In the break that followed, both turned and looked after the dog-cart. Dolly spoke first. “There!” she said, clasping her hands together; “now it’s done!”
“They had no business to listen,” Lal said. It was his embarrassment that spoke, but Dolly turned on him in a flash. “Lucian listen? Lucian would no more listen than you would. They could not help seeing.” Again she pressed her hands together, and let them drop at her side with a gesture unconsciously tragic. “I wish it had not happened so, Lal!”
“I don’t wonder you like him; he’s very attractive.”
“I’m so sorry for him!” She lifted her candid eyes. “Because I say little, never think I don’t feel. Well, it can’t be helped now.” She turned the basket upside down over the pigeons crowding round her feet, and brushed the husks from her skirt. “Did you bring them back with you? Did you knowthey were coming? Last night’s paper said they were rescued, no more.”
Lal gave her an evening journal, price three centimes, whose themes were murder and sudden death and the seventh commandment, all printed in vile black type upon villanous drab paper. “When I got to Namur I saw this. I thought it useless to go on,” he said, while Dolly skimmed through a highly sensational narrative of Farquhar’s heroism and Lucian’s fortitude. “I actually travelled in the same carriage with De Saumarez, but I did not recognise him. Last time we met I think he had not shaved for several days,” he finished, with a smile. Dolly let her paper drop against her skirt.
“I never should have sent you, Lal; I ought to have known better. I to think he had hurt Lucian! Oh, I have been a fool. A baby could not be more harmless than Noel Farquhar when he cares for any one; and he does care for Lucian. There, I’ve been in the wrong all through. I like him; I like both of them. This is a hateful affair. I wonder, I do wonder what they’ll do.”
“I should fancy that Farquhar will console himself within the year,” said Lal, perversely. “I’m very sorry for De Saumarez.”
“That is sheer prejudice. Lucian is far morelikely to get over it soon than Noel Farquhar. In fact, I don’t believe he ever will get over it. Well!” She looked away at the golden sky, sighing, her brows drawn down. “I can’t go to them myself, that’s certain, nor can you. I must write and explain, I suppose.”
“Dolly,” Lal said, detaining her, “you have never told me which, after all, you meant to take when you summoned them in that fashion.”
“I dare say you’ll think me a fool,” Dolly said, after a pause. “I hate vacillating people myself; but the truth is—I couldnotmake up my mind. I could hardly bear to refuse Lucian; yet Noel Farquhar fascinated me, I don’t deny it. His is such a strong character, and he did care for me. Then Lucian was penniless, while Mr. Farquhar was rich and in a good position; and I’m ambitious, Lal. Besides, Bernard was continually warning me against him. And I was so completely in love with you that I did not very much care what I did with myself. Youdidtrouble me so,” she broke off, her voice softening to a richer inflection. “You almost broke my heart. I was so proud of you for being what you are; and to find you in that place! I could have died for grief; I could have beaten out my eyes for seeing it.”
“Oh, Dolly!” said Lal, and bent downquickly to kiss her. The shy, swift, furtive movement brought tears to Dolly’s eyes. There was reverence in his touch, there was even awe; and so, for the first time, Dolly tasted the grace of true humility.
“Well”—she picked up the thread of her confession with a sigh—“I suppose it has to be told. As I say, I could not see what to do; and I did not care myself; and Bernard would advise me till I was mazed with thinking. So I ended by leaving it to chance.”
“And how did you settle it?”
“I said I would accept the one who reached me first.”
“I reached you first, Dolly.”
“And do you want more of me than you’ve got?” Dolly said, turning on him her face, full of sweetness and fire.
“What have I got? A bare ‘Yes,’ and nothing more!”
“Your own fault, for asking such a question in such a place. I longed to sink into the ground. Besides, I gave you the promise of my marriage vows; isn’t that enough?”
“What marriage vows?”
“Love; honour; obedience.”
“Love—honour,” Lal repeated, strongly moved. “Do you give those to me, Dolly? You make me ashamed.”
“You know I give them. I give everything.”
“Even obedience? Dolly, will you ever obey anybody?”
“Certainly I shall,” Dolly said, with proud humility. “I take my stand with other women; we all promise to obey, and I shall obey. I always keep my promises. There, dearest, let me go now and write. Afterwards—”
Noel Farquhar came into his library at The Lilacs and unlocked his writing-table, one of those elegant roll-top American contrivances full of drawers and pigeon-holes. He took out his blotter, his writing-paper, and his revolver. He made sure that this was properly loaded, and then dipped pen in ink and began to write.
