulder, and he forgot all else and followed her. She dartedinto the flower-garden, pulling the gate to after her. It was a gatethat locked when it closed, and the key was gone. Lady Pippinworthclapped her hands because he could not reach her. When she saw that hewas climbing the wall she ran farther into the garden.
He climbed the wall, but, as he was descending, one of the iron spikeson the top of it pierced his coat, which was buttoned to the throat,and he hung there by the neck. He struggled as he choked, but he couldnot help himself. He was unable to cry out. The collar of the olddoctor's coat held him fast.
They say that in such a moment a man reviews all his past life. Idon't know whether Tommy did that; but his last reflection before hepassed into unconsciousness was "Serves me right!" Perhaps it was onlya little bit of sentiment for the end.
Lady Disdain came back to the gate, by and by, to see why he had notfollowed her. She screamed and then hid in the recesses of the garden.He had been dead for some time when they found him. They left the gatecreaking in the evening wind. After a long time a terrified womanstole out by it.