Dawn

by H. Rider Haggard

  CHAPTER LX

  That same afternoon, Lady Bellamy ordered out the victoria with thefast trotting horse, and drove to the Abbey House. She found Philippacing up and down the gravel in front of the grey old place, whichhad that morning added one more to the long list of human tragediesits walls had witnessed. His face was pale, and contorted by mentalsuffering, and, as soon as he recognized Lady Bellamy, he made aneffort to escape. She stopped him.

  "I suppose it is here, Mr. Caresfoot?"

  "It! What?"

  "The body."

  "Yes."

  "I wish to see it."

  Philip hesitated a minute, and then led the way to his study. Thecorpse had been laid upon the table just as it had been taken from thewater; indeed, the wet still fell in heavy drops from the clothes onto the ground. It was to be removed to Roxham that evening, to awaitthe inquest on the morrow. The shutters of the room had been closed,lest the light should strike too fiercely on the ghastly sight; buteven in the twilight Lady Bellamy could discern every detail of itsoutline clearly marked by the wet patches on the sheet which wasthrown loosely over it. On a chair, by the side of the table, abovethe level of which its head rose, giving it the appearance of being inthe act of climbing on to it, lay the carcass of the dog, its teethstill firmly set in the dead man's arm. They had been unable to unlockthe savage grip without hacking its jaws asunder, and this it was notthought advisable to do till after the inquest.

  At the door Philip paused, as though he did not mean to enter.

  "Come in," said Lady Bellamy; "surely you are not afraid of a deadman."

  "I fear the dead a great deal more than I do the living," he muttered,but came in and shut the door.

  As soon as her eyes had grown accustomed to the light, Lady Bellamywent up to the body, and, drawing off the sheet, gazed long andsteadily at the mutilated face, on the lips of which the bloody frothstill stood.

  "I told him last night," she said presently to Philip, "that we shouldnever meet again alive, but I did not think to see him so soon likethis. Do you know that I once loved that thing, that shattered braindirected the only will to which I ever bowed? But the love went outfor ever last night, the chain snapped, and now I can look upon thissight without a single sigh or a regret, with nothing but loathing anddisgust. There lies the man who ruined me--did you know it? I do notcare who knows it now--ruined me with his eyes open, not caringanything about me; there lies the hard task-master whom I servedthrough so many years, the villain who drove me against my will intothis last crime which has thus brought its reward. The dog gave himhis just due; look, its teeth still hold him, as fast, perhaps, as thememories of his crimes will hold him where he has gone. Regret him!sorrow for him! no, oh no! I can curse him as he lies, villain,monster, devil that he was!"

  She paused, and even in the dim light Philip could see her bosom heaveand her great eyes flash with the fierceness of her excitement.

  "You should not talk so of the dead," he said.

  "You are right," she answered; "he has gone beyond the reach of mywords, but the thought of all the misery I have suffered at his handsmade me for a moment mad. Cover it up again, the vile frame which helda viler soul; to the earth with the one, to undreamed of sorrow withthe other, each to its appointed place. How does it run?--'The wagesof sin is death.' Yes, that is right. He is dead; the blow fell firston him, that was right, and I am about to die; and you--what willhappen to you, the Judas of the plot, eh? You do not think that youwill enjoy your blood-money in peace, do you?"

  "What do you mean?" asked Philip, nervously; her wild way frightenedhim.

  "Mean! why, that you are the sorriest knave of all. This man was atleast led on to crime by passion; Bellamy entered into it to work outa secret revenge, poor fool; I acted because I couldn't help myself atfirst, and then for the sake of the game itself, for when I take athing in my hand, I _will_ succeed. But you, Philip Caresfoot, yousold your own flesh and blood for money or money's worth, and you arethe worst of all--worse than George, for even a brutal love is anobler thing than avarice like yours. Well, as the sin is, so will thepunishment be."

  "It is a lie! I thought that he was dead."

  "You thought that Arthur Heigham was dead!--then I read your thoughtsvery wrongly when we met upon the road on Christmas Day. You wished tothink that he was dead, but you did not think it. Even now yourconscience is making a coward of you, and, as you said just now, foryou the silence of the dead is more terrible than the accusations ofthe living. I know a little about you, Philip. Do you not see shadowson your walls, and do not departed voices come to haunt you in yoursleep? I know you do, and I will tell you this--the _Things_ which youhave suffered from at times shall henceforth be your continualcompanions. If you can pray, pray with all your strength that yourdaughter may not die; for, if she does, her shadow will always bethere to haunt you with the rest. Why do you tremble so at the meremention of a spirit? Stand still, and I will show you one. I can if Ilike."

