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diff --git a/old/altdd10.txt b/old/altdd10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..11ad21b --- /dev/null +++ b/old/altdd10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1818 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Altar of the Dead, by Henry James +(#10 in our series by Henry James) + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: The Altar of the Dead + +Author: Henry James + +Release Date: September, 1996 [EBook #642] +[This file was first posted on September 10, 1996] +[Most recently updated: September 2, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE ALTAR OF THE DEAD *** + + + + +Transcribed from the 1916 Martin Secker edition by David Price, +email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk + + + + +THE ALTAR OF THE DEAD + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + + +He had a mortal dislike, poor Stransom, to lean anniversaries, and +loved them still less when they made a pretence of a figure. +Celebrations and suppressions were equally painful to him, and but +one of the former found a place in his life. He had kept each year +in his own fashion the date of Mary Antrim's death. It would be +more to the point perhaps to say that this occasion kept HIM: it +kept him at least effectually from doing anything else. It took +hold of him again and again with a hand of which time had softened +but never loosened the touch. He waked to his feast of memory as +consciously as he would have waked to his marriage-morn. Marriage +had had of old but too little to say to the matter: for the girl +who was to have been his bride there had been no bridal embrace. +She had died of a malignant fever after the wedding-day had been +fixed, and he had lost before fairly tasting it an affection that +promised to fill his life to the brim. + +Of that benediction, however, it would have been false to say this +life could really be emptied: it was still ruled by a pale ghost, +still ordered by a sovereign presence. He had not been a man of +numerous passions, and even in all these years no sense had grown +stronger with him than the sense of being bereft. He had needed no +priest and no altar to make him for ever widowed. He had done many +things in the world--he had done almost all but one: he had never, +never forgotten. He had tried to put into his existence whatever +else might take up room in it, but had failed to make it more than +a house of which the mistress was eternally absent. She was most +absent of all on the recurrent December day that his tenacity set +apart. He had no arranged observance of it, but his nerves made it +all their own. They drove him forth without mercy, and the goal of +his pilgrimage was far. She had been buried in a London suburb, a +part then of Nature's breast, but which he had seen lose one after +another every feature of freshness. It was in truth during the +moments he stood there that his eyes beheld the place least. They +looked at another image, they opened to another light. Was it a +credible future? Was it an incredible past? Whatever the answer +it was an immense escape from the actual. + +It's true that if there weren't other dates than this there were +other memories; and by the time George Stransom was fifty-five such +memories had greatly multiplied. There were other ghosts in his +life than the ghost of Mary Antrim. He had perhaps not had more +losses than most men, but he had counted his losses more; he hadn't +seen death more closely, but had in a manner felt it more deeply. +He had formed little by little the habit of numbering his Dead: it +had come to him early in life that there was something one had to +do for them. They were there in their simplified intensified +essence, their conscious absence and expressive patience, as +personally there as if they had only been stricken dumb. When all +sense of them failed, all sound of them ceased, it was as if their +purgatory were really still on earth: they asked so little that +they got, poor things, even less, and died again, died every day, +of the hard usage of life. They had no organised service, no +reserved place, no honour, no shelter, no safety. Even ungenerous +people provided for the living, but even those who were called most +generous did nothing for the others. So on George Stransom's part +had grown up with the years a resolve that he at least would do +something, do it, that is, for his own--would perform the great +charity without reproach. Every man HAD his own, and every man +had, to meet this charity, the ample resources of the soul. + +It was doubtless the voice of Mary Antrim that spoke for them best; +as the years at any rate went by he found himself in regular +communion with these postponed pensioners, those whom indeed he +always called in his thoughts the Others. He spared them the +moments, he organised the charity. Quite how it had risen he +probably never could have told you, but what came to pass was that +an altar, such as was after all within everybody's compass, lighted +with perpetual candles and dedicated to these secret rites, reared +itself in his spiritual spaces. He had wondered of old, in some +embarrassment, whether he had a religion; being very sure, and not +a little content, that he hadn't at all events the religion some of +the people he had known wanted him to have. Gradually this +question was straightened out for him: it became clear to him that +the religion instilled by his earliest consciousness had been +simply the religion of the Dead. It suited his inclination, it +satisfied his spirit, it gave employment to his piety. It answered +his love of great offices, of a solemn and splendid ritual; for no +shrine could be more bedecked and no ceremonial more stately than +those to which his worship was attached. He had no imagination +about these things but that they were accessible to any one who +should feel the need of them. The poorest could build such temples +of the spirit--could make them blaze with candles and smoke with +incense, make them flush with pictures and flowers. The cost, in +the common phrase, of keeping them up fell wholly on the generous +heart. + + + +CHAPTER II. + + + +He had this year, on the eve of his anniversary, as happened, an +emotion not unconnected with that range of feeling. Walking home +at the close of a busy day he was arrested in the London street by +the particular effect of a shop-front that lighted the dull brown +air with its mercenary grin and before which several persons were +gathered. It was the window of a jeweller whose diamonds and +sapphires seemed to laugh, in flashes like high notes of sound, +with the mere joy of knowing how much more they were "worth" than +most of the dingy pedestrians staring at them from the other side +of the pane. Stransom lingered long enough to suspend, in a +vision, a string of pearls about the white neck of Mary Antrim, and +then was kept an instant longer by the sound of a voice he knew. +Next him was a mumbling old woman, and beyond the old woman a +gentleman with a lady on his arm. It was from him, from Paul +Creston, the voice had proceeded: he was talking with the lady of +some precious object in the window. Stransom had no sooner +recognised him than the old woman turned away; but just with this +growth of opportunity came a felt strangeness that stayed him in +the very act of laying his hand on his friend's arm. It lasted but +the instant, only that space sufficed for the flash of a wild +question. Was NOT Mrs. Creston dead?--the ambiguity met him there +in the short drop of her husband's voice, the drop conjugal, if it +ever was, and in the way the two figures leaned to each other. +Creston, making a step to look at something else, came nearer, +glanced at him, started and exclaimed--behaviour the effect of +which was at first only to leave Stransom staring, staring back +across the months at the different face, the wholly other face, the +poor man had shown him last, the blurred ravaged mask bent over the +open grave by which they had stood together. That son of +affliction wasn't in mourning now; he detached his arm from his +companion's to grasp the hand of the older friend. He coloured as +well as smiled in the strong light of the shop when Stransom raised +a tentative hat to the lady. Stransom had just time to see she was +pretty before he found himself gaping at a fact more portentous. +"My dear fellow, let me make you acquainted with my wife." + +Creston had blushed and stammered over it, but in half a minute, at +the rate we live in polite society, it had practically become, for +our friend, the mere memory of a shock. They stood there and +laughed and talked; Stransom had instantly whisked the shock out of +the way, to keep it for private consumption. He felt himself +grimace, he heard himself exaggerate the proper, but was conscious +of turning not a little faint. That new woman, that hired +performer, Mrs. Creston? Mrs. Creston had been more living for him +than any woman but one. This lady had a face that shone as +publicly as the jeweller's window, and in the happy candour with +which she wore her monstrous character was an effect of gross +immodesty. The character of Paul Creston's wife thus attributed to +her was monstrous for reasons Stransom could judge his friend to +know perfectly that he knew. The happy pair had just arrived from +America, and Stransom hadn't needed to be told this to guess the +nationality of the lady. Somehow it deepened the foolish air that +her husband's confused cordiality was unable to conceal. Stransom +recalled that he had heard of poor Creston's having, while his +bereavement was still fresh, crossed the sea for what people in +such predicaments call a little change. He had found the little +change indeed, he had brought the little change back; it was the +little change that stood there and that, do what he would, he +couldn't, while he showed those high front teeth of his, look other +than a conscious ass about. They were going into the shop, Mrs. +Creston said, and she begged Mr. Stransom to come with them and +help to decide. He thanked her, opening his watch and pleading an +engagement for which he was already late, and they parted while she +shrieked into the fog, "Mind now you come to see me right away!" +Creston had had the delicacy not to suggest that, and Stransom +hoped it hurt him somewhere to hear her scream it to all the +echoes. + +He felt quite determined, as he walked away, never in his life to +go near her. She was perhaps a human being, but Creston oughtn't +to have shown her without precautions, oughtn't indeed to have +shown her at all. His precautions should have been those of a +forger or a murderer, and the people at home would never have +mentioned extradition. This was a wife for foreign service or +purely external use; a decent consideration would have spared her +the injury of comparisons. Such was the first flush of George +Stransom's reaction; but as he sat alone that night--there were +particular hours he always passed alone--the harshness dropped from +it and left only the pity. HE could spend an evening with Kate +Creston, if the man to whom she had given everything couldn't. He +had known her twenty years, and she was the only woman for whom he +might perhaps have been unfaithful. She was all cleverness and +sympathy and charm; her house had been the very easiest in all the +world and her friendship the very firmest. Without accidents he +had loved her, without accidents every one had loved her: she had +made the passions about her as regular as the moon makes the tides. +She had been also of course far too good for her husband, but he +never suspected it, and in nothing had she been more admirable than +in the exquisite art with which she tried to keep every one else +(keeping Creston was no trouble) from finding it out. Here was a +man to whom she had devoted her life and for whom she had given it +up--dying to bring into the world a child of his bed; and she had +had only to submit to her fate to have, ere the grass was green on +her grave, no more existence for him than a domestic servant he had +replaced. The frivolity, the indecency of it made Stransom's eyes +fill; and he had that evening a sturdy sense that he alone, in a +world without delicacy, had a right to hold up his head. While he +smoked, after dinner, he had a book in his lap, but he had no eyes +for his page: his eyes, in the swarming void of things, seemed to +have caught Kate Creston's, and it was into their sad silences he +looked. It was to him her sentient spirit had turned, knowing it +to be of her he would think. He thought for a long time of how the +closed eyes of dead women could still live--how they could open +again, in a quiet lamplit room, long after they had looked their +last. They had looks that survived--had them as great poets had +quoted lines. + +The newspaper lay by his chair--the thing that came in the +afternoon and the servants thought one wanted; without sense for +what was in it he had mechanically unfolded and then dropped it. +Before he went to bed he took it up, and this time, at the top of a +paragraph, he was caught by five words that made him start. He +stood staring, before the fire, at the "Death of Sir Acton Hague, +K.C.B.," the man who ten years earlier had been the nearest of his +friends and whose deposition from this eminence had practically +left it without an occupant. He had seen him after their rupture, +but hadn't now seen him for years. Standing there before the fire +he turned cold as he read what had befallen him. Promoted a short +time previous to the governorship of the Westward Islands, Acton +Hague had died, in the bleak honour of this exile, of an illness +consequent on the bite of a poisonous snake. His career was +compressed by the newspaper into a dozen lines, the perusal of +which excited on George Stransom's part no warmer feeling than one +of relief at the absence of any mention of their quarrel, an +incident accidentally tainted at the time, thanks to their joint +immersion in large affairs, with a horrible publicity. Public +indeed was the wrong Stransom had, to his own sense, suffered, the +insult he had blankly taken from the only man with whom he had ever +been intimate; the friend, almost adored, of his University years, +the subject, later, of his passionate loyalty: so public that he +had never spoken of it to a human creature, so public that he had +completely overlooked it. It had made the difference for him that +friendship too was all over, but it had only made just that one. +The shock of interests had been private, intensely so; but the +action taken by Hague had been in the face of men. To-day it all +seemed to have occurred merely to the end that George Stransom +should think of him as "Hague" and measure exactly how much he +himself could resemble a stone. He went cold, suddenly and +horribly cold, to bed. + + + +CHAPTER III. + + + +The next day, in the afternoon, in the great grey suburb, he knew +his long walk had tired him. In the dreadful cemetery alone he had +been on his feet an hour. Instinctively, coming back, they had +taken him a devious course, and it was a desert in which no +circling cabman hovered over possible prey. He paused on a corner +and measured the dreariness; then he made out through the gathered +dusk that he was in one of those tracts of London which are less +gloomy by night than by day, because, in the former case of the +civil gift of light. By day there was nothing, but by night there +were lamps, and George Stransom was in a mood that made lamps good +in themselves. It wasn't that they could show him anything, it was +only that they could burn clear. To his surprise, however, after a +while, they did show him something: the arch of a high doorway +approached by a low terrace of steps, in the depth of which--it +formed a dim vestibule--the raising of a curtain at the moment he +passed gave him a glimpse of an avenue of gloom with a glow of +tapers at the end. He stopped and looked up, recognising the place +as a church. The thought quickly came to him that since he was +tired he might rest there; so that after a moment he had in turn +pushed up the leathern curtain and gone in. It was a temple of the +old persuasion, and there had evidently been a function--perhaps a +service for the dead; the high altar was still a blaze of candles. +This was an exhibition he always liked, and he dropped into a seat +with relief. More than it had ever yet come home to him it struck +him as good there should be churches. + +This one was almost empty and the other altars were dim; a verger +shuffled about, an old woman coughed, but it seemed to Stransom +there was hospitality in the thick sweet air. Was it only the +savour of the incense or was it something of larger intention? He +had at any rate quitted the great grey suburb and come nearer to +the warm centre. He presently ceased to feel intrusive, gaining at +last even a sense of community with the only worshipper in his +neighbourhood, the sombre presence of a woman, in mourning +unrelieved, whose back was all he could see of her and who had sunk +deep into prayer at no great distance from him. He wished he could +sink, like her, to the very bottom, be as motionless, as rapt in +prostration. After a few moments he shifted his seat; it was +almost indelicate to be so aware of her. But Stransom subsequently +quite lost himself, floating away on the sea of light. If +occasions like this had been more frequent in his life he would +have had more present the great original type, set up in a myriad +temples, of the unapproachable shrine he had erected in his mind. +That shrine had begun in vague likeness to church pomps, but the +echo had ended by growing more distinct than the sound. The sound +now rang out, the type blazed at him with all its fires and with a +mystery of radiance in which endless meanings could glow. The +thing became as he sat there his appropriate altar and each starry +candle an appropriate vow. He numbered them, named them, grouped +them--it was the silent roll-call of his Dead. They made together +a brightness vast and intense, a brightness in which the mere +chapel of his thoughts grew so dim that as it faded away he asked +himself if he shouldn't find his real comfort in some material act, +some outward worship. + +This idea took possession of him while, at a distance, the black- +robed lady continued prostrate; he was quietly thrilled with his +conception, which at last brought him to his feet in the sudden +excitement of a plan. He wandered softly through the aisles, +pausing in the different chapels, all save one applied to a special +devotion. It was in this clear recess, lampless and unapplied, +that he stood longest--the length of time it took him fully to +grasp the conception of gilding it with his bounty. He should +snatch it from no other rites and associate it with nothing +profane; he would simply take it as it should be given up to him +and make it a masterpiece of splendour and a mountain of fire. +Tended sacredly all the year, with the sanctifying church round it, +it would always be ready for his offices. There would be +difficulties, but from the first they presented themselves only as +difficulties surmounted. Even for a person so little affiliated +the thing would be a matter of arrangement. He saw it all in +advance, and how bright in especial the place would become to him +in the intermissions of toil and the dusk of afternoons; how rich +in assurance at all times, but especially in the indifferent world. +Before withdrawing he drew nearer again to the spot where he had +first sat down, and in the movement he met the lady whom he had +seen praying and who was now on her way to the door. She passed +him quickly, and he had only a glimpse of her pale face and her +unconscious, almost sightless eyes. For that instant she looked +faded and handsome. + +This was the origin of the rites more public, yet certainly +esoteric, that he at last found himself able to establish. It took +a long time, it took a year, and both the process and the result +would have been--for any who knew--a vivid picture of his good +faith. No one did know, in fact--no one but the bland +ecclesiastics whose acquaintance he had promptly sought, whose +objections he had softly overridden, whose curiosity and sympathy +he had artfully charmed, whose assent to his eccentric munificence +he had eventually won, and who had