x.x.xII.

The stars were fading, there was a band of clear light in the east over the sea, when Eve reached the veranda of Romney again; with pauses for rest, she had carried her sister all the way. Cicely was small and light, her weight was scarcely more than that of a child; still, owing to the distance, the effort had been great, and Eve's strength was exhausted. She put her burden gently down on the floor of the veranda, and stood leaning against one of the wooden pillars, with her arms hanging by her sides to rest them; they were numb and stiff, almost paralyzed; she began to be afraid lest she should not be able to raise them again; she went to the window to try. The effort of lifting the sash drew a groan of anguish from her. But Cicely did not hear it; she remained unconscious. The dawn grew brighter, soon the sun would appear.

It was not probable that at this early hour any one would pa.s.s this uninhabited end of the house; still, negroes were inconsequent; Pomp and Plato might be seized with a fancy to come; if she could only get Cicely back to her room unseen, there need be no knowledge of their midnight expedition. She knelt down beside her, and chafed her hands and temples; she spoke her name with insistence: "Cicely! Cicely!"--she put the whole force of her will into the effort of reaching the dormant consciousness, wherever it was, and compelling it to waken. "Cicely!" She looked intently at Cicely's closed eyes.

Cicely stirred, her dark-fringed lids opened; her vague glance caught the gleam of the sound. "Where are we?" she asked.

"We came out for a walk," Eve answered. "Do you think you could climb in--I mean by the window? I am afraid I cannot lift you."

"Of course I can. Why shouldn't I?"

She did it as lightly and easily as ever; she was in perfect possession of all her faculties. Eve followed her. Then she drew down the sash with the same effort.

"What is the matter with your arms?" Cicely asked. "You move them as though they were rusty."

"I think they _are_ rusty."

They went through the ballroom, now looking very prosaic, flooded with the light of the rising sun. "We're always tramping through this old room," said Cicely.

When she reached the door of her own chamber, she abruptly drew Eve in.

"Well--are you going to leave me forever?"

"Not unless you send me away."

"Is it on baby's account that you stay?"

"Not more now than at any time."

"You don't mind what I did, then?"

"You didn't do anything."

"That's brave of you, Eve, when you hate lies so. You are trying to make me believe that nothing happened out there in the road--that I was just as usual. But I remember perfectly--I sprang at you; if I had been a man--my hands stronger--you wouldn't be here now!"

"Fortunately you are not a man, nor anything like one," Eve answered, in the tone of a person who makes a joke. She turned towards the door.

"Wait, I want to tell you," said Cicely, going after her, and turning her round with her hands on her shoulders. "This is it, Eve; it comes over me with a rush sometimes, when I look at you--that here you are alive, and _Ferdie_ dead! He was a great deal more splendid than you are, he was so handsome and so young! And yet there he is, down in the ground; and _you_ walking about here! Nothing seems too bad for you then; my feeling is, 'Let her die too! And see how she likes it.'"

"I should like it well enough, if somebody else did it," Eve answered.

"Death wouldn't be a punishment, Cicely; it would be a release."

Cicely's grasp relaxed. "Oh, very well. Then why haven't you tried it?"

"Because Paul Tennant is still in the world! I am pusillanimous enough to wish to breathe the same air."

"You _do_ love him!" said Cicely. She paused. "Perhaps--after a little--"

"No, I have thought it all out; it can never be. If he should come to me this moment, and tell me that he loved me in spite of everything, it wouldn't help me; for I should know that it could not last; I should know that, if I should marry him, sooner or later he would hate me; it would be inevitable. Ferdie's face would come always between us."

"I hope it may," said Cicely, savagely. "Why do you keep on staying with me? I don't wish you to stay. Not in the least."

"I thought that I could perhaps be of some use. You were so dear to my brother--"

"Much you care for poor old Jack now! Even _I_ care more."

"Yes, I have changed. But--Jack understands."

"A convenient belief!"

"And you have his child."

--"And I am Paul's sister!"

"Yes; I can sometimes hear of Paul through you."

Eve's voice, as she said this, was so patient that Cicely was softened.

She came to Eve and kissed her. "I am sorry for you, Eve."

"Will you promise me to go to bed?" Eve answered, resuming her usual tone, as she turned towards the door. "I must go now, I am tired."

Cicely went with her. "I am never sure of myself, Eve," she said, warningly; "I may say just the same things to you to-morrow,--remember that."

Once in her own room, Eve did not follow the advice which she had given to Cicely; finding that she could not sleep, she dressed herself afresh, and sought the open air again. It was still early, no one was stirring save the servants. Meeting Porley, she asked the girl to bring her some tea and a piece of corn-bread; after this frugal breakfast, taken in the shade of the great live-oaks, she wandered down one of the eastern roads. Her bath had brought no color to her cheeks; her eyes had the contracted look which comes after a night of wakefulness; though the acute pain had ceased, her weary arms still hung lifelessly by her side, her step was languid; only her golden hair looked bright and young as the sun's rays shone across it.

She walked on at random; after a while, upon looking down one of the tracks, bordered by the glittering green bushes, she recognized Miss Sabrina's figure, and, turning, followed it.

Miss Sabrina had come out to pay an early visit to her temple of memories. She heard Eve's step, and looked up. "Oh, is it you, my dear?

It's St. Michael and All-Angels; I have only brought a few flowers, I hope you don't mind?" Her voice was apologetic.

"Do you mean for my brother? I wish you had brought more, then; I wish you would always remember him," said Eve, going over and sitting down beside the mound. "He has the worst time of any of us, after all!"

"Oh, my dear, how _can_ we know?" murmured Miss Sabrina, shocked.

"I don't mean that he is in h.e.l.l," said Eve.

Miss Sabrina had no idea what she meant; she returned to the subject of her temple. "Cicely thinks I come here too often,--she spoke of charnel-houses. Perhaps I do come often; but it has been a comfort to me."

"Miss Sabrina, do you believe in another world?"

"My dear child, most certainly."

"And have we the same feelings, the same affections, there as here?"

"The good ones, I suppose."