Sir Quixote of the Moors

by John Buchan

  CHAPTER IX.

  I COMMUNE WITH MYSELF.

  Twas late afternoon when I re-entered, and ere supper was past 'twas timeto retire for the night. The tension of these hours I still look back on assomething altogether dreadful. Anne was quiet and gentle, unconscious ofwhat had happened, yet with the fire of passion, I knew too well, burningin her heart. I was ill, restless, and abrupt, scarce able to speak lest Ishould betray my thoughts and show the war that raged in my breast.

  I made some excuse for retiring early, bidding her goodnight with asnonchalant an air as I could muster. The door of my bedroom I locked behindme, and I was alone in the darkened room to fight out my battles withmyself.

  I ask you if you can conceive any gentleman and man of honor in a morehazardous case. Whenever I tried to think on it, a mist came over my brain,and I could get little but unmeaning fantasies. I must either go or stay.So much was clear.

  If I stayed--well, 'twas the Devil's own work that was cut for me. Therewas no sign of the violence of the persecution abating. It might be manymonths, nay years, before the minister and Master Semple might return. Ifthey came back no more, and I had sure tidings of their death, then indeedI might marry Anne. But 'twas so hazardous an uncertainty that I rejectedit at once. No man could dwell with one whom he loved heart and soul solong a time on such uncertain chances and yet keep his honor. Had the maidbeen dull and passive, or had I been sluggish in blood, then there mighthave been hope. But we were both quick as the summer's lightning.

  If they came back, was not the fate of the girl more hard than words couldtell? The minister in all likelihood would already have gone the way of allthe earth; and she, poor lass, would be left to the care of a madman forwhom she had no spark of liking. I pictured her melancholy future. Her purebody subject to the embraces of a loathsome fanatic, her delicate love ofthe joys of life all subdued to his harsh creed. Oh, God! I swore that Icould not endure it. Her face, so rounded and lovely, would grow pinchedand white, her eyes would lose all their luster, her hair would not clusterlovingly about her neck, her lithe grace would be gone, her footstepswould be heavy and sad. He would rave his unmeaning gibberish in her ears,would ill-treat her, it might be; in any case would be a perpetual sorrowto her heart. "Oh, Anne," I cried, "though I be damned for it, I will saveyou from this!"

  If I left the place at once and forever, then indeed my honor would bekept, but yet not all; for my plighted word--where would it be? I had swornthat come what may I should stand by the maid and protect her against whatevil might come to the house. Now I was thinking of fleeing from my postlike a coward, and all because the girl's eyes were too bright for my weakresolution. When her lover returned, if he ever came, what story would shehave to tell? This, without a doubt: "The man whom you left has gone, fledlike a thief in the night, for what reason I know not." For though I knewwell that she would divine the real cause of my action, I could not supposethat she would tell it, for thereby she would cast grave suspicion uponherself. So there would I be, a perjured traitor, a false friend in theeyes of those who had trusted me.

  But more, the times were violent, Clachlands and its soldiery were nor faroff, and once they learned that the girl was unprotected no man knew whatevil might follow. You may imagine how bitter this thought was to me, thethought of leaving my love in the midst of terrible dangers. Nay, more; aselfish consideration weighed not a little with me. The winter had all butcome; the storms of this black land I dreaded like one born and bred in theSouth; I knew nothing of my future course; I was poor, bare, andfriendless. The manse was a haven of shelter. Without it I should be evenas the two exiles in the hills. The cold was hard to endure; I dearly lovedwarmth and comfort; the moors were as fearful to me as the deserts ofMuscovy.

  One course remained. Anne had money; this much I knew. She loved me, andwould obey my will in all things; of this I was certain. What hindered meto take her to France, the land of mirth and all pleasant things, and leavethe North and its wild folk behind forever? With money we could travelexpeditiously. Once in my own land perchance I might find some way torepair my fortunes, for a fair wife is a wonderous incentive. There beneathsoft skies, in the mellow sunshine, among a cheerful people, she would findthe life which she loved best. What deterred me? Nothing but a meaninglessvow and some antiquated scruples. But I would be really keeping my word, Ireasoned casuistically with myself, for I had sworn to take care of Anne,and what way so good as to take her to my own land where she would be farfrom the reach of fanatic or dragoon? And this was my serious thought,_comprenez bien_! I set it down as a sign of the state to which I had come,that I was convinced by my own quibbling. I pictured to myself what Ishould do. I would find her at breakfast in the morning. "Anne," I wouldsay, "I love you dearly; may I think that you love me likewise?" I couldfancy her eager, passionate reply, and then----I almost felt the breath ofher kisses on my cheek and the touch of her soft arms on my neck.

  Some impulse led me to open the casement and look forth into the windy,inscrutable night. A thin rain distilled on the earth, and the coolness wasrefreshing to my hot face. The garden was black, and the bushes were markedby an increased depth of darkness. But on the grass to the left I saw along shaft of light, the reflection from some lit window of the house. Ipassed rapidly in thought over the various rooms there, and with a startcame to an end. Without a doubt 'twas Anne's sleeping room. What did thelass with a light, for 'twas near midnight? I did not hesitate about thecause, and 'twas one which inflamed my love an hundredfold. She wassleepless, love-sick maybe (such is the vanity of man). Maybe even now myname was the one on her lips, and my image the foremost in her mind. Myfinger-tips tingled, as the blood surged into them; and I am not ashamed tosay that my eyes were not tearless. Could I ever leave my love for sometawdry honor? _Mille tonneres!_ the thing was not to be dreamed of. Iblamed myself for having once admitted the thought.