asked for concessions in +exchange for indulgences. Stransom had of course at an early stage +of his enquiry been referred to the Bishop, and the Bishop had been +delightfully human, the Bishop had been almost amused. Success was +within sight, at any rate from the moment the attitude of those +whom it concerned became liberal in response to liberality. The +altar and the sacred shell that half encircled it, consecrated to +an ostensible and customary worship, were to be splendidly +maintained; all that Stransom reserved to himself was the number of +his lights and the free enjoyment of his intention. When the +intention had taken complete effect the enjoyment became even +greater than he had ventured to hope. He liked to think of this +effect when far from it, liked to convince himself of it yet again +when near. He was not often indeed so near as that a visit to it +hadn't perforce something of the patience of a pilgrimage; but the +time he gave to his devotion came to seem to him more a +contribution to his other interests than a betrayal of them. Even +a loaded life might be easier when one had added a new necessity to +it. + +How much easier was probably never guessed by those who simply knew +there were hours when he disappeared and for many of whom there was +a vulgar reading of what they used to call his plunges. These +plunges were into depths quieter than the deep sea-caves, and the +habit had at the end of a year or two become the one it would have +cost him most to relinquish. Now they had really, his Dead, +something that was indefensibly theirs; and he liked to think that +they might in cases be the Dead of others, as well as that the Dead +of others might be invoked there under the protection of what he +had done. Whoever bent a knee on the carpet he had laid down +appeared to him to act in the spirit of his intention. Each of his +lights had a name for him, and from time to time a new light was +kindled. This was what he had fundamentally agreed for, that there +should always be room for them all. What those who passed or +lingered saw was simply the most resplendent of the altars called +suddenly into vivid usefulness, with a quiet elderly man, for whom +it evidently had a fascination, often seated there in a maze or a +doze; but half the satisfaction of the spot for this mysterious and +fitful worshipper was that he found the years of his life there, +and the ties, the affections, the struggles, the submissions, the +conquests, if there had been such, a record of that adventurous +journey in which the beginnings and the endings of human relations +are the lettered mile-stones. He had in general little taste for +the past as a part of his own history; at other times and in other +places it mostly seemed to him pitiful to consider and impossible +to repair; but on these occasions he accepted it with something of +that positive gladness with which one adjusts one's self to an ache +that begins to succumb to treatment. To the treatment of time the +malady of life begins at a given moment to succumb; and these were +doubtless the hours at which that truth most came home to him. The +day was written for him there on which he had first become +acquainted with death, and the successive phases of the +acquaintance were marked each with a flame. + +The flames were gathering thick at present, for Stransom had +entered that dark defile of our earthly descent in which some one +dies every day. It was only yesterday that Kate Creston had +flashed out her white fire; yet already there were younger stars +ablaze on the tips of the tapers. Various persons in whom his +interest had not been intense drew closer to him by entering this +company. He went over it, head by head, till he felt like the +shepherd of a huddled flock, with all a shepherd's vision of +differences imperceptible. He knew his candles apart, up to the +colour of the flame, and would still have known them had their +positions all been changed. To other imaginations they might stand +for other things--that they should stand for something to be hushed +before was all he desired; but he was intensely conscious of the +personal note of each and of the distinguishable way it contributed +to the concert. There were hours at which he almost caught himself +wishing that certain of his friends would now die, that he might +establish with them in this manner a connexion more charming than, +as it happened, it was possible to enjoy with them in life. In +regard to those from whom one was separated by the long curves of +the globe such a connexion could only be an improvement: it +brought them instantly within reach. Of course there were gaps in +the constellation, for Stransom knew he could only pretend to act +for his own, and it wasn't every figure passing before his eyes +into the great obscure that was entitled to a memorial. There was +a strange sanctification in death, but some characters were more +sanctified by being forgotten than by being remembered. The +greatest blank in the shining page was the memory of Acton Hague, +of which he inveterately tried to rid himself. For Acton Hague no +flame could ever rise on any altar of his. + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + + +Every year, the day he walked back from the great graveyard, he +went to church as he had done the day his idea was born. It was on +this occasion, as it happened, after a year had passed, that he +began to observe his altar to be haunted by a worshipper at least +as frequent as himself. Others of the faithful, and in the rest of +the church, came and went, appealing sometimes, when they +disappeared, to a vague or to a particular recognition; but this +unfailing presence was always to be observed when he arrived and +still in possession when he departed. He was surprised, the first +time, at the promptitude with which it assumed an identity for him- +-the identity of the lady whom two years before, on his +anniversary, he had seen so intensely bowed, and of whose tragic +face he had had so flitting a vision. Given the time that had +passed, his recollection of her was fresh enough to make him +wonder. Of himself she had of course no impression, or rather had +had none at first: the time came when her manner of transacting +her business suggested her having gradually guessed his call to be +of the same order. She used his altar for her own purpose--he +could only hope that sad and solitary as she always struck him, she +used it for her own Dead. There were interruptions, infidelities, +all on his part, calls to other associations and duties; but as the +months went on he found her whenever he returned, and he ended by +taking pleasure in the thought that he had given her almost the +contentment he had given himself. They worshipped side by side so +often that there were moments when he wished he might be sure, so +straight did their prospect stretch away of growing old together in +their rites. She was younger than he, but she looked as if her +Dead were at least as numerous as his candles. She had no colour, +no sound, no fault, and another of the things about which he had +made up his mind was that she had no fortune. Always black-robed, +she must have had a succession of sorrows. People weren't poor, +after all, whom so many losses could overtake; they were positively +rich when they had had so much to give up. But the air of this +devoted and indifferent woman, who always made, in any attitude, a +beautiful accidental line, conveyed somehow to Stransom that she +had known more kinds of trouble than one. + +He had a great love of music and little time for the joy of it; but +occasionally, when workaday noises were muffled by Saturday +afternoons, it used to come back to him that there were glories. +There were moreover friends who reminded him of this and side by +side with whom he found himself sitting out concerts. On one of +these winter afternoons, in St. James's Hall, he became aware after +he had seated himself that the lady he had so often seen at church +was in the place next him and was evidently alone, as he also this +time happened to be. She was at first too absorbed in the +consideration of the programme to heed him, but when she at last +glanced at him he took advantage of the movement to speak to her, +greeting her with the remark that he felt as if he already knew +her. She smiled as she said "Oh yes, I recognise you"; yet in +spite of this admission of long acquaintance it was the first he +had seen of her smile. The effect of it was suddenly to contribute +more to that acquaintance than all the previous meetings had done. +He hadn't "taken in," he said to himself, that she was so pretty. +Later, that evening--it was while he rolled along in a hansom on +his way to dine out--he added that he hadn't taken in that she was +so interesting. The next morning in the midst of his work he quite +suddenly and irrelevantly reflected that his impression of her, +beginning so far back, was like a winding river that had at last +reached the sea. + +His work in fact was blurred a little all that day by the sense of +what had now passed between them. It wasn't much, but it had just +made the difference. They had listened together to Beethoven and +Schumann; they had talked in the pauses, and at the end, when at +the door, to which they moved together, he had asked her if he +could help her in the matter of getting away. She had thanked him +and put up her umbrella, slipping into the crowd without an +allusion to their meeting yet again and leaving him to remember at +leisure that not a word had been exchanged about the usual scene of +that coincidence. This omission struck him now as natural and then +again as perverse. She mightn't in the least have allowed his +warrant for speaking to her, and yet if she hadn't he would have +judged her an underbred woman. It was odd that when nothing had +really ever brought them together he should have been able +successfully to assume they were in a manner old friends--that this +negative quantity was somehow more than they could express. His +success, it was true, had been qualified by her quick escape, so +that there grew up in him an absurd desire to put it to some better +test. Save in so far as some other poor chance might help