I breasted the storm and walked on I knew not where. At last I found myself on the Esplanade. Beneath lay the river, which could not now be seen through the blackness of the storm and of the night, but which, through that blackness, sent forth a voice from all its waves. And the wind wailed mournfully, mingling its voice with that of the river. So once before had rushing, dashing water joined its uproar to the howl of pitiless winds, when I bore her over the river; only on that occasion there was joined in the horrid chorus the more fearful boom of the breaking ice-fields.
And now the voice of the river only increased and intensified that longing of which I have spoken. I could not go home. I thought of going back again to O’Halloran’s house. There was my Lady of the Ice — Nora. I might see her shadow on the window — I might see a light from her room.
Now Nora had not at all come up to my ideal of the Lady of the Ice, and yet there was no other representative. I might be mad in love with an image, a shadow, an idea; but if that image existed anywhere in real life, it could exist only in Nora. And thus Nora gained from my image an attractiveness, which she never could have had in her own right. It was her identity with that haunting image of loveliness that gave her such a charm. The charm was an imaginary one. Had I never found her on the river and idealized her, she might have gained my admiration; but she would never have thrown over me such a spell. But now, whatever she was in herself, she was so merged in that ideal, that in my longing for my love I turned my steps backward and wandered toward O’Halloran’s, with the frantic hope of seeing her shadow on the window, or a ray of light from her room. For I could find no other way than this of satisfying those insatiable longings that had sprung up within me.
So back I went through the storm, which seemed still to increase in fury, and through the sleet, which swept in long horizontal lines down the street, and whirled round the corner, and froze fast to the houses. As I went on, the violence of the storm did not at all weaken my purpose. I had my one idea, and that one idea I was bent on carrying out.
Under such circumstances I approached the house of O’Halloran. I don’t know what I expected, or whether I expected any thing or not. I know what I wanted. I wanted the Lady of the Ice, and in search of her I had thus wandered back to that house in which lived the one with whom she had been identified. A vague idea of seeing her shadow on the window still possessed me, and so I kept along on the opposite sidewalk, and looked up to see if there was any light or any shadow.
There was no light at all.
I stood still and gazed.
Was there a shadow? Or what was it? There was some thing moving there — a dark, dusky shadow, in a niche of the gateway, by the corner of the house — a dark shadow, dimly revealed in this gloom — the shadowy outline of a woman’s form.
I do not know what mad idea possessed me. I looked, while my heart beat fast and painfully. A wild idea of the Lady of the Ice coming to me again, amid the storm, to be again my companion through the storm, flashed like lightning through my brain.
Suddenly, wild and clear and clanging, there came the toll of a bell from a neighboring tower, as it began to strike the hour of midnight. For a moment I paused in a sort of superstitious terror, and then, before the third stroke had rung out, I rushed across the street.
The figure had been watching me.
As I came, she started. She hurried forward, and met me at the curb. With a wild rush of joy and exultation, I caught her in my arms. I felt her frame tremble. At length she disengaged herself and caught my arm with a convulsive clasp, and drew me away. Mechanically, and with no fixed idea of any kind, I walked off.
She walked slowly. In that fierce gale, rapid progress was not possible. She, however, was well protected from the blast. A cloud was wrapped around her head, and kept her face from the storm.
We walked on, and I felt my heart throb to suffocation, while my brain reeled with a thousand new and wild fancies. Amid these, some thing of my late superstition still lingered.
“Who is she?” I wondered; “Who is she? How did she happen to wait for me here? Is it my Lady of the Ice? Am I a haunted man? Will she always thus come to me in the storm, and leave me when the storm is over? Where am I going? Whither is she leading me? Is she taking me back to the dark river from which I saved her?”
Then I struggled against the superstitious fancy, and rallied and tried to think calmly about it.
“Yes. It’s Nora,” I thought; “it’s herself. She loves me. This was the cause of her distress. And that distress has overmastered her. She has been unable to endure my departure. She has been convinced that I would return, and has waited for me.
“Nora! Yes, Nora! Nora! But, Nora! what is this that I am doing? This Nora can never be mine. She belongs to another. She was mine only through my mistake. How can she hope to be mine, or how can I hope to be hers? And why is it that I can dare thus to take her to ruin? Can I have the heart to?”
I paused involuntarily, as the full horror of this idea burst upon me. For, divested of all sentiment, the bald idea that burst upon my whirling brain was simply this, that I was running away with the wife of another man, and that man the very one who had lately given me his hospitality, and called me his friend. And even so whirling a brain as mine then was, could not avoid being penetrated by an idea that was so shocking to every sentiment of honor, and loyalty, and chivalry, and duty.
But as I paused, my companion forced me on. She had not said a single word. Her head was bent down to meet the storm. She walked like one bent on some desperate purpose, and that purpose was manifestly too strong and too absorbing to be checked by any thing so feeble as my fitful and uncertain irresolution. She walked on like some fate that had gained possession of me. I surrendered to the power that thus held me. I ceased even to think of pausing.
