"If it could last! If it could last! But when it is only to bring a worse pain upon you, how can I help regretting? Oh, it is hard. To think what this moment means to other couples, and that we should be shut out. I feel like you--my own risk is nothing; it is the dread of its consequences for you that weighs, and he said--he said, that the worst time, the time of the worst danger lay ahead. Piers, how _can_ you love me with that knowledge in your mind? I thought when I told you, I honestly thought that it would stop every possibility of your caring."

"Nothing could have stopped me. I told you then, as I tell you now, that you are the sweetest, the sanest woman I have ever met, and you are mine. I will never give you up; never to my dying day."

"Piers, Piers, we have no choice."

He drew her towards him, a hand on each arm; drew her roughly, pa.s.sionately, his dark face twitching with emotion.

"No! It is true. We have no choice. You have said it, and it is the truth. We belong to each other, and nothing that any one can say or do can alter that. For better or worse we belong; till death us do part.

There is no choice. You can't get away--Vanna, does it strike you that we are doing a wrong, a wicked thing? We are killing our golden hour almost as soon as it is born. Those other lovers that you speak of, do they trouble their heads about marriage the first moment they are alone with their love? I don't believe they do. I don't believe it is even mentioned. It is enough joy, enough wonder, to realise the present.

Can't we follow their example? Can't we be content just to be together--like this? Isn't the present rich enough to content us? It is more, a hundred times more than I ever dared to expect. You could not be so cruel, Vanna, as to take it from me."

"If it could last! If it could last!" moaned Vanna once more. "Oh, Piers, it is heaven just to sit here, with my head on your shoulder, and your arms around me; but I must go away, far away to the other end of the world. We can't even be 'engaged' like other people, and have the right to meet and be alone. How could we be engaged when we can never marry?"

"How could we not? If we cannot have the best thing, we must take the next. Do all engaged lovers marry and live happily ever after? You know they don't. They can't see what is waiting one day ahead. There are a hundred risks. At the last moment death may divide them. The only thing that is secure is the present; they grasp that, and are happy. That's the philosophy of life, darling; that must be our philosophy. You are mine. I am not going to give up my rights. We must be able to meet, to see each other when we wish. If to do that and satisfy conventions, we must call ourselves 'engaged,' engaged we will be. I shall tell my mother to-night, you must tell the Gorings. We are engaged, and we adore one another, and are gloriously happy. Do you remember Jean when she was engaged? Weren't _they_ gloriously happy?"

"For three months!" Cruel memory flashed back echoes of impatient words and sighs which had escaped the lovers' lips even during that short period: "These eternal good-byes, these eternal interruptions! When shall we be alone?"--"For three months! If it had been three years-- thirteen--thirty! I can't imagine Robert waiting for long indefinite years. Oh, Piers, you would grow tired--impatient--"

He pressed her to him with a groan of anguish.

"Of course I shall be tired; of course I shall be impatient. Don't torture me, darling--and yourself. It's a second best, and it must be hard; but it is all that's left, and for a time at least it will be bliss. One never knows what may happen. We are not particularly strong people, you and I; we may not have long to live. Vanna, knowing the uncertainty of life, dare you, _dare_ you refuse me my joy? You say this has come upon us by your fault; then surely you feel your responsibility also. You owe me something, and you must pay. Vanna, is it so hard?"

"Hard! Do you think I want to refuse? Do you think it would not be bliss to me to give way too? For myself it would be all gain--your love, your companionship, your help; but for you it would be a barrier, shutting out better things--a wife, children, a home. You need them, Piers; you are not made for solitude. As you grow older you will need them more. How dare I shut them out?"

He did not answer. Vanna felt his cheek twitch against her own, heard the sharp indrawing of the breath. Her words had gone home; she felt a wild surge of anger against herself--against the morbid conscientiousness which had sought to wreck her own joy. The G.o.ds had thrust a gift into her hands, and because it was not pure gold she had thrust it aside, leaving herself to starve. The slackening of Piers's arms brought with it a stab of anguish. Had she convinced him against his will? Was he about to take her at her word?

But instead of turning away he drew her to her feet, holding her by both hands so that they stood face to face.