him, +such a test could be only to meet her afresh at church. Left to +himself he would have gone to church the very next afternoon, just +for the curiosity of seeing if he should find her there. But he +wasn't left to himself, a fact he discovered quite at the last, +after he had virtually made up his mind to go. The influence that +kept him away really revealed to him how little to himself his Dead +EVER left him. He went only for THEM--for nothing else in the +world. + +The force of this revulsion kept him away ten days: he hated to +connect the place with anything but his offices or to give a +glimpse of the curiosity that had been on the point of moving him. +It was absurd to weave a tangle about a matter so simple as a +custom of devotion that might with ease have been daily or hourly; +yet the tangle got itself woven. He was sorry, he was +disappointed: it was as if a long happy spell had been broken and +he had lost a familiar security. At the last, however, he asked +himself if he was to stay away for ever from the fear of this +muddle about motives. After an interval neither longer nor shorter +than usual he re-entered the church with a clear conviction that he +should scarcely heed the presence or the absence of the lady of the +concert. This indifference didn't prevent his at once noting that +for the only time since he had first seen her she wasn't on the +spot. He had now no scruple about giving her time to arrive, but +she didn't arrive, and when he went away still missing her he was +profanely and consentingly sorry. If her absence made the tangle +more intricate, that was all her own doing. By the end of another +year it was very intricate indeed; but by that time he didn't in +the least care, and it was only his cultivated consciousness that +had given him scruples. Three times in three months he had gone to +church without finding her, and he felt he hadn't needed these +occasions to show him his suspense had dropped. Yet it was, +incongruously, not indifference, but a refinement of delicacy that +had kept him from asking the sacristan, who would of course +immediately have recognised his description of her, whether she had +been seen at other hours. His delicacy had kept him from asking +any question about her at any time, and it was exactly the same +virtue that had left him so free to be decently civil to her at the +concert. + +This happy advantage now served him anew, enabling him when she +finally met his eyes--it was after a fourth trial--to predetermine +quite fixedly his awaiting her retreat. He joined her in the +street as soon as she had moved, asking her if he might accompany +her a certain distance. With her placid permission he went as far +as a house in the neighbourhood at which she had business: she let +him know it was not where she lived. She lived, as she said, in a +mere slum, with an old aunt, a person in connexion with whom she +spoke of the engrossment of humdrum duties and regular occupations. +She wasn't, the mourning niece, in her first youth, and her +vanished freshness had left something behind that, for Stransom, +represented the proof it had been tragically sacrificed. Whatever +she gave him the assurance of she gave without references. She +might have been a divorced duchess--she might have been an old maid +who taught the harp. + + + +CHAPTER V. + + + +They fell at last into the way of walking together almost every +time they met, though for a long time still they never met but at +church. He couldn't ask her to come and see him, and as if she +hadn't a proper place to receive him she never invited her friend. +As much as himself she knew the world of London, but from an +undiscussed instinct of privacy they haunted the region not mapped +on the social chart. On the return she always made him leave her +at the same corner. She looked with him, as a pretext for a pause, +at the depressed things in suburban shop-fronts; and there was +never a word he had said to her that she hadn't beautifully +understood. For long ages he never knew her name, any more than +she had ever pronounced his own; but it was not their names that +mattered, it was only their perfect practice and their common need. + +These things made their whole relation so impersonal that they +hadn't the rules or reasons people found in ordinary friendships. +They didn't care for the things it was supposed necessary to care +for in the intercourse of the world. They ended one day--they +never knew which of them expressed it first--by throwing out the +idea that they didn't care for each other. Over this idea they +grew quite intimate; they rallied to it in a way that marked a +fresh start in their confidence. If to feel deeply together about +certain things wholly distinct from themselves didn't constitute a +safety, where was safety to be looked for? Not lightly nor often, +not without occasion nor without emotion, any more than in any +other reference by serious people to a mystery of their faith; but +when something had happened to warm, as it were, the air for it, +they came as near as they could come to calling their Dead by name. +They felt it was coming very near to utter their thought at all. +The word "they" expressed enough; it limited the mention, it had a +dignity of its own, and if, in their talk, you had heard our +friends use it, you might have taken them for a pair of pagans of +old alluding decently to the domesticated gods. They never knew-- +at least Stransom never knew--how they had learned to be sure about +each other. If it had been with each a question of what the other +was there for, the certitude had come in some fine way of its own. +Any faith, after all, has the instinct of propagation, and it was +as natural as it was beautiful that they should have taken pleasure +on the spot in the imagination of a following. If the following +was for each but a following of one it had proved in the event +sufficient. Her debt, however, of course was much greater than +his, because while she had only given him a worshipper he had given +her a splendid temple. Once she said she pitied him for the length +of his list--she had counted his candles almost as often as +himself--and this made him wonder what could have been the length +of hers. He had wondered before at the coincidence of their +losses, especially as from time to time a new candle was set up. +On some occasion some accident led him to express this curiosity, +and she answered as if in surprise that he hadn't already +understood. "Oh for me, you know, the more there are the better-- +there could never be too many. I should like hundreds and +hundreds--I should like thousands; I should like a great mountain +of light." + +Then of course in a flash he understood. "Your Dead are only One?" + +She hung back at this as never yet. "Only One," she answered, +colouring as if now he knew her guarded secret. It really made him +feel he knew less than before, so difficult was it for him to +reconstitute a life in which a single experience had so belittled +all others. His own life, round its central hollow, had been +packed close enough. After this she appeared to have regretted her +confession, though at the moment she spoke there had been pride in +her very embarrassment. She declared to him that his own was the +larger, the dearer possession--the portion one would have chosen if +one had been able to choose; she assured him she could perfectly +imagine some of the echoes with which his silences were peopled. +He knew she couldn't: one's relation to what one had loved and +hated had been a relation too distinct from the relations of +others. But this didn't affect the fact that they were growing old +together in their piety. She was a feature of that piety, but even +at the ripe stage of acquaintance in which they occasionally +arranged to meet at a concert or to go together to an exhibition +she was not a feature of anything else. The most that happened was +that his worship became paramount. Friend by friend dropped away +till at last there were more emblems on his altar than houses left +him to enter. She was more than any other the friend who remained, +but she was unknown to all the rest. Once when she had discovered, +as they called it, a new star, she used the expression that the +chapel at last was full. + +"Oh no," Stransom replied, "there is a great thing wanting for +that! The chapel will never be full till a candle is set up before +which all the others will pale. It will be the tallest candle of +all." + +Her mild wonder rested on him. "What candle do you mean?" + +"I mean, dear lady, my own." + +He had learned after a long time that she earned money by her pen, +writing under a pseudonym she never disclosed in magazines he never +saw. She knew too well what he couldn't read and what she couldn't +write, and she taught him to cultivate indifference with a success +that did much for their good relations. Her invisible industry was +a convenience to him; it helped his contented thought of her, the +thought that rested in the dignity of her proud obscure life, her +little remunerated art and her little impenetrable home. Lost, +with her decayed relative, in her dim suburban world, she came to +the surface for him in distant places. She was really the +priestess of his altar, and whenever he quitted England he +committed it to her keeping. She proved to him afresh that women +have more of the spirit of religion than men; he felt his fidelity +pale and faint in comparison with hers. He often said to her that +since he had so little time to live he rejoiced in her having so +much; so glad was he to think she would guard the temple when he +should have been called. He had a great plan for that, which of +course he told her too, a bequest of money to keep it up in +undiminished state. Of the administration of this fund he would +appoint her superintendent, and if the spirit should move her she +might kindle a taper even for him. + +"And who will kindle one even for me?" she then seriously asked. + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + + +She was always in mourning, yet the day he came back from the +longest absence he had yet made her appearance immediately told him +she had lately had a bereavement. They met on this occasion as she +was leaving the church, so that postponing his own entrance he +instantly offered to turn round and walk away with her. She +considered, then she said: "Go in now, but come and see me in an +hour." He knew the small vista of her street, closed at the end +and as dreary as an empty pocket, where the pairs of shabby little +houses, semi-detached but indissolubly united, were like married +couples on bad terms. Often, however, as he had gone to the +beginning he had never gone beyond. Her aunt was dead--that he +immediately guessed, as well as that it made a difference; but when +she had for the first time mentioned her number he found himself, +on her leaving him, not a little agitated by this sudden +liberality. She wasn't a person with whom, after all, one got on +so very fast: it had taken him months and months to learn her +name, years and years to learn her address. If she had looked, on +this reunion, so much older to him, how in the world did he look to +her? She had reached the period of life he had long since reached, +when, after separations, the marked clock-face of the friend we +meet announces the hour we have tried to forget. He couldn't have +said what he expected as, at the end of his waiting, he turned the +corner where for years he had always paused; simply not to pause +was a efficient cause for emotion. It was an event, somehow; and +in all their long acquaintance there had never been an event. This +one grew larger when, five minutes later, in the faint elegance of +her little drawing-room, she quavered out a greeting that showed +the measure she took of it. He had a strange sense of having come +for something in particular; strange because literally there was +nothing particular between them, nothing save that they were at one +on their great point, which had long ago become a magnificent +matter of course. It was true that after she had said "You can +always come now, you know," the thing he was there for seemed +already to have happened. He asked her if it was the death of her +aunt that made the difference; to which she replied: "She never +knew I knew you. I wished her not to." The beautiful clearness of +her candour--her faded beauty was like a summer twilight-- +disconnected the words from any image of deceit. They might have +struck him as the record of a deep dissimulation; but she had +always given him a sense of noble reasons. The vanished aunt was +present, as he looked about him, in the small complacencies of the +room, the beaded velvet and the fluted moreen; and though, as we +know, he had the worship of the Dead, he found himself not +definitely regretting this lady. If she wasn't in his long list, +however, she was in her niece's short one, and Stransom presently +observed to the latter that now at least, in the place they haunted +together, she would have another object of devotion. + +"Yes, I shall have another. She was very kind to me. It's that +that's the difference." + +He judged, wondering a good deal before he made any motion to leave +her, that the difference would somehow be very great and would +consist of still other things than her having let him come in. It +rather chilled him, for they had been happy together as they were. +He extracted from her at any rate an intimation that she should now +have means less limited, that her aunt's tiny fortune had come to +her, so that there was henceforth only one to consume what had +formerly been made to suffice for two. This was a joy to Stransom, +because it had hitherto been equally impossible for him either to +offer her presents or contentedly to stay his hand. It was too +ugly to be at her side that way, abounding himself and yet not able +to overflow--a demonstration that would have been signally a false +note. Even her better situation too seemed only to draw out in a +sense the loneliness of her future. It would merely help her to +live more and more for their small ceremonial, and this at a time +when he himself had begun wearily to feel that, having set it in +motion, he might depart. When they had sat a while in the pale +parlour she got up--"This isn't my room: let us go into mine." +They had only to cross the narrow hall, as he found, to pass quite +into another air. When she had closed the door of the second room, +as she called it, he felt at last in real possession of her. The +place had the flush of life--it was expressive; its dark red walls +were articulate with memories and relics. These were simple +things--photographs and water-colours, scraps of writing framed and +ghosts of flowers embalmed; but a moment sufficed to show him they +had a common meaning. It was here she had lived and worked, and +she had already told him she would make no change of scene. He +read the reference in the objects about her--the general one to +places and times; but after a minute he distinguished among them a +small portrait of a gentleman. At a distance and without their +glasses his eyes were only so caught by it as to feel a vague +curiosity. Presently this impulse carried him nearer, and in +another moment he was staring at the picture in stupefaction and +with the sense that some sound had broken from him. He was further +conscious that he showed his companion a white face when he turned +round on her gasping: "Acton Hague!" + +She matched his great wonder. "Did you know him?" + +"He was the friend of all my youth--of my early manhood. And YOU +knew him?" + +She coloured at this and for a moment her answer failed; her eyes +embraced everything in the place, and a strange irony reached her +lips as she echoed: "Knew him?" + +Then Stransom understood, while the room heaved like the cabin of a +ship, that its whole contents cried out with him, that it was a +museum in his honour, that all her later years had been addressed +to him and that the shrine he himself had reared had been +passionately converted to this use. It was all for Acton Hague +that she had kneeled every day at his altar. What need had there +been for a consecrated candle when he was present in the whole +array? The revelation so smote our friend in the face that he +dropped into a seat and sat silent. He had quickly felt her shaken +by the force of his shock, but as she sank on the sofa beside him +and laid her hand on his arm he knew almost as soon that she +mightn't resent it as much as she'd have liked. + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + + +He learned in that instant two things: one being that even in so +long a time she had gathered no knowledge of his great intimacy and +his great quarrel; the other that in spite of this ignorance, +strangely enough, she supplied on the spot a reason for his stupor. +"How extraordinary," he presently exclaimed, "that we should never +have known!" + +She gave a wan smile which seemed to Stransom stranger even than +the fact itself. "I never, never spoke of him." + +He looked again about the room. "Why then, if your life had been +so full of him?" + +"Mayn't I put you that question as well? Hadn't your life also +been full of him?" + +"Any one's, every one's life who had the wonderful experience of +knowing him. _I_ never spoke of him," Stransom added in a moment, +"because he did me--years ago--an unforgettable wrong." She was +silent, and with the full effect of his presence all about them it +almost startled her guest to hear no protest escape her. She +accepted his words, he turned his eyes to her again to see in what +manner she accepted them. It was with rising tears and a rare +sweetness in the movement of putting out her hand to take his own. +Nothing more wonderful had ever appeared to him than, in that +little chamber of remembrance and homage, to see her convey with +such exquisite mildness that as from Acton Hague any injury was +credible. The clock ticked in the stillness--Hague had probably +given it to her--and while he let her hold his hand with a +tenderness that was almost an assumption of responsibility for his +old pain as well as his new, Stransom after a minute broke out: +"Good God, how he must have used YOU!" + +She dropped his hand at this, got up and, moving across the room, +made straight a small picture to which, on examining it, he had +given a slight push. Then turning round on him with her pale +gaiety recovered, "I've forgiven him!" she declared. + +"I know what you've done," said Stransom "I know what you've done +for years." For a moment they looked at each other through it all +with their long community of service in their eyes. This short +passage made, to his sense, for the woman before him, an immense, +an absolutely naked confession; which was presently, suddenly +blushing red and changing her place again, what she appeared to +learn he perceived in it. He got up and "How you must have loved +him!" he cried. + +"Women aren't like men. They can love even where they've +suffered." + +"Women are wonderful," said Stransom. "But I assure you I've +forgiven him too." + +"If I had known of anything so strange I wouldn't have brought you +here." + +"So that we might have gone on in our ignorance to the last?" + +"What do you call the last?" she asked, smiling still. + +At this he could smile back at her. "You'll see--when it comes." + +She thought of that. "This is better perhaps; but as we were--it +was good." + +He put her the question. "Did it never happen that he spoke of +me?" + +Considering more intently she made no answer, and he then knew he +should have been adequately answered by her asking how often he +himself had spoken of their terrible friend. Suddenly a brighter +light broke in her face and an excited idea sprang to her lips in +the appeal: "You HAVE forgiven him?" + +"How, if I hadn't, could I linger here?" + +She visibly winced at the deep but unintended irony of this; but +even while she did so she panted quickly: "Then in the lights on +your altar--?" + +"There's never a light for Acton Hague!" + +She stared with a dreadful fall, "But if he's one of your Dead?" + +"He's one of the world's, if you like--he's one of yours. But he's +not one of mine. Mine are only the Dead who died possessed of me. +They're mine in death because they were mine in life." + +"HE was yours in life then, even if for a while he ceased to be. +If you forgave him you went back to him. Those whom we've once +loved--" + +"Are those who can hurt us most," Stransom broke in. + +"Ah it's not true--you've NOT forgiven him!" she wailed with a +passion that startled him. + +He looked at her as never yet. "What was it he did to you?" + +"Everything!" Then abruptly she put out her hand in farewell. +"Good-bye." + +He turned as cold as he had turned that night he read the man's +death. "You mean that we meet no more?" + +"Not as we've met--not THERE!" + +He stood aghast at this snap of their great bond, at the +renouncement that rang out in the word she so expressively sounded. +"But what's changed--for you?" + +She waited in all the sharpness of a trouble that for the first +time since he had known her made her splendidly stern. "How can +you understand now when you didn't understand before?" + +"I didn't understand before only because I didn't know. Now that I +know, I see what I've been living with for years," Stransom went on +very gently. + +She looked at him with a larger allowance, doing this gentleness +justice. "How can I then, on this new knowledge of my own, ask you +to continue to live with it?" + +"I set up my altar, with its multiplied meanings," Stransom began; +but she quietly interrupted him. + +"You set up your altar, and when I wanted one most I found it +magnificently ready. I used it with the gratitude I've always +shown you, for I knew it from of old to be dedicated to Death. I +told you long ago that my Dead weren't many. Yours were, but all +you had done for them was none too much for MY worship! You had +placed a great light for Each--I gathered them together for One!" + +"We had simply different intentions," he returned. "That, as you +say, I perfectly knew, and I don't see why your intention shouldn't +still sustain you." + +"That's because you're generous--you can imagine and think. But +the spell is broken." + +It seemed to poor Stransom, in spite of his resistance, that it +really was, and the prospect stretched grey and void before him. +All he could say, however, was: "I hope you'll try before you give +up." + +"If I had known you had ever known him I should have taken for +granted he had his candle," she presently answered. "What's +changed, as you say, is that on making the discovery I find he +never has had it. That makes MY attitude"--she paused as thinking +how to express it, then said simply--"all wrong." + +"Come once again," he pleaded. + +"Will you give him his candle?" she asked. + +He waited, but only because it would sound ungracious; not because +of a doubt of his feeling. "I can't do that!" he declared at last. + +"Then good-bye." And she gave him her hand again. + +He had got his dismissal; besides which, in the agitation of +everything that had opened out to him, he felt the need to recover +himself as he could only do in solitude. Yet he lingered--lingered +to see if she had no compromise to express, no attenuation to +propose. But he only met her great lamenting eyes, in which indeed +he read that she was as sorry for him as for any one else. This +made him say: "At least, in any case, I may see you here." + +"Oh yes, come if you like. But I don't think it will do." + +He looked round the room once more, knowing how little he was sure +it would do. He felt also stricken and more and more cold, and his +chill was like an ague in which he had to make an effort not to +shake. Then he made doleful reply: "I must try on my side--if you +can't try on yours." She came out with him to the hall and into +the doorway, and here he put her the question he held he could +least answer from his own wit. "Why have you never let me come +before?" + +"Because my aunt would have seen you, and I should have had to tell +her how I came to know you." + +"And what would have been the objection to that?" + +"It would have entailed other explanations; there would at any rate +have been that danger." + +"Surely she knew you went every day to church," Stransom objected. + +"She didn't know what I went for." + +"Of me then she never even heard?" + +"You'll think I was deceitful. But I didn't need to be!" + +He was now on the lower door-step, and his hostess held the door +half-closed behind him. Through what remained of the opening he +saw her framed face. He made a supreme appeal. "What DID he do to +you?" + +"It would have come out--SHE would have told you. That fear at my +heart--that was my reason!" And she closed the door, shutting him +out. + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + + +He had ruthlessly abandoned her--that of course was what he had +done. Stransom made it all out in solitude, at leisure, fitting +the unmatched pieces gradually together and dealing one by one with +a hundred obscure points. She had known Hague only after her +present friend's relations with him had wholly terminated; +obviously indeed a good while after; and it was natural enough that +of his previous life she should have ascertained only what he had +judged good to communicate. There were passages it was quite +conceivable that even in moments of the tenderest expansion he +should have withheld. Of many facts in the career of a man so in +the eye of the world there was of course a common knowledge; but +this lady lived apart from public affairs, and the only time +perfectly clear to her would have been the time following the dawn +of her own drama. A man in her place would have "looked up" the +past--would even have consulted old newspapers. It remained +remarkable indeed that in her long contact with the partner of her +retrospect no accident had lighted a train; but there was no +arguing about that; the accident had in fact come: it had simply +been that security had prevailed. She had taken what Hague had +given her, and her blankness in respect of his other connexions was +only a touch in the picture of that plasticity Stransom had supreme +reason to know so great a master could have been trusted to +produce. + +This picture was for a while all our friend saw: he caught his +breath again and again as it came over him that the woman with whom +he had had for years so fine a point of contact was a woman whom +Acton Hague, of all men in the world, had more or less fashioned. +Such as she sat there to-day she was ineffaceably stamped with him. +Beneficent, blameless as Stransom held her, he couldn't rid himself +of the sense that he had been, as who should say, swindled. She +had imposed upon him hugely, though she had known it as little as +he. All this later past came back to him as a time grotesquely +misspent. Such at least were his first reflexions; after a while +he found himself more divided and only, as the end of it, more +troubled. He imagined, recalled, reconstituted, figured out for +himself the truth she had refused to give him; the effect of which +was to make her seem to him only more saturated with her fate. He +felt her spirit, through the whole strangeness, finer than his own +to the very degree in which she might have been, in which she +certainly had been, more wronged. A women, when wronged, was +always more wronged than a man, and there were conditions when the +least she could have got off with was more than the most he could +have to bear. He was sure this rare creature wouldn't have got off +with the least. He was awestruck at the thought of such a +surrender--such a prostration. Moulded indeed she had been by +powerful hands, to have converted her injury into an exaltation so +sublime. The fellow had only had to die for everything that was +ugly in him to be washed out in a torrent. It was vain to try to +guess what had taken place, but nothing could be clearer than that +she had ended by accusing herself. She absolved him at every +point, she adored her very wounds. The passion by which he had +profited had rushed back after its ebb, and now the tide of +tenderness, arrested for ever at flood, was too deep even to +fathom. Stransom sincerely considered that he had forgiven him; +but how little he had achieved the miracle that she had achieved! +His forgiveness was silence, but hers was mere unuttered sound. +The light she had demanded for his altar would have broken his +silence with a blare; whereas all the lights in the church were for +her too great a hush. + +She had been right about the difference--she had spoken the truth +about the change: Stransom was soon to know himself as perversely +but sharply jealous. HIS tide had ebbed, not flowed; if he had +"forgiven" Acton Hague, that forgiveness was a motive with a broken +spring. The very fact of her appeal for a material sign, a sign +that should make her dead lover equal there with the others, +presented the concession to her friend as too handsome for the +case. He had never thought of himself as hard, but an exorbitant +article might easily render him so. He moved round and round this +one, but only in widening circles--the more he looked at it the +less acceptable it seemed. At the same time he had no illusion +about the effect of his refusal; he perfectly saw how it would make +for a rupture. He left her alone a week, but when at last he again +called this conviction was cruelly confirmed. In the interval he +had kept away from the church, and he needed no fresh assurance +from her to know she hadn't entered it. The change was complete +enough: it had broken up her life. Indeed it had broken up his, +for all the fires of his shrine seemed to him suddenly to have been +quenched. A great indifference fell upon him, the weight of which +was in itself a pain; and he never knew what his devotion had been +for him till in that shock it ceased like a dropped watch. Neither +did he know with how large a confidence he had counted on the final +service that had now failed: the mortal deception was that in this +abandonment the whole future gave way. + +These days of her absence proved to him of what she was capable; +all the more that he never dreamed she was vindictive or even +resentful. It was not in anger she had forsaken him; it was in +simple submission to hard reality, to the stern logic of life. +This came home to him when he sat with her again in the room in +which her late aunt's conversation lingered like the tone of a +cracked piano. She tried to make him forget how much they were +estranged, but in the very presence of what they had given up it +was impossible not to be sorry for her. He had taken from her so +much more than she had taken from him. He argued with her again, +told her she could now have the altar to herself; but she only +shook her head with pleading sadness, begging him not to waste his +breath on the impossible, the extinct. Couldn't he see that in +relation to her private need the rites he had established were +practically an elaborate exclusion? She regretted nothing that had +happened; it had all been right so long as she didn't know, and it +was only that now she knew too much and that from the moment their +eyes were open they would simply have to conform. It had doubtless +been happiness enough for them to go on together so long. She was +gentle, grateful, resigned; but this was only the form of a deep +immoveability. He saw he should never more cross the threshold of +the second room, and he felt how much this alone would make a +stranger of him and give a conscious stiffness to his visits. He +would have hated to plunge again into that well of reminders, but +he enjoyed quite as little the vacant alternative. + +After he had been with her three or four times it struck him that +to have come at last into her house had had the horrid effect of +diminishing their intimacy. He had known her better, had liked her +in greater freedom, when they merely walked together or kneeled +together. Now they only pretended; before they had been nobly +sincere. They began to try their walks again, but it proved a lame +imitation, for these things, from the first, beginning or ending, +had been connected with their visits to the church. They had +either strolled away as they came out or gone in to rest on the +return. Stransom, besides, now faltered; he couldn't walk as of +old. The omission made everything false; it was a dire mutilation +of their lives. Our friend was frank and monotonous, making no +mystery of his remonstrance and no secret of his predicament. Her +response, whatever it was, always came to the same thing--an +implied invitation to him to judge, if he spoke of predicaments, of +how much comfort she had in hers. For him indeed was no comfort +even in complaint, since every allusion to what had befallen them +but made the author of their trouble more present. Acton Hague was +between them--that was the essence of the matter, and never so much +between them as when they were face to face. Then Stransom, while +still wanting to banish him, had the strangest sense of striving +for an ease that would involve having accepted him. Deeply +disconcerted by what he knew, he was still worse tormented by +really not knowing. Perfectly aware that it would have been +horribly vulgar to abuse his old friend or to tell his companion +the story of their quarrel, it yet vexed him that her depth of +reserve should give him no opening and should have the effect of a +magnanimity greater even than his own. + +He challenged himself, denounced himself, asked himself if he were +in love with her that he should care so much what adventures she +had had. He had never for a moment allowed he was in love with +her; therefore nothing could have surprised him more than to +discover he was jealous. What but jealousy could give a man that +sore contentious wish for the detail of what would make him suffer? +Well enough he knew indeed that he should never have it from the +only person who to-day could give it to him. She let him press her +with his sombre eyes, only smiling at him with an exquisite mercy +and breathing equally little the word that would expose her secret +and the word that would appear to deny his literal right to +bitterness. She told nothing, she judged nothing; she accepted +everything but the possibility of her return to the old symbols. +Stransom divined that for her too they had been vividly individual, +had stood for particular hours or particular attributes--particular +links in her chain. He made it clear to himself, as he believed, +that his difficulty lay in the fact that the very nature of the +plea for his faithless friend constituted a prohibition; that it +happened to have come from HER was precisely the vice that attached +to it. To the voice of impersonal generosity he felt sure he would +have listened; he would have deferred to an advocate who, speaking +from abstract justice, knowing of his denial without having known +Hague, should have had the imagination to say: "Ah, remember only +the best of him; pity him; provide for him." To provide for him on +the very ground of having discovered another of his turpitudes was +not to pity but to glorify him. The more Stransom thought the more +he made out that whatever this relation of Hague's it could only +have been a deception more or less finely practised. Where had it +come into the life that all men saw? Why had one never heard of it +if it had had the frankness of honourable things? Stransom knew +enough of his other ties, of his obligations and appearances, not +to say enough of his general character, to be sure there had been +some infamy. In one way or another this creature had been coldly +sacrificed. That was why at the last as well as the first he must +still leave him out and out. + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + + +And yet this was no solution, especially after he had talked again +to his friend of all it had been his plan she should finally do for +him. He had talked in the other days, and she had responded with a +frankness qualified only by a courteous reluctance, a reluctance +that touched him, to linger on the question of his death. She had +then practically accepted the charge, suffered him to feel he could +depend upon her to be the eventual guardian of his shrine; and it +was in the name of what had so passed between them that he appealed +to her not to forsake him in his age. She listened at present with +shining coldness and all her habitual forbearance to insist on her +terms; her deprecation was even still tenderer, for it expressed +the compassion of her own sense that he was abandoned. Her terms, +however, remained the same, and scarcely the less audible for not +being uttered; though he was sure that secretly even more than he +she felt bereft of the satisfaction his solemn trust was to have +provided her. They both missed the rich future, but she missed it +most, because after all it was to have been entirely hers; and it +was her acceptance of the loss that gave him the full measure of +her preference for the thought of Acton Hague over any other +thought whatever. He had humour enough to laugh rather grimly when +he said to himself: "Why the deuce does she like him so much more +than she likes me?"--the reasons being really so conceivable. But +even his faculty of analysis left the irritation standing, and this +irritation proved perhaps the greatest misfortune that had ever +overtaken him. There had been nothing yet that made him so much +want to give up. He had of course by this time well reached the +age of renouncement; but it had not hitherto been vivid to him that +it was time to give up everything. + +Practically, at the end of six months, he had renounced the +friendship once so charming and comforting. His privation had two +faces, and the face it had turned to him on the occasion of his +last attempt to cultivate that friendship was the one he could look +at least. This was the privation he inflicted; the other was the +privation he bore. The conditions she never phrased he used to +murmur to himself in solitude: "One more, one more--only just +one." Certainly he was going down; he often felt it when he caught +himself, over his work, staring at vacancy and giving voice to that +inanity. There was proof enough besides in his being so weak and +so ill. His irritation took the form of melancholy, and his +melancholy that of the conviction that his health had quite failed. +His altar moreover had ceased to exist; his chapel, in his dreams, +was a great dark cavern. All the lights had gone out--all his Dead +had died again. He couldn't exactly see at first how it had been +in the power of his late companion to extinguish them, since it was +neither for her nor by her that they had been called into being. +Then he understood that it was essentially in his own soul the +revival had taken place, and that in the air of this soul they were +now unable to breathe. The candles might mechanically burn, but +each of them had lost its lustre. The church had become a void; it +was his presence, her presence, their common presence, that had +made the indispensable medium. If anything was wrong everything +was--her silence spoiled the tune. + +Then when three months were gone he felt so lonely that he went +back; reflecting that as they had been his best society for years +his Dead perhaps wouldn't let him forsake them without doing +something more for him. They stood there, as he had left them, in +their tall radiance, the bright cluster that had already made him, +on occasions when he was willing to compare small things with +great, liken them to a group of sea-lights on the edge of the ocean +of life. It was a relief to him, after a while, as he sat there, +to feel they had still a virtue. He was more and more easily +tired, and he always drove now; the action of his heart was weak +and gave him none of the reassurance conferred by the action of his +fancy. None the less he returned yet again, returned several +times, and finally, during six months, haunted the place with a +renewal of frequency and a strain of impatience. In winter the +church was unwarmed and exposure to cold forbidden him, but the +glow of his shrine was an influence in which he could almost bask. +He sat and wondered to what he had reduced his absent associate and +what she now did with the hours of her absence. There were other +churches, there were other altars, there were other candles; in one +way or another her piety would still operate; he couldn't +absolutely have deprived her of her rites. So he argued, but +without contentment; for he well enough knew there was no other +such rare semblance of the mountain of light she had once mentioned +to him as the satisfaction of her need. As this semblance again +gradually grew great to him and his pious practice more regular, he +found a sharper and sharper pang in the imagination of her +darkness; for never so much as in these weeks had his rites been +real, never had his gathered company seemed so to respond and even +to invite. He lost himself in the large lustre, which was more and +more what he had from the first wished it to be--as dazzling as the +vision of heaven in the mind of a child. He wandered in the fields +of light; he passed, among the tall tapers, from tier to tier, from +fire to fire, from name to name, from the white intensity of one +clear emblem, of one saved soul, to another. It was in the quiet +sense of having saved his souls that his deep strange instinct +rejoiced. This was no dim theological rescue, no boon of a +contingent world; they were saved better than faith or works could +save them, saved for the warm world they had shrunk from dying to, +for actuality, for continuity, for the certainty of human +remembrance. + +By this time he had survived all his friends; the last straight +flame was three years old, there was no one to add to the list. +Over and over he called his roll, and it appeared to him compact +and complete. Where should he put in another, where, if there were +no other objection, would it stand in its place in the rank? He +reflected, with a want of sincerity of which he was quite +conscious, that it would be difficult to determine that place. +More and more, besides, face to face with his little legion, over +endless histories, handling the empty shells and playing with the +silence--more and more he could see that he had never introduced an +alien. He had had his great companions, his indulgences--there +were cases in which they had been immense; but what had his +devotion after all been if it hadn't been at bottom a respect? He +was, however, himself surprised at his stiffness; by the end of the +winter the responsibility of it was what was uppermost in his +thoughts. The refrain had grown old to them, that plea for just +one more. There came a day when, for simple exhaustion, if +symmetry should demand just one he was ready so far to meet +symmetry. Symmetry was harmony, and the idea of harmony began to +haunt him; he said to himself that harmony was of course +everything. He took, in fancy, his composition to pieces, +redistributing it into other lines, making other juxtapositions and +contrasts. He shifted this and that candle, he made the spaces +different, he effaced the disfigurement of a possible gap. There +were subtle and complex relations, a scheme of cross-reference, and +moments in which he seemed to catch a glimpse of the void so +sensible to the woman who wandered in exile or sat where he had +seen her with the portrait of Acton Hague. Finally, in this way, +he arrived at a conception of the total, the ideal, which left a +clear opportunity for just another figure. "Just one more--to +round it off; just one more, just one," continued to hum in his +head. There was a strange confusion in the thought, for he felt +the day to be near when he too should be one of the Others. What +in this event would the Others matter to him, since they only +mattered to the living? Even as one of the Dead what would his +altar matter to him, since his particular dream of keeping it up +had melted away? What had harmony to do with the case if his +lights were all to be quenched? What he had hoped for was an +instituted thing. He might perpetuate it on some other pretext, +but his special meaning would have dropped. This meaning was to +have lasted with the life of the one other person who understood +it. + +In March he had an illness during which he spent a fortnight in +bed, and when he revived a little he was told of two things that +had happened. One was that a lady whose name was not known to the +servants (she left none) had been three times to ask about him; the +other was that in his sleep and on an occasion when his mind +evidently wandered he was heard to murmur again and again: "Just +one more--just one." As soon as he found himself able to go out, +and before the doctor in attendance had pronounced him so, he drove +to see the lady who had come to ask about him. She was not at +home; but this gave him the opportunity, before his strength should +fall again, to take his way to the church. He entered it alone; he +had declined, in a happy manner he possessed of being able to +decline effectively, the company of his servant or of a nurse. He +knew now perfectly what these good people thought; they had +discovered his clandestine connexion, the magnet that had drawn him +for so many years, and doubtless attached a significance of their +own to the odd words they had repeated to him. The nameless lady +was the clandestine connexion--a fact nothing could have made +clearer than his indecent haste to rejoin her. He sank on his +knees before his altar while his head fell over on his hands. His +weakness, his life's weariness overtook him. It seemed to him he +had come for the great surrender. At first he asked himself how he +should get away; then, with the failing belief in the power, the +very desire to move gradually left him. He had come, as he always +came, to lose himself; the fields of light were still there to +stray in; only this time, in straying, he would never come back. +He had given himself to his Dead, and it was good: this time his +Dead would keep him. He couldn't rise from his knees; he believed +he should never rise again; all he could do was to lift his face +and fix his eyes on his lights. They looked unusually, strangely +splendid, but the one that always drew him most had an +unprecedented lustre. It was the central voice of the choir, the +glowing heart of the brightness, and on this occasion it seemed to +expand, to spread great wings of flame. The whole altar flared-- +dazzling and blinding; but the source of the vast radiance burned +clearer than the rest, gathering itself into form, and the form was +human beauty and human charity, was the far-off face of Mary +Antrim. She smiled at him from the glory of heaven--she brought +the glory down with her to take him. He bowed his head in +submission and at the same moment another wave rolled over him. +Was it the quickening of joy to pain? In the midst of his joy at +any rate he felt his buried face grow hot as with some communicated +knowledge that had the force of a reproach. It suddenly made him +contrast that very rapture with the bliss he had refused to +another. This breath of the passion immortal was all that other +had asked; the descent of Mary Antrim opened his spirit with a +great compunctious throb for the descent of Acton Hague. It was as +if Stransom had read what her eyes said to him. + +After a moment he looked round in a despair that made him feel as +if the source of life were ebbing. The church had been empty--he +was alone; but he wanted to have something done, to make a last +appeal. This idea gave him strength for an effort; he rose to his +feet with a movement that made him turn, supporting himself by the +back of a bench. Behind him was a prostrate figure, a figure he +had seen before; a woman in deep mourning, bowed in grief or in +prayer. He had seen her in other days--the first time of his +entrance there, and he now slightly wavered, looking at her again +till she seemed aware he had noticed her. She raised her head and +met his eyes: the partner of his long worship had come back. She +looked across at him an instant with a face wondering and scared; +he saw he had made her afraid. Then quickly rising she came +straight to him with both hands out. + +"Then you COULD come? God sent you!" he murmured with a happy +smile. + +"You're very ill--you shouldn't be here," she urged in anxious +reply. + +"God sent me too, I think. I was ill when I came, but the sight of +you does wonders." He held her hands, which steadied and quickened +him. "I've something to tell you." + +"Don't tell me!" she tenderly pleaded; "let me tell you. This +afternoon, by a miracle, the sweetest of miracles, the sense of our +difference left me. I was out--I was near, thinking, wandering +alone, when, on the spot, something changed in my heart. It's my +confession--there it is. To come back, to come back on the +instant--the idea gave me wings. It was as if I suddenly saw +something--as if it all became possible. I could come for what you +yourself came for: that was enough. So here I am. It's not for +my own--that's over. But I'm here for THEM." And breathless, +infinitely relieved by her low precipitate explanation, she looked +with eyes that reflected all its splendour at the magnificence of +their altar. + +"They're here for you," Stransom said, "they're present to-night as +they've never been. They speak for you--don't you see?--in a +passion of light; they sing out like a choir of angels. Don't you +hear what they say?--they offer the very thing you asked of me." + +"Don't talk of it--don't think of it; forget it!" She spoke in +hushed supplication, and while the alarm deepened in her eyes she +disengaged one of her hands and passed an arm round him to support +him better, to help him to sink into a seat. + +He let himself go, resting on her; he dropped upon the bench and +she fell on her knees beside him, his own arm round her shoulder. +So he remained an instant, staring up at his shrine. "They say +there's a gap in the array--they say it's not full, complete. Just +one more," he went on, softly--"isn't that what you wanted? Yes, +one more, one more." + +"Ah no more--no more!" she wailed, as with a quick new horror of +it, under her breath. + +"Yes, one more," he repeated, simply; "just one!" And with this +his head dropped on her shoulder; she felt that in his weakness he +had fainted. But alone with him in the dusky church a great dread +was on her of what might still happen, for his face had the +whiteness of death. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE ALTAR OF THE DEAD *** + +This file should be named altdd10.txt or altdd10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, altdd11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, altdd10a.txt + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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