  Philip could stand it no longer. With a curse he burst out of theroom. Presently she followed him, and found him standing in front ofthe house, wiping the cold perspiration from his forehead.

  "You accursed woman," he said, "go, and never come near this houseagain!"

  "I never shall come to this house again," she answered. "Ah, here ismy carriage. Good-bye, Philip Caresfoot. You are a very wealthy mannow--worth I do not know how many thousands a year. You have beensingularly fortunate--you have accomplished your ends. Few people cando that. May the accomplishment bring happiness with it! If you wishit to do so, stifle your conscience, and do not let your superstitionsaffect you. But, by the way, you know French, do you not? Then here isa maxim that, in parting, I recommend to your attention--it has sometruth in it: Il y a une page effrayante dans le livre des destineeshumaines: on y lit en tete ces mots 'les desirs accomplis.'" And shewas gone.

  "I owed him a debt for tempting George on in that business," thoughtLady Bellamy to herself, as she rolled swiftly down the avenue ofgiant walnuts; "but I think that I have repaid it. The thorn I haveplanted will fester in his flesh till he dies of the sore.Superstition run wild in his weak mind will make the world a hell forhim, and that is what I wish."

  Presently she stopped the carriage, and walked to the top of a littleknoll commanding what had been Isleworth Hill, but was now a blacksmoking blot on the landscape. The white front of the house was stillstanding, though riven from top to bottom, and through its emptywindow-places the westering sun poured great streams of fire whichlooked like flame shining through the eye-sockets of a gigantic skull.

  "I did that well," she said; "and yet how blind I was! I should haveknown that he spoke the truth when he said the letters were not there.My skill failed me--it always does fail at need. I thought the firewould reach them somehow."

  When she arrived at Rewtham House, she found that Sir John had left,taking luggage with him, and stating that he was going to put up at aninn at Roxham. On the hall-table, too, lay a summons to attend theinquest on the body of George Caresfoot, which was to take place onthe morrow. She tore it across. Then she went up and dressed herselffor dinner with such splendour that her maid thought it necessary toremind her that there was no company coming.

  "No," she said, with a strange smile; "but I am going out to-night.Give me my sapphire necklace."

  She sat through dinner, and afterwards went into the drawing-room, andopening a despatch-box, read and burnt a great number of papers.

  "There go the keys to my knowledge," she said aloud, as they flickeredand fell into ashes. "No one shall reap the fruits of my labours; andyet it is a pity--I was on the right track, and, though I could neverhave succeeded, another might. I had the key, though I could not findthe lock. I must go through with it now. I cannot live deprived bothof success and of my secret power, and I could never begin and climbthat stair again."

  Then, from a secret drawer in the despatch-box, she extracted a littlephial, tightly stoppered and sealing-w
axed. She examined it closely,and looked at the liquid in it against the light.

  "My medicine has taken no harm during this twenty years," she thought."It still looks what it is--strong enough to kill a giant, and subtleenough to leave little trace upon a child." Then she shut up thedespatch-box and put it away, and, going to the open window, looked upat the stars, and then down at the shadows flung by the clouds as theyswept across the moon.

  "Shadows," she mused, "below, and gleams of light between the shadows--that is like our life. Light above--pure, clear, eternal--that islike the wider life. And between the two--the night, and above themboth--the stars.