“TO THE CORONER
“Dear Sir,—I wish it clearly to be understood that I write in sound physical health, and that my brain is not, and never has been, in danger of insanity. I purpose shortly to commit suicide by shooting myself, and I do not wish my body to receive rites in which I never have had a shadow of belief. In plain English, I, not being a Christian, do not desire Christian burial. I have neither hope nor wish for a joyful resurrection. This has been my lifelong creed. I have been at the pains to belie it, and live as the model of virtue, both in public and private, in order to earn the esteem of my respectable British fellow-citizens.I challenge any man living to say I have not succeeded. Honesty is unquestionably the best policy for the man who wishes to thrive:experto crede. I would not wish to die with a lie on my lips; the taste of truth is pleasantly novel.“Within the last few months the issue of a love-affair, together with certain pecuniary losses which endanger my political position, have contrived to make life uninteresting, and even burdensome. I see no chance of improvement, and have not the patience to undergo present discomfort in the vague hope of a problematical future gain. I take the only logical course. In shooting myself I carry out a purpose conditionally framed as soon as I was old enough to think for myself. Let me again repeat that I am not mad; and let me beg, let me beseech the twelve worthy gentlemen who shall sit upon my body to burden their consciences with no unnecessary perjury, but to cap the inquest with a truthful verdict offelo de se.“In conclusion, I commend to my biographers the study of my birthplace, parentage, and nationality. I refer them for information to the records of the province of Kiew, South Russia.“I am, sir, faithfully yours,“Noel Dmitri Farquhar.“The Lilacs, Monkswell, 2/7/03.”
“Dear Sir,—I wish it clearly to be understood that I write in sound physical health, and that my brain is not, and never has been, in danger of insanity. I purpose shortly to commit suicide by shooting myself, and I do not wish my body to receive rites in which I never have had a shadow of belief. In plain English, I, not being a Christian, do not desire Christian burial. I have neither hope nor wish for a joyful resurrection. This has been my lifelong creed. I have been at the pains to belie it, and live as the model of virtue, both in public and private, in order to earn the esteem of my respectable British fellow-citizens.I challenge any man living to say I have not succeeded. Honesty is unquestionably the best policy for the man who wishes to thrive:experto crede. I would not wish to die with a lie on my lips; the taste of truth is pleasantly novel.
“Within the last few months the issue of a love-affair, together with certain pecuniary losses which endanger my political position, have contrived to make life uninteresting, and even burdensome. I see no chance of improvement, and have not the patience to undergo present discomfort in the vague hope of a problematical future gain. I take the only logical course. In shooting myself I carry out a purpose conditionally framed as soon as I was old enough to think for myself. Let me again repeat that I am not mad; and let me beg, let me beseech the twelve worthy gentlemen who shall sit upon my body to burden their consciences with no unnecessary perjury, but to cap the inquest with a truthful verdict offelo de se.
“In conclusion, I commend to my biographers the study of my birthplace, parentage, and nationality. I refer them for information to the records of the province of Kiew, South Russia.
“I am, sir, faithfully yours,
“Noel Dmitri Farquhar.
“The Lilacs, Monkswell, 2/7/03.”
When he had finished, he read over the letter with satisfaction. While he was so doing, somebody opened the door and came noiselessly in. Farquhar glanced angrily over his shoulder; but, seeing only Lucian de Saumarez, he wenton with his reading, after taking the precaution of drawing his blotter across the revolver to hide it. With an indescribably guilty and shamefaced air, like a dog that has been caught stealing, Lucian went and lay down on the sofa. He was holding a handkerchief to his lips.
Farquhar closed the letter and took the revolver, glancing again at Lucian. Lucian heard the movement, turned his head, and for the moment took away the stained handkerchief.
“Farquhar, old man—” he began; he could not get any further.
Farquhar set his teeth on his underlip and swore. He sat immovable, looking dangerous, all rebellion; and then the inevitable law of his nature asserted itself, as it had done before, as in him it always would: the power that held him in bondage. He tore the letter across and across and across again and flung the fragments into the grate; he took up the revolver by the barrel and hurled it through the window across the flower-beds into the fountain on the lawn. He came and knelt by Lucian’s side, and lifted him with fierce tenderness against his breast.
“Confound you! What have you been doing to yourself?” he said.
THE END