"Vanna, you remember what I said to you about Miggles? The lesson of her death? You believe--I believe that this world is not all; that it is only a beginning--the portal of life. Can't we lift our love above the ordinary human conception? Can't we be content to wait--to suffer if it must be, in the hope of all that is to come? I don't pretend that it will be easy; but we have no choice. The love has come; we can't alter it; we don't want to alter it. We belong to each other for life and eternity; we must help each other to live on the heights. We must not allow ourselves to regret and to pine for what we cannot have; we must be thankful, and look forward. You are so good, so strong; you must help me! We must go on with our lives; but if this love is worth anything, it will be a strength to us--not a bar. It would be folly to part. Should we think of each other any the less because we were at opposite ends of the world? Vanna! surely you of all women should be the last to deny the possibility of a spiritual love."

But Vanna did not answer. Her head fell forward until her face was hidden from sight; her hands burned within his. She was a woman, and for the moment there was no place in her heart for Piers's lofty self-abnegation. A spiritual love--self-sacrifice and suffering in the hope of future bliss! And she was to be strong and brave, and help him when he failed; she, who was filled with a pa.s.sion of longing for the dear, human, everyday joys; to whom for the moment they towered above the far-off, spiritual gain. The woman's birthright of intuition revealed the future with flashlight clarity. Her heart was torn with a presage of the pangs which would rend it afresh, as she beheld happy wives, rich in home, husband, and children, while she wandered outcast, unsatisfied, athirst. The man, with shorter vision, could content himself in the present, and in the fulness of love's revelations delude himself that joy would remain; but to the woman, for whom the love of him was an aching longing of body and soul, the sharpest pang of all came from the certainty of his mistake. She looked forward and beheld him restless and rebellious, chafing against his chains--the old, irritable discontent on lips and eyes. He would suffer; of a certainty he would suffer. So surely as he was made in man's image, the day would dawn when his joy would be changed into despair. A wild longing seized Vanna to give her lover happiness while she might; to give him such a summer of joy and content that when the winter came he should look back and feel the price well paid.

Her fingers tightened on his arm, her eyes sought his in feverish entreaty.

"Piers! if I do give in--I have no strength to oppose you--if I give in, swear to me that if the time comes when you regret--when you feel bound, because there is some one"--she gulped painfully--"some one else whom you could take for a wife--swear that you will be honest with me; that you will not let me spoil your life! Swear that you will tell me the truth."

He smiled into her troubled face, taking possession of her hands in a close, comforting grasp.

"What would you think if I asked the same promise of you? Can't you give me credit for as much consistency as yourself? Is it possible that I could grow tired of _you_?"

But at that moment Vanna had no ears for the sweet protestations of love. Her grasp grew but the tighter, her gaze the more distressed.

"Swear to me! Swear!"

Piers gave a short, half-impatient laugh.

"I swear it. Now are you content?"

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

A FALSE POSITION.

Vanna begged a month's grace before the announcement of her engagement was made public, and before half that time had pa.s.sed, had said good-bye to the seaside cottage in which she had known such peaceful, happy days, and, in response to an urgent invitation, had gone to pay a long visit to Jean.

"You said the time would come when I should need you," wrote Jean, in a long pencilled scrawl, "and it has arrived! I need you badly, dear; I crave for you. At this moment I feel I must either have a kind, understanding woman near me, or die! I am so ill, Vanna, and so weak, and so frightened! It has been such a long, long time, and I never knew before what it was like to be ill. One does not grow used to it--it grows harder and harder, and the days are so eternally long. I don't apologise for asking you to exchange one invalid for another; another person might think it hard, but not you, you dear angel--it will be an inducement to you. And you'll stay until it is over, won't you, and keep house, and look after Robert, when I'm upstairs? Oh, the joy, and the ease, and the comfort it would be to see you walk in at this moment, and to know that you'd come to stay! I want you more than I've ever wanted you before; and if you say no, I'll collapse at once, and it will be your fault, and you'll repent for ever after. Wire your reply."