At length we came to where there was a large house with lights streaming from all the windows. It was Colonel Berton’s — I knew it well. A ball had been going on, and the guests were departing. Down came the sleighs, as they carried off the guests; the jangle of the bells sounding shrilly in the stormy night. Thus far in. my wanderings all had been still, and this sudden noise produced a startling effect.
One sleigh was still at the door, and as we approached, nearer we could see that none others were there. It was probably waiting for the last guest. At length we reached the house, and were walking immediately under the bright light fo the drawing-room windows, when suddenly the door of the house opened, and a familiar voice sounded, speaking in loud, eager, hilarious, tones.
At the sound of that voice my companion stopped, and staggered back, and then stood rigid with her head thrust forward.
It was Jack’s voice.
“Thanks,” he said. “Ha! ha! ha! You’re awfully kind, you know. Oh, yes. I’ll be here tomorrow, night. Good-by. Good-by.”
He rushed down the steps. The door closed. He sprang into the sleigh. It started ahead in an opposite direction, and away it went, till the jangle of the bells died out in the distance, amid the storm.
All was still. The street was deserted. The storm had full possession. The lights of the house flashed out upon the snowdrifts, and upon the glittering, frozen sleet.
For a moment my companion stood rooted to the spot. Then snatching her arm from mine, she flung up her hand with a sudden gesture, and tore my cloud down from off my face. The lights from the windows shone upon me, revealing my features to her.
The next instant her arms fell. She staggered back, and with a low moan of heart-broken anguish, she sank down prostrate into the snow.
Now hitherto there had been on my mind a current of superstitious feeling which had animated most of my wild fancies. It had been heightened by the events of my wanderings. The howl of the storm, the voice of the dark river, the clangor of the midnight bell, the shadowy figure at the doorway — all these circumstances had combined to stimulate my imagination and disorder
my brain. But now, on my arrival at this house, these feelings had passed away. These signs of commonplace life — the jangling sleigh-bells, the lighted windows, the departing company — had roused me, and brought me to myself. Finally, there came the sound of Jack’s voice, hearty, robust, healthy, strong — at the sound of which the dark shadows of my mind were dispelled. And it was at this moment, when all these phantasms had vanished, that my companion fell senseless in the snow at my feet.
I stooped down, full of wonder, and full too of pity. I raised her in my arms, I supported her head on my shoulder. The storm beat pitilessly; the stinging sleet pelted my now uncovered face; the lights of the house shone out upon the form of my companion. All the street was deserted. No one in the house saw us. I, for my part, did not think whether I was seen or not. All my thoughts were turned to the one whom I held in my arms.
I took the cloud which was wrapped around her head, and tenderly and delicately drew it down from her face.
Oh, Heavens! what was this that I saw?
The lights flashed out, and revealed it unmistakably. There — then — resting on my shoulder — under my gaze — now fully revealed — there lay the face that had haunted me — the face for which I had longed, and yearned, and craved! There it lay — that never-to-be-forgotten face — with the marble features, the white lips, the closed eyes, the stony calm — there it lay — the face of her whom alone I loved — the Lady of the Ice!
What was this? I felt my old mood returning. Was this real? Was it not a vision? How was it that she came to me again through the storm, again to sink down, and again to rest her senseless form in my arms, and her head upon my breast?
For a few moments I looked at her in utter bewilderment. All the wild fancies which I had just been having now came back. I had wandered through the storm in search of her, and she had come. Here she was — here, in my arms!
Around us the storm raged as once before; and again, as before, the fierce sleet dashed upon that white face; and again, as before, I shielded it from its fury.
As I looked upon her I could now recognize her fully and plainly; and at that recognition the last vestige of my wild, superstitious feeling died out utterly. For she whom I held in my arms was no phantom, nor was she Nora. I had been in some way intentionally deceived, but all the time my own instinct had been true; for, now, when the Lady of the Ice again lay in my arms, I recognized her, and I saw that she was no other than Marion.
“I took the cloud which was wrapped around her head, and tenderly and delicately drew it down from her face. Oh, Heavens! what was this that I saw?”
Chapter 28
MY LADY OF THE ICE. — SNOW AND SLEET. — REAWAKENING. — A DESPERATE SITUATION. — SAVED A SECOND TIME. — SNATCHED FROM A WORSE FATE. — BORNE IN MY ARMS ONCE MORE. — THE OPEN DOOR.
So there she lay before me — the Lady of the Ice, discovered at last, and identified with Marion. And she lay there reclining on my arms as once before, and in the snow, with the pitiless blast beating upon her. And the first question that arose was, “What can I do?”
Ay — that was the question. What could I do?
I leave to the reader to try and imagine the unparalleled embarrassment of such a situation. For there was I, in an agony of eagerness to save her — to do some thing — and yet it was simply impossible to think of any one place to which I could take her.
