Chapter IX: Part II: I (5)

“Neville,” she said, at length, breaking the dreadful pause, “your life has been--like that?”

He made no answer, and his eyes evaded hers.

“Neville, why didn’t you--let me--know sooner and I would have--set you free?”

If she had spoken such words before, he would have assured her he did not want release; but now empty avowals were useless and the moment too solemn for prevarication. To have uttered an untruth just then would have been like uttering it before Eternity itself. Their naked souls stood face to face with each other at last; all veiling garments of falsehood and insincerity had fallen away.

“You could not,” he replied, after a short silence, forced to undeviating sincerity.

“Yes, I could. I would have--gone away, and after a time you could have had a--divorce on grounds of desertion.”

“That would have been--useless.”

“You mean she would not have--married a divorced man?”

“Yes, she wouldn’t have done that even if she had--cared: But,” he went on, in a different tone, “do not regret anything. It could not be--helped. Nothing could have altered it. Marriage binds till--death.”

Lady Berriedale sat looking vacantly before her as if her inner eyes were gazing into some terrible reality she must accustom herself to face. After a pause she repeated, absently:

“Hand to hand,
Foot to foot,
Man to woman,
Soul to soul.”

The man on the bed shuddered. “Don’t, Beatrice, don’t,” he pleaded, closing his eyes.

For some time neither of them spoke and in the silence the wide, black chasm of despair stretched out before them in paralyzing desolation.

“The cross holds till--death,” she said at last, staring fixedly at the fatal verses; then after what seemed another interminable pause she rose and walked slowly out of the room.

* * * * *

It was midnight. Through Lord Berriedale’s wide-open windows gleamed the summer-night sky with its myriad host of tranquil stars.

The door opened gently, and a white-clad form moved softly toward the bed.

“Are you asleep, Neville?” whispered his wife, coming close to him.

The figure among the pillows shrank away a little, but the merciful darkness hid the sudden movement, also the hostile expression in the sleepless eyes.

“No,” he replied, in schooled tones, “I am not.”

Lady Berriedale hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the silken bedspread, while her husband lay gazing at the white blur beside him, not choosing to assist her in overcoming her evident embarrassment.

“Neville, I want to--talk to you,” she said, with apparent effort.

“Couldn’t you talk to me--in the daytime? If you become--excited now, you know you will not be able to--sleep at all,” he said, with a distinctly uncompromising note in his voice.

“I shall not be able to--sleep, anyhow, and--it will help me to--talk to you. I have been thinking of those--verses and--everything,” she went on, more hurriedly. “How could I help it! It all seemed so hopeless, such an irremediable tragedy! Life, generally, appeared a fearful chaos, a cruel muddle, and I was almost distracted as I thought about it. Then all at once some talks with Isma came back to me. We were speaking about life and came to the conclusion it was only a prison-existence; that this planet was merely a prison-house for the criminals of the universe--the worst criminals, for every one sent here is executed. It seems to me this thought alone can explain all the suffering, misery, and heartache abounding on this earth. But, Neville, fancy entering the next world as criminals! Isn’t it awful! What chances of happiness could we have under such circumstances! And perhaps Death is not even the execution; it may merely be a door, a horrible door, that leads to--a worse doom. Neville, when I am so--near, when I shall enter it so--soon, can’t you understand that I should be terribly anxious?” She spoke rapidly, excitedly now.

Her husband clasped her hand in quick sympathy. “Of course, Beatrice, of course I can.”

After a slight hesitation she went on more calmly, a gentle hush coming into her tones. “But, Neville, I have been praying lately, not just offering formal petitions to some far-away, unheeding Being, but talking to a real Person--what Isma calls laying a detaining hand on God and speaking to Him. I have asked Him about--everything and to help me when all alone I shall enter the Great Beyond. I have been horribly afraid of it, Neville; but”--in the starlit gloom he saw the sudden light that came into her large, shadowy eyes--“I am not afraid any more, for all at once I remembered something I have not thought of for years, and it has taken away all my fears. It is this.” She lowered her voice before saying: “Neville, God so loved us that He sent His only Son down to this desolate prison-house to die for us poor criminals. Think of it--die for us! He was put on the scaffold of the cross for our sakes, and now--we can enter eternity, not as malefactors, but--free! Oh, Neville, you can’t imagine what this means to me!

“I unearthed my Bible to read about it, and do you know the first place my eyes lighted on as I opened the hook was the passage about the dying thief, and as I read it seemed to me he really represents the whole of suffering humanity--dying on the cross of sorrow and pain--yet unable to open the gates of--Paradise. It was only when the thief asked the Spotless One at his side to remember him when He came into His kingdom that he received the immediate promise of--Eden. And Neville, isn’t it wonderful! We can all ask Him--everybody can--to remember us; and He is not far away; He is beside us, and the moment we really ask we receive the promise that we shall be with Him in Paradise! Isn’t it beautiful!”

The soft darkness veiled the trembling form among the pillows and the moisture glistening in the black eyes.

There were some moments’ silence; then Lord Berriedale raised his wife’s emaciated hand to his lips and kissed it reverently before saying, brokenly, “And, Beatrice, it is only when we are on the cross ourselves that we learn to think of--the Crucified One and ask Him to--remember us.”

In the dimness he saw her face transfigured as she said, softly, “The cross is the trysting-place between heaven and earth; the cross is the ladder to--Paradise.”

* * * * *

Outside in the still, warm night a shuddering sigh went through the dreaming flowers in the garden and the stars gleamed as if they were smiling down on the earth through tears.