Vanna smiled happily as she read the characteristic words. Yes, her time had come. She had waited to a good purpose. Jean needed her, and she needed Jean; she was longing eagerly for long, heart-to-heart talks with her only woman friend. Except those few short days at Seacliff, the two friends had not met since the day of the wedding, and there would be so much to hear, so much to say. What would Jean have to say to her great news? She recalled Jean's face of dismay as, kneeling on the ground, she had listened to Dr Greatman's verdict; heard again the tremble in her voice as she asked, "Is there no escape?" Surely Jean would not blame her, because when happiness had been placed into her hand she had not had strength to thrust it away? Surely out of the riches of her own wealth she would rejoice that some crumbs had fallen to her friend? What would Robert say? He was a man: he would judge from a man's standpoint, with his head rather than with his heart.

Vanna shrank nervously from Robert's disapproval. He was one of the simple, upright men who are apt to be hard judges. To them there are but two courses in life--a right and a wrong. They have neither sympathy nor understanding for those who pitifully essay to find byways by which to escape the rigours of the path. Yet when love had seized Robert in its grip he had made short work of obstacles--had laughed to scorn Vanna's prudent advice. When she had condemned him, and refused her help, he had replied that it was not needed. He required no help from outside. Well! Vanna lifted her chin with proud resolve; she herself could be equally independent. It would make the future more difficult if Robert and Jean adopted a disapproving att.i.tude, but for the moment she need not trouble herself about such a contingency. She would allow Jean time for the discussion of her own affairs before seizing a quiet opportunity for telling her own great news.

The tall town house, with its narrow staircase, and high, box-like rooms, felt close and stuffy after the wind-swept cottage, but it glowed with the colour dear to the heart of its mistress, and was refreshingly different from the ordinary houses of that most inartistic age. Jean had copied her interior from pictures rather than from upholsterers'

catalogues, and her princ.i.p.al furniture had been made from her own designs. Robert had placed no limit on her expenditure; he could not afford a large house, but she was to have "everything she wanted" for the small one which she had graciously consented to occupy. Such were his instructions, and Jean had proceeded to carry them into effect with a literal interpretation of the words. Being one of the happy people who always know exactly what they want, no time was wasted in discussion, the only difficulty being to procure fabrics as beautiful and artistically tinted as those which were pictured in her fertile brain. When the last treasure had been discovered, and fitted into its niche, the completed whole was a triumph of good taste, beautiful and restful; a home of which any man might be proud. Robert was proud of it because it was Jean's doing, and spectators waxed enthusiastic in Jean's praise. For himself, he would have been as well satisfied with a walnut suite and moreen curtains, perhaps more so, for he felt uneasily that he should never be able to smoke comfortably in such fine surroundings, nor to cross a floor without pausing to rub his boots. Neither of the two had a glimmering of an idea of what it cost to furnish a house; but when the bills came in Robert had a disagreeable shock. The sum which he had laid aside was ludicrously inadequate, and he was obliged to have recourse to "selling a share or two," and so reduce his already slender capital. But Jean was content. Jean was proud of her house; all other considerations were second to that.

Vanna met her friend in the drawing-room, which, being situated at the back of the house, with a depressing outlook, had the ordinary window replaced by one of rich stained gla.s.s. Gas jets had been arranged outside the window, which, being lit at dusk, served to show the glowing colours of the design through the evening hours. On this summer afternoon the mellowed light, and absence of prospect, combined to give the room the aspect of a shrine, and Jean moving slowly forward was certainly beautiful enough for a high-priestess. She wore a wonderful flowing robe of a dull blue, softly falling silk, the long open sleeves hanging almost to the ground, and showing her slim arms encased in some thin metallic substance, in which gold shot into silver, and silver back to gold. The folds at the neck were caught together with a metal clasp and chains, and slippers of the same colour peeped out beneath the sweeping skirts. The first glance at her face, however, brought with it a thrill of fear, for suffering and weariness were written there with an eloquence beyond the power of words. The eyes were haggard and encircled with violet shadows, the cheeks had lost their curves, the lips drooped, yet, as ever, Jean's beauty rose triumphant over all drawbacks. Vanna asked herself if she were not more beautiful than ever, for the childlike pathos of expression added the needed touch of softness to her features.

"Oh, Vanna, you blessing! You have come at last."

"I've come, darling. Come to stay! As long as you want me."

Jean kissed her again and again, the tears gathering in the lovely eyes, but she dashed them away, and in another minute was laughing and chattering in her old gay voice.