Could I take her into Colonel Berton’s? That was my first impulse. The lights from his windows were flashing brightly out into the gloom close beside us. But how could I take her there? With what story? Or if I trumped up some story — which I easily could do — would she not betray herself by her own incoherencies as she recovered from her faint? No, not Colonel Berton’s. Where, then? Could I take her anywhere? To an hotel? No. To any friends? Certainly not. To her own home? — But she had fled, and it was locked against her. Where — where could I take her?
For I had to do some thing. I could not let her lie here — she would perish. I had to take her somewhere, and yet save her from that ruin and shame to which her rashness and Jack’s perfidy had exposed her. Too plain it all seemed now. Jack had urged her to fly — beyond a doubt — she had consented, and he had not come for her.
I raised her up in my arms, and carried her on. Once before I had thus carried her in my arms — thus, as I saved her from death; and now, as I thus bore her, I felt that I was trying to save her from a fate far worse — from scandal, from evil speaking — from a dishonored name — from a father’s curse. And could I but save her from this — could I but bear her a second time from this darker fate back to light, and life, and safety; then I felt assured that my Lady of the Ice could not so soon forget this second service.
I raised her up and carried her thus I knew not where. There was not a soul in the streets. The lamps gave but a feeble light in the wild storm. The beating of the sleet and the howling of the tempest increased at every step. My lady was senseless in my arms. I did not know where I was going, nor where I could go; but breasted the storm, and shielded my burden from it as well as I could; and so toiled on, in utter bewilderment and desperation.
Now I beg leave to ask the reader if this situation of mine was not as embarrassing a one as any that he ever heard of. For I thus found forced upon me the safety, the honor, and the life of the very Lady of the Ice for whom I had already risked my life — whose life I had already saved; and about whom I had been raving ever since. But now that she had thus been thrown upon me, with her life, and her honor, it was an utterly impossible thing to see how I could extricate her from this frightful difficulty; though so fervent was my longing to do this, that, if my life could have done it, I would have laid it down for her on the spot.
At last, to my inexpressible relief, I heard from her a low moan. I put her down on the door-step of a house close by, and sat by her side supporting her. A lamp was burning not far away.
She drew a long breath, and then raised herself suddenly, and looked all around. Gradually the truth of her position returned to her. She drew herself away from me, and buried her face in her hands, and sat in silence for a long time. I waited in patience and anxiety for her to speak, and feared that the excitement and the anguish which she had undergone might have affected her mind.
Suddenly she started, and looked at me with staring eyes.
“Did he send you?” she gasped, in a strange, hoarse, choking voice.
Her face, her tone, and the emphasis of her words, all showed the full nature of the dark suspicion that had flung itself over her mind.
“He! Me!” I cried, indignantly. “Never! never! Can you have the heart to suspect me? Have I deserved this?”
“It looks like it,” said she, coldly.
“Oh, listen!” I cried, “Listen! I will explain my coming. It was a mistake, an accident. I swear to you, ever since that day on the ice, I’ve been haunted by your face — ”
She made an impatient gesture.
“Well, not your face, then. I did not know it was yours. I called it the Lady of the Ice.”
“I do not care to hear,” said she, coldly.
“Oh, listen!” I said. “I want to clear myself from your horrid suspicion. I was at your house this evening. After leaving, I wandered wildly about. I couldn’t go home. It was half madness and superstition. I went to the Esplanade, and there seemed voices in the storm. I wandered back again to your house, with a vague and half-crazy idea that the Lady of the Ice was calling me. As I came up to the house, I saw a shadowy figure on the other side. I thought it was the Lady of the Ice, and crossed over, not knowing what I was doing. The figure came and took my arm. I walked on, frozen into a sort of superstitious silence. I swear to you, it happened exactly in this way, and that for a time I really thought it was the Lady of the Ice who had come to meet me in the storm. I held back once or twice, but to no avail. I swear to you that I never had the remotest idea that it was you, til
l the moment when you fell, and I saw that you yourself were the Lady of the Ice. I did not recognize you before; but, when your face was pale, with suffering and fear upon it, then you became the same one whom I have never forgotten.”
“He did not send you, then?” said she again.
“He? No. I swear he didn’t; but all is just as I have said. Besides, we have quarrelled, and I have neither seen nor heard of him for two days.”
She said nothing in reply, but again buried her face in her hands, and sat crouching on the door-step. The storm howled about us with tremendous fury. All the houses in the street were dark, and the street itself showed no living forms but ours. A lamp, not far off, threw a feeble light upon us.
“Come,” said I at last, “I have saved you once from death, and, I doubt not, I have been sent by fate to save you once again. If you stay here any longer, you must perish. You must rouse yourself.”
I spoke vehemently and quickly, and in the tone of one who would listen to no refusal. I was roused now, at last, from all irresolution by the very sight of her suffering. I saw that to remain here much longer would be little else than death for her.
“Oh, what shall I do?” she moaned.
“Tell me of some place where I can take you.”
“There is no place. How could I dare to go to any of my friends?”
“Why should you not?”
“I cannot — I cannot.”
Lady of the Ice Page 18