  "In the immensity, where shall I find my place? Oh, that I might sleepeternally! Yes, that would be best of all--to sink into sleep neverending, unbroken, and unbreakable, to be absorbed into the coolvastness of the night, and lie in her great arms for ever. Oh, Night!whom I have ever loved, you bring your sleep to wearied millions--bring _me_ sleep eternal. But no, the stars are above the night, andabove the stars is--what? Yes; the hour I dread like every othermortal with my body, and yet dare to long for with my spirit, hascome. I am about to cast off Time, and pass into Eternity, to springfrom the giddy heights of Space into the uncertain arms of theInfinite. Yet a few minutes, and my essence, my vital part, will startupon its endless course, and passing far above those stars, will findthe fount of that knowledge of which it has already sipped, and drinkand drink till it grows like a God, and can look upon the truth andnot be blinded. Such are my high hopes. And yet--if there be a hell!My life has been evil, my sins many. What if there be an avengingPower waiting, as some think, to grind me into powder, and then endoweach crushed particle with individual sense of endless misery? What ifthere be a hell! In a few minutes, or what will seem but a few minutes--for surely, to the disembodied spirit, time cannot exist; though itsleep a billion years, it will be as a breath--I shall have solved theproblem. I shall know what all the panic-stricken millions madly ask,and ask in vain! Yes, I shall know if _there is a hell!_ Well, ifthere be, then I shall rule there, for power is native to my soul. Letme hesitate no longer, but go and solve the problem before I growafraid. Afraid--I am not afraid. 'I have immortal longings in me.' Whowas it said that? Oh, Cleopatra! Was Cleopatra more beautiful than Iam, I wonder? I am sure that she was not so great; for, had I beenher, Antony should have driven Caesar out of Egypt. Oh! if I couldhave loved with a pure and perfect love as other women may, andintertwined my destiny with that of some _great_ man--some being of anature kindred to my own--I should have been good and happy, and heshould have ruled this country. But Fate and Fortune, grown afraid ofwhat I should do, linked my life to a soulless brute! and, alas! likehim I have fallen--fallen irretrievably!"

  She closed the window, and, coming into the room, rang the bell.

  "Bring me some wine," she said to the servant. "I do not feel well."

  "What wine, my lady?"

  "Champagne."

  The wine was brought, and stood, uncorked, upon the table.

  "That will do," she said. "Tell my maid not to sit up for me: it willbe late before I go to bed to-night."

  The man bowed and went, and she poured out some of the sparkling wine,and then, taking the little phial, opened it with difficulty, andemptied its contents into the glass. The wine boiled up furiously,turned milk-white, and then cleared again; but the poison haddestroyed its sparkle--it was dead as ditch-water.

  "That is strange," she said, "I never saw that effect before." Nextshe took the phial and powdered it into a pinch of tiny dust with awhale's tooth that lay upon the table. The dust she took to the windowand threw out, a little at a time. Lady Bellamy wished to die as shehad lived, a mystery. Then she came and stood over the deadly draughtshe had compounded, and thought sometimes aloud and sometimes toherself.

  "I have heard it said that suicides are cowards; let those who say it,stand as I stand to-night, with death lying in the little circle of aglass before them, and they will know whether they are cowards, or ifthey are spirits of a braver sort than those who can bear to drudge tothe bitter end of life. It is not yet too late. I can throw that stuffaway. I can leave this place and begin life anew in some othercountry, my jewels will give me the means, and, for the matter ofthat, I can always win as much money as I want. But, no; then I mustbegin again, and for that I have not the patience or the time.Besides, I long to _know_, to solve the mystery. Come, let me make anend, I will chance it. Spirits like my own wear their life only whileit does not gall them; if it begins to fret, they cast it from themlike a half-worn dress, scorning to wrap it round them till it dropsaway in rags."

  She raised the glass.

  "How lonely this place is, and how still, and yet it may well be thatthere are millions round me watching what I do. Why does he come intomy mind now, that good man, and the child I bore him? Shall I see thempresently? Will they crush me with their reproaches? And--have mynerves broken down?--Is it fancy, or does that girl's pale face, withwarning in her eyes, float between me and the wall? Well, I will drinkto her, for her mind could even overtop my own. She was, at least, myequal, and I have driven her mad! Let me taste this stuff."

  Lifting the glass to her lips, she drank a little, and set it down.The effect was almost magical. Her eyes blazed, a new beauty bloomedupon her cheek, her whole grand presence seemed to gain in majesty.The quick drug for a moment burnt away the curtain between the seenand the unseen, and yet left her living.

  "Ah," she cried, in the silence of the room, "how it runs along myveins; I hear the rushing of the stars, I see strange worlds, my soulleaps through infinite spaces, the white light of immortality strikesupon my eyes and blinds me. Come, life unending, I have conquereddeath."

  Seizing the poison, she swallowed what remained of it, and dashed theglass down beside her. Then she fell heavily on her face, once shestruggled to her knees, then fell again, and lay still.