  My decision was taken, and, as was always my way, I felt somewhat easier. Iwas weary, so I cast myself down upon the bed without undressing, and fellinto a profound sleep.

  How long I slept I cannot tell, but in that brief period of unconsciousnessI seemed to be living ages. I saw my past life all inverted as 'twere; formy first sight was the horror of the moors, Quentin Kennedy, and thequarrel and the black desolation which I had undergone. I went through itall again, vividly, acutely. Then it passed, and I had my manhood in Francebefore my eyes. And curiously enough, 'twas not alone, but confused withmy childhood and youth. I was an experienced man of the world, versed inwarfare and love, taverns and brawls, and yet not one whit jaded, but freshand hopeful and boylike. 'Twas a very pleasing feeling. I was master ofmyself. I had all my self-respect. I was a man of unblemished honor,undoubted valor. Then by an odd trick of memory all kinds of associationsbecame linked with it. The old sights and sounds of Rohaine: cocks crowingin the morning; the smell of hay and almond-blossom, roses and summerlilies; the sight of green leaves, of the fish leaping in the river; theplash of the boat's oars among the water-weeds--all the sensations ofchildhood came back with extraordinary clarity. I heard my mother's grave,tender speech bidding us children back from play, or soothing one when hehurt himself. I could almost believe that my father's strong voice wasringing in my ear, when he would tell stories of the chase and battle, orsing ballads of long ago, or bid us go to the devil if we pleased, but golike gentlemen. 'Twas a piece of sound philosophy, and often had it beenbefore me in Paris, when I shrank from nothing save where my honor as agentleman was threatened. In that dream the old saying came on me withcurious force. I felt it to be a fine motto for life, and I was exulting inmy heart that 'twas mine, and that I had never stained the fair fame of myhouse.

  Suddenly, with a start I seemed to wake to the consciousness that 'twasmine no more. Still dreaming, I was aware that I had deceived a lover, andstolen his mistress and made her my bride. I have never felt such acuteanguish as I did in that sleep when the thought came upon me. I feltnothing more of pride. All things had left me. My self-respect was go
nelike a ragged cloak. All the old, dear life was shut out from me by a hugebarrier. Comfortable, rich, loving, and beloved, I was yet in the very jawsof Hell. I felt myself biting out my tongue in my despair. My brain was onfire with sheer and awful regret. I cursed the day when I had been temptedand fallen.

  And then, even while I dreamed, another sight came to my eyes--the face ofa lady, young, noble, with eyes like the Blessed Mother. In my youth I hadlaid my life at the feet of a girl, and I was in hopes of making her mywife. But Cecilia was too fair for this earth, and I scarcely dared to lookupon her she seemed so saint-like. When she died in the Forest of Arnay,killed by a fall from her horse, 'twas I who carried her to her home, andsince that day her face was never far distant from my memory. I cherishedthe image as my dearest possession, and oftentimes when I would haveembarked upon some madness I refrained, fearing the reproof of those graveeyes. But now this was all gone. My earthy passion had driven out my oldlove; all memories were rapt from me save that of the sordid present.

  The very violence of my feeling awoke me, and I found myself sitting up inbed with a mouthful of blood. Sure enough, I had gnawed my tongue till ared froth was over my lips. My heart was beating like a windmill in a highgale, and a deadly sickness of mind oppressed me. 'Twas some minutes beforeI could think; and then--oh, joy! the relief! I had not yet taken the stepirremediable. The revulsion, the sudden ecstasy drove in a trice my formerresolution into thinnest air.

  I looked out of the window. 'Twas dawn, misty and wet. Thank God, I wasstill in the land of the living, still free to make my life. The tangibleroom, half lit by morning, gave me a promise of reality after the pageantof the dream. My path was clear before me, clear and straight as anarrow; and yet even now I felt a dread of my passion overcoming my resolve,and was in a great haste to have done with it all. My scruples about mycourse were all gone. I would be breaking my oath, 'twas true, in leavingthe maid, but keeping it in the better way. The thought of the dangers towhich she would be exposed stabbed me like a dart. It had almost overcomeme. "But honor is more than life or love," I said, as I set my teeth withstern purpose.

  Yet, though all my soul was steeled into resolution, there was no ray ofhope in my heart--nothing but a dead, bleak outlook, a land of moors andrain, an empty purse and an aimless journey.

  I had come to the house a beggar scarce two months before. I must now go asI had come, not free and careless as then, but bursting shackles of triplebrass. My old ragged garments, which I had discarded on the day after myarrival, lay on a chair, neatly folded by Anne's deft hand. It behooved meto take no more away than that which I had brought, so I must needs clothemyself in these poor remnants of finery, thin and mud-stained, and filledwith many rents.