The Malefactor [97]
he answered.
"You do!" she declared, "and I will know. For years you have been a man with a shell upon your heart. Every good impulse, every kind thought seemed withered up. You were absolutely cold, absolutely passionless! I have worn myself out trying to call you back to your own, to set the blood flowing once more in your veins, to break for one moment the barriers which you had set up against Nature herself. Some day, I felt that it must come--and it has! Who has done it, Wingrave? It is not--Emily?"
"Emily!" he exclaimed. "I have not seen her for months. She has no interest for me--she never had."
"Then tell me who it is!"
"Nature unaided," he answered carelessly. "Human intervention was not necessary. It was the swing of the pendulum, Ruth, the eternal law which mocks our craving for content. I had no sooner succeeded in my new capacity--than the old man crept out."
"But Nature has her weapons always," she protested. "Wingrave, was it the child?"
He touched the electric bell. Taking her hands, he bent down and kissed them.
"Dear lady," he said, "goodbye--good fortune! Conquer new worlds, and remember--white is your color, and Paquin your one modiste. Morrison, Lady Barrington's carriage.
"LOVE SHALL MAKE ALL THINGS NEW"
Mr. Pengarth was loth to depart. He felt that all pretext for lingering was gone, that he had outstayed his welcome. Yet he found himself desperately striving for some excuse to prolong an interview which was to all effects and purposes concluded.
"I will do my best, Sir Wingrave," he said, reverting to the subject of their interview, "to study Miss Lundy's interests in every way. I will also see that she has the letter you have left for her within eight days from now. But if you could see you way to leave some sort of address so that I should have a chance of communicating with you, if necessary, I should assume my responsibilities with a lighter heart."
Wingrave gave vent to a little gesture of annoyance.
"My dear sir," he said, "surely I have been explicit enough. I have told you that, within a week from now, I shall be practically dead. I shall never return to England--you will never see me again. I have given life here a fair trial, and found it a failure. I am going to make a new experiment--and it is going to be in an unexplored country. You could not reach me there through the post. You, I think, would scarcely car to follow me. Let it go at that."
Mr. Pengarth took up his bag with a sigh.
"Sir Wingrave," he said, "I am a simple man, and life with me has always been a very simple affair. I recognize the fact, of course, that I am not in a position to judge or to understand the mental attitude of one who, like yourself, has suffered and passed through great crises. But I cannot help wishing that you could find it possible to try, for a time, the quiet life of a countryman in this beautiful home of yours."
Wingrave shrugged his shoulders.
"Mr. Pengarth," he said, "no two men are born alike into this world. Some are blessed with a contented mind, some are wanderers by destiny. You will forgive me if I do not discuss the matter with you more fully. My journey, wherever and whatever it is, is inevitable."
Mr. Pengarth was braver than he had ever been in his life.
"Sir Wingrave," he said, "there is one journey which we must all take in God's good time. But the man who starts before he is called finds no welcome at the end. The greatest in life are those who are content to wait!"
"I am not in the least disposed to doubt it, Mr. Pengarth," Wingrave said calmly. "Now I must really send you away."
So Mr. Pengarth went, but Wingrave was not long destined to remain in solitude. There was a sound of voices in the hall, Morrison's protesting, another insistent. Then the door opened, and Wingrave looked up with darkening face, which did not lighten when he recognized the intruder.
"Aynesworth!" he exclaimed, "what are you doing here? What do you want with me?"
"Five minutes," Aynesworth answered, "and I mean to have it. You may as well tell
"You do!" she declared, "and I will know. For years you have been a man with a shell upon your heart. Every good impulse, every kind thought seemed withered up. You were absolutely cold, absolutely passionless! I have worn myself out trying to call you back to your own, to set the blood flowing once more in your veins, to break for one moment the barriers which you had set up against Nature herself. Some day, I felt that it must come--and it has! Who has done it, Wingrave? It is not--Emily?"
"Emily!" he exclaimed. "I have not seen her for months. She has no interest for me--she never had."
"Then tell me who it is!"
"Nature unaided," he answered carelessly. "Human intervention was not necessary. It was the swing of the pendulum, Ruth, the eternal law which mocks our craving for content. I had no sooner succeeded in my new capacity--than the old man crept out."
"But Nature has her weapons always," she protested. "Wingrave, was it the child?"
He touched the electric bell. Taking her hands, he bent down and kissed them.
"Dear lady," he said, "goodbye--good fortune! Conquer new worlds, and remember--white is your color, and Paquin your one modiste. Morrison, Lady Barrington's carriage.
"LOVE SHALL MAKE ALL THINGS NEW"
Mr. Pengarth was loth to depart. He felt that all pretext for lingering was gone, that he had outstayed his welcome. Yet he found himself desperately striving for some excuse to prolong an interview which was to all effects and purposes concluded.
"I will do my best, Sir Wingrave," he said, reverting to the subject of their interview, "to study Miss Lundy's interests in every way. I will also see that she has the letter you have left for her within eight days from now. But if you could see you way to leave some sort of address so that I should have a chance of communicating with you, if necessary, I should assume my responsibilities with a lighter heart."
Wingrave gave vent to a little gesture of annoyance.
"My dear sir," he said, "surely I have been explicit enough. I have told you that, within a week from now, I shall be practically dead. I shall never return to England--you will never see me again. I have given life here a fair trial, and found it a failure. I am going to make a new experiment--and it is going to be in an unexplored country. You could not reach me there through the post. You, I think, would scarcely car to follow me. Let it go at that."
Mr. Pengarth took up his bag with a sigh.
"Sir Wingrave," he said, "I am a simple man, and life with me has always been a very simple affair. I recognize the fact, of course, that I am not in a position to judge or to understand the mental attitude of one who, like yourself, has suffered and passed through great crises. But I cannot help wishing that you could find it possible to try, for a time, the quiet life of a countryman in this beautiful home of yours."
Wingrave shrugged his shoulders.
"Mr. Pengarth," he said, "no two men are born alike into this world. Some are blessed with a contented mind, some are wanderers by destiny. You will forgive me if I do not discuss the matter with you more fully. My journey, wherever and whatever it is, is inevitable."
Mr. Pengarth was braver than he had ever been in his life.
"Sir Wingrave," he said, "there is one journey which we must all take in God's good time. But the man who starts before he is called finds no welcome at the end. The greatest in life are those who are content to wait!"
"I am not in the least disposed to doubt it, Mr. Pengarth," Wingrave said calmly. "Now I must really send you away."
So Mr. Pengarth went, but Wingrave was not long destined to remain in solitude. There was a sound of voices in the hall, Morrison's protesting, another insistent. Then the door opened, and Wingrave looked up with darkening face, which did not lighten when he recognized the intruder.
"Aynesworth!" he exclaimed, "what are you doing here? What do you want with me?"
"Five minutes," Aynesworth answered, "and I mean to have it. You may as well tell