"Bring tea, bring tea! And I'm engaged, remember! Not a soul is to disturb me this afternoon. Vanna, you look sweet. If you go on improving at this rate, you'll soon beat me hollow. Sit here, opposite, where I can see you. Oh, you look so fresh, and happy, and well! You are like a breath of sea air. I've been stifling for months in this stuffy room, with not even a tree to look at, to remind me that it's spring." She threw an impatient glance at the stained-gla.s.s window which had made such a deep hole in Robert's purse. "Robert goes out at nine, and gets home at seven. Oh, my dear, such days! I've had such a dose of my own society that I'm sickened. If there's a person on earth I detest at this moment, it's Jean Gloucester."

Vanna smiled whimsically.

"It doesn't look like it. You seem to me to take a very fair amount of interest in her still. You look as charming as ever, you wonderful person. What a marvellous gown! Where in the name of mystery did you evolve it? and how many coffers of gold did you squander in the purchase?"

Jean had the grace to blush.

"Oh, well! one must be respectable. It _is_ rather a marvel. It was designed for me by an artist woman who has gone in for gowns; but no earthly inducement will ever make me tell what it cost. It's so soothing to have something becoming that it's been as good as medicine.

Looked at in that way, it's _cheap_! And I have been so good about money all the year. Rob balanced our books last week, and we were only a hundred out. Very good, I call it, when you remember that I had _no_ experience. The first time we had asparagus for dinner I couldn't eat a bit. I just sat staring at every stick. You have always to pay for experience. Besides, as I said to Rob, you are only newly married once, and it would be a sin to rub off the bloom worrying about pennies. It's silly to spoil the present for the sake of what may happen in a dozen years. We may be dead, or if we are not, we shall probably be better off. Rob's position will be improved, the boys' education will be finished, and father can allow me more. Men are so fussy about capital... Vanna, do you realise that it is a whole year since I've seen you? You have told me very little about yourself in your letters.

There's so much I want to hear. Not about Miggles to-day--we'll leave that. I don't want to cry. Tell me about yourself!"

"Oh, not yet! One thing at a time. I've not half finished with you,"

said Vanna with a thrill of nervousness, which she tried her best to conceal. "There are a hundred things that I am longing to hear. But first about Robert. How is he? Well--flourishing--giving satisfaction--as nice as ever?"

"Nice!" Jean tossed her head in disdain. "What a paltry word. He is the best man out of Heaven, my dear. That is the only description for _him_. I've lived with him for eighteen months, and have not discovered one single, solitary fault. That's simple truth, not exaggeration. I honestly believe he is perfect."

"And with you for a wife! You are a darling, Jean; but method was never your strong point, and by your own account your housekeeping hasn't always been a success. Does he continue to smile through all the upsets, and forgettings, and domestic crises, such as you described to us at Seacliff? I can't believe it of a mere man!"

"Oh, I didn't mean to say that he preserves a dead-level calm. I should hate him if he did. He is rather irritable in small ways. You can excite him to frenzy--comparatively speaking--by moving the matches from his dressing-room, or mislaying his sponge or nail scissors; but then it is the servants who get blamed--never me; and in big things he is great!

If he became paralysed to-morrow, or lost every penny he possessed, or if!"--Jean's face sobered--"_died_, he might suffer tortures, but he would not speak one word of rebellion, and he would keep his interest in other people, and be truly, unfeignedly, ungrudgingly glad that they were so much more fortunate than himself. Oh, he is a marvel! I adore him. I would give worlds to be like him. I am bursting with pride at being the woman he has chosen out of all the world; but he spoils me so, that it's becoming second nature to want all my own way, so I keep falling farther and farther behind."

"Robert wouldn't admit that! No doubt he thinks himself the laggard, and you just such another paragon as you have described."

Jean pursed her lips in a whimsical grimace.

"No! The droll part of it is, he does _not_. He doesn't understand me one bit; I'm a continual enigma to him. Half the time he is puzzled out of his wits, and the other half he is--_shocked_. Such eyes! You should see them staring at me, growing bigger and bigger, when I let myself go, and grumble or rage. He disapproves, but he makes excuses, because I am I, and he loves me, and wouldn't change me for the greatest paragon alive." She was silent, smiling mischievously to herself for several minutes, then burst out suddenly: