Margaret Pedler

“ He was an incomparable accompanist, and Diana, feeling herself supported, and upborne, sang with a beauty of interpretation, an intensity of feeling, that had been impossible before. And through it all she was acutely conscious of Max Errington's proximity—knew instinctively that the passion of the song was shaking him equally with herself. It was as though some intangible live wire were stretched between them so that each could sense the emotion of the other—as though the garment with which we so persistently conceal our souls from one another's eyes were suddenly stripped away. ”

“ Whilst she was singing a pin could have been heard to fall; it almost seemed as though the huge concourse of people held its breath so that not a single note of the wonderful voice should be missed, and when she ceased there fell a silence—that brief silence, like a sigh of ecstasy, which, is the greatest tribute that any artiste can receive.
Then, with a crash like thunder, the applause broke out once more, and presently, reappearing with the sheaf of roses in her hand, Diana sang "The Haven of Memory" as an encore. ”

“ She stretched out her hand impulsively.
"Not against you, Max! Never that! How could I be? . . . But I don't think you're being quite fair to Diana. You ought to tell her the truth."
He wheeled round.
"No one knows better than you how impossible that is."
"Don't you trust her then—the woman you're asking to be your wife?"
The tinge of irony in her voice brought a sudden light of anger to his eyes.
"That's not very just of you, Adrienne," he said coldly. "I would trust her with my life. But I have no right to pledge the trust of others—and that's what I should be doing if I told her. ”

“ Diana, staring down from her box at that exquisite, breathing incarnation of grace on the stage below, felt that she hated Adrienne. She had never hated any one before, and the intensity of her feeling frightened her. Since a few months ago, strange, deep emotions had stirred within her—a passion of love and a passion of hatred such as in the days of her simple girlhood she would not have believed to be possible to any ordinary well-brought-up young Englishwoman. That Max was capable of a fierce heat of passion, she knew. ”

“ Later, Diana was to learn that Baroni's most scathing criticisms and most furious reproofs were always delivered in a low, half-whispering tone that fairly seared the victim. "That is your idea, then—to shout, and yell, and bellow your love like a caged bull? When will you learn that music is not noise, and that love—love"—and the odd, husky voice thrilled suddenly to a note as soft and tender as the cooing of a wood-pigeon—"can be expressed piano—ah, but pianissimo—as well as by blowing great blasts of sound from those leathern bellows which you call your lungs?" ”

“ So, then, the secret which must be hidden from his wife was yet known to Carlo Baroni! Diana felt her former resentment surge up anew within her. It was unfair—shamefully unfair for Max to treat her in this way! It was making a mockery of their love.
Baroni's keen old eyes read the conflict of emotions in her face, and he laid his finger unerringly upon the sore spot. His one idea was to prevent Diana from marrying, to guard her—as he mentally phrased it—for the art he loved so well, and he was prepared to stick at nothing that might aid his cause. ”

“ It was to save his country from the Prussian claw that Max had sacrificed himself with the pure fervour of a patriot, at no matter what cost! And she, Diana, by her lack of faith, her petty jealousy, had sent him from her, had seen to it that that cost included even his happiness!
She had failed him every way—trailing the glory of love's golden raiment in the dust of the highway.
If she had but fulfilled her womanhood, what might not her unshaken faith have meant to a man fighting a battle against such bitter odds? ”

“ There were harassed lines in his face, and its worn contours and shadowed eyes called aloud to the compassionate womanhood within her, to the mother-instinct that involuntarily longs to heal and soothe.
"Tell me what I can do, Max?"
A smile curved his lips, half whimsical, half sad.
"You can do for me what you do for all the rest of the world—I won't ask more of you," he replied. "Sing to me."
Diana coloured warmly. The first part of his speech stung her unbearably.
"Sing to you?" she repeated.
"Yes. I'm very tired, and nothing is more restful than music." ”

“ Baroni beamed back at her benevolently.
"So! Thus we agree—we are at one, as master and pupil should be. Is it not so?"
Diana nodded, amusement in her eyes.
"Then, being agreed, we can continue our lesson. Imagine yourself, please, to be Delilah, brooding on your vengeance, gloating over what you are about to accomplish. Can you not picture her to yourself—beautiful, sinister, like a snake that winds itself about the body"—his voice fell to a penetrating whisper—"and, in her heart, dreaming of the triumph that shall bring Samson at last a captive to destruction?" ”

“ Love isn't all passion. It's tenderness and shielding and service, dear, as well as fire and flame. A man loves his wife in all the little ways of daily life as well as in the big ways of eternity."
He stooped his head, and a shaft of sunlight flickered across his bright hair. Diana watched it with a curious sense of detachment. Very gently he laid her hands against his lips, and the next moment he was swinging away from her across the stretch of yellow sand, leaving her alone once more with the sea and the sky and the wheeling gulls. ”

“ Presently Diana lifted her head.
"Max, it was because I loved you so that I was so hard and bitter—only because I loved you so."
"I know," was all he said. And he kissed her hair.
"Do you?"—wistfully. "I wonder if—if a man can understand how a woman can be so cruel to what she loves?"
And as he had no answer to this (since, after all, a man cannot be expected to understand all—or even very much—that a woman does) , he kissed her lips.
She crept a little nearer to him.
"Max! Do you still care for me—like that?" There was wonder and thanksgiving in her voice. ”

“ And the Russian's quick "Thank God!" set the seal of assuredness upon it.
"Yes—thank God," answered Diana simply.
The car, which was to take the accompanist on to Brutton Square, slipped away down the lamp-lit street, and Diana fled upstairs to her room.
She must be alone—alone with her thoughts. She no longer dreaded the night and its quiet solitude. It was a solitude pervaded by a deep, abiding peace, the anteroom of happiness.
To-morrow she would go to Max, and tell him that love had taught her belief and faith—all that he had asked of her and that she had so failed to give. ”

“ It had seized hold of her imagination, kept him vividly before her mind as nothing else could have done, and now Olga Lermontof's strange hints and innuendos gave a fresh fillip to her desire to know in what way Max Errington differed from his fellows.
"It would be dishonourable of him to make you care," Miss Lermontof had said.
The words seemed to ring in Diana's ears, and side by side with them, as though to add a substance of reality, came the memory of Errington's own bitter exclamation: "I forgot that I'm a man barred out from all that makes life worth living!" ”

“ CHAPTER XV DIANA'S DECISION Max had been gone a week—a week of distress and miserable indecision for Diana, racked as she was between her love and her conviction that marriage under the only circumstances possible would inevitably bring unhappiness. Over and above this fear there was the instinctive recoil she felt from Errington's demand for such blind faith. Her pride rebelled against it. If he loved her and had confidence in her, why couldn't he trust her with his secret? ”

“ The humour of the situation suddenly caught hold of Diana, and for the moment she, too, forgot that she had reason to be bitterly offended with this man.
"Waiting for you to rescue me—as usual," she retorted frivolously. "You seem to be making quite a habit of it."
He smiled grimly.
"I'm making a virtue of necessity," he flung back at her. "What on earth do your people mean by letting you roam about by yourself like this? You're not fit to be alone! As though a railway accident weren't sufficient excitement for any average woman, you must needs try to drown yourself. ”

“ Diana smiled in sympathy.
"Well, if he was crochety with you, Miss de Gervais," she observed, "you can perhaps imagine what he was like to me!"
"Was he so very bad?" asked Adrienne, laughing. "Every one says his temper is diabolical."
"It is," replied Diana, with conviction.
"Still," broke in Errington's quiet voice, "I should have thought he would have found it somewhat difficult to be very angry with Miss Quentin."
Diana fancied she detected the familiar flavour of irony in the cool tones. ”

“ A little flutter of excitement rippled through the big rooms when at last she mounted the platform. People who had hitherto been content to remain, in the hall, regarding the music as a pleasant accompaniment to the interchange of the day's news and gossip, now came flocking in through the doorways, hoping to find seats, and mostly having to content themselves with standing-room.
Almost as in a dream, Diana waited for the applause to subside, her eyes roaming halt-unconsciously over the big assembly. ”

“ How many lives are going to be darkened by the same shadow? Oh, it's terrible, Max, terrible!"
The tears filled her eyes.
"Don't!" said Max unsteadily. "Don't! I know it's bad enough. Perhaps you're right—I oughtn't to have spoken to Diana, I hoped things would right themselves eventually, but you and Baroni have put another complexion upon matters. It's all an inextricable tangle, whichever way one looks at it—come good luck or bad! . . . I suppose I was wrong—I ought to have waited. But now . . . now . . . Before God, Adrienne! ”

“ Then—then it was you—in Grellingham Place that day?"
"Yes," he acknowledged simply.
Diana bent her head to hide the small, secret smile that carved her lips.
At last, after a pause—
"But why—why do you not want to know me?" she asked wonderingly.
"Not want to?" he muttered below his breath. "God in heaven! Not want to!" His hand moved restlessly. After a minute he answered her, speaking very gently.
"Because I think you were born to stand in the sunshine. Some of us stand always in the shadow; it creeps about our feet, following us wherever we go. ”

“ Something in the tense excitement of his whispering tones struck an answering chord within Diana, and oblivious for the moment of all else except Delilah's passionate thirst for vengeance, she sang with her whole soul, so that when she ceased, Baroni, in a sudden access of artistic fervour, leapt from his seat and embraced her rapturously.
"Well done! That is, true art—art and intelligence allied to the voice of gold which the good God has given you." ”

“ Diana shook her head.
"Mightn't you reverse that, Pobs, and say that he would trust me—if he loves me?"
"No, not necessarily." Alan sucked at his pipe. "He knows what his secret is, and whether it is right or wrong for you to share it. You haven't that knowledge. And that's where your trust must come in. You have to believe in him enough to leave it to him to decide whether you ought to be told or not. Have you no confidence in his judgment?"
"I don't think husbands and wives should have secrets from one another," protested Diana obstinately. ”

“ Never before had Jerry seen him thus with the mask off, and he felt as though he were watching a soul's agony unveiled.
"Max . . . dear old chap . . ." he stammered. "Can't I help?"
With an obvious effort Errington regained his composure, but his face was grey as he answered:—
"Neither you nor any one else, Jerry, boy. I must dree my weird, as the Scotch say. And that's the hard part of it—to be your own judge and jury. A man ought not to be compelled to play the double role of victim and executioner." ”

“ Then, after a moment, with sudden, womanish curiosity: "How did you know I was singing here to-night?"
"Olga told me. She's bitterly opposed to all that I've been doing, but"—smiling faintly—"she has occasional spasms of compassion, when she remembers that, after all, I'm a poor devil who's being thrust out of paradise."
"She loves you," Diana answered simply. "I think she has loved you—better—than I did, Max. But not more!" she added jealously. "No one could love you more, dear." ”

“ An old lady with very white hair and a reputation for a witty tongue that had been dipped in vinegar came up to Diana as she descended from the platform.
"My dear," she said, and the keen old eyes were suddenly blurred and dim. "I want to thank you. One is apt to forget—when one is very lonely—that we've most of us worn love's crown just once—if only for a few moments of our lives. . . . And it's good to be reminded of it, even though it may hurt a little."
"That was the Dowager Duchess of Linfield," murmured Olga, when the old lady had moved away again. ”

“ Olga turned away.
"I can't wish you success," she said bitterly. "The day that brings you success will be the blackest hour of my life."
Errington's face softened a little.
"Olga, you are unreasonable—"
"Unreasonable, am I? Because I grudge paying for the sins of others? . . . If that is unreasonable—yes, then, I am unreasonable! Now, go. Go, and remember, Max, we are on opposite sides of the camp."
Errington paused at the door.
"So long as you keep your honour—our honour—clean," he said, "do what you like! I have utter, absolute trust in Diana." ”

“ From the moment she had learned the truth about her husband, her thoughts had centred solely round herself, dwelling—in, all humility, it is true—but still dwelling none the less egotistically upon her personal failure, her own irreparable mistake, her self-wrought bankruptcy of all the faith and absolute belief a woman loves to give her lover. She had thrust these things before his happiness, whereas the stern and simple creed of love places the loved one first and everything else immeasurably second. ”

“ Olga spoke consideringly, an element of contemptuous wonder in her voice.
The memory of words that Max had uttered long ago stirred in Diana's mind.
"You don't know what love means!"
Limned against the darkness she could see once more the sun-warmed beach at Culver Point, the blue, sparkling sea with the white gulls wheeling above it, and Max—Max standing tall and straight beside her, with a shaft of sunlight flickering across his hair, and love illimitable in his eyes.
"You don't know what love means!" ”

“ She regarded him questioningly.
"It looks as though you suspected the secret of being a disgraceful one—something of which Max is ashamed to tell you. Do you"—sharply—"think that?"
"Of course I don't!" she burst out indignantly.
"Then why trouble? Possibly the matter concerns some one else besides himself, and he may not be at liberty to tell you anything—he might have a dozen different reasons for keeping his own counsel. And the woman who loves him and is ready to be his wife is the first to doubt and, distrust him! Diana, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. ”