The Hermit of Far End | Page 5

I received the ring--at once, as I told you I should."
"Well, sit down and let us talk"--impatiently. "it doesn't matter--
nothing matters since you have come in time."
"In time? What do you mean? In time for what? Pauline, tell me"--
advancing a step--"tell me, in God's Name, what are you doing in this
place?" He glanced significantly round the shabby room with its
threadbare carpet and distempered walls.
"I'm living here--"
"/Living here? You?/"
"Yes. Why not? Soon"--indifferently--"I shall be dying here. It is, at
least, as good a place to die in as any other."
"Dying?" The man's pleasant baritone voice suddenly shook. "Dying?
Oh, no, no! You've been ill--I can see that--but with care and good
nursing--"
"Don't deceive yourself, my friend," she interrupted him remorselessly.
"See, come to the window. Now look at me--and then don't talk any
more twaddle about care and good nursing!"
She had drawn him towards the window, till they were standing
together in the full blaze of the setting sun. Then she turned and faced
him--a gaunt wreck of splendid womanhood, her fingers working
nervously, whilst her too brilliant eyes, burning in their grey, sunken,
sockets, searched his face curiously.
"You've worn better than I have," she observed at last, breaking the
silence with a short laugh. "you must be--let me see--fifty. While I'm
barely thirty-one--and I look forty--and the rest."
Suddenly he reached out and gathered her thin, restless hands into his,

holding them in a kind, firm clasp.
"Oh, my dear!" he said sadly. "Is there nothing I can do?"
"Yes," she answered steadily. "There is. And it's to ask you if you will
do it that I sent for you. Do you suppose"--she swallowed, battling with
the tremor in her voice--"that I /wanted/ you to see me --as I am now?
It was months--months before I could bring myself to send you the
little pearl ring."
He stooped and kissed one of the hands he held.
"Dear, foolish woman! You would always be--just Pauline--to me."
Her eyes softened suddenly.
"So you never married, after all?"
He straightened his shoulders, meeting her glance squarely--almost
sternly.
"Did you imagine that I should?" he asked quietly.
"No, no, I suppose not." She looked away. "What a mess I made of
things, didn't I? However, it's all past now; the game's nearly over,
thank Heaven! Life, since that day"--the eyes of the man and woman
met again in swift understanding--"has been one long hell."
"He--the man you married--"
"Made that hell. I left him after six years of it, taking the child with
me."
"The child?" A curious expression came into his eyes, resentful, yet
tinged at the same time with an oddly tender interest. "Was there a
child?"
"Yes--I have a little daughter."
"And did your husband never trace you?" he asked, after a pause.
"He never tried to"--grimly. "Afterwards--well, it was downhill all the
way. I didn't know how to work, and by that time I had learned my
health was going. Since then, I've lived on the proceeds of the
pawnshop--I had my jewels, you know--and on the odd bits of money I
could scrape together by taking in sewing."
A groan burst from the man's dry lips.
"Oh, my God!" he cried. "Pauline, Pauline, it was cruel of you to keep
me in ignorance! I could at least have helped."
She shook her head.
"I couldn't take--/your/ money," she said quietly. "I was too proud for
that. But, dear friend"--as she saw him wince--"I'm not proud any

longer. I think Death very soon shows us how little--pride--matters; it
falls into its right perspective when one is nearing the end of things. I'm
so little proud now that I've sent for you to ask your help."
"Anything--anything!" he said eagerly.
"It's rather a big thing that I'm going to ask, I'm afraid. I want you," she
spoke slowly, as though to focus his attention, "to take care of my
child--when I am gone."
He stared at her doubtfully.
"But her father? Will he consent?" he asked.
"He is dead. I received the news of his death six months ago. There is
no one--no one who has any claim upon her. And no one upon whom
she has any claim, poor little atom!"--smiling rather bitterly. "Ah! Don't
deny me!"--her thin, eager hands clung to his--"don't deny me--say that
you'll take her!"
"Deny you? But, of course I shan't deny you. I'm only thankful that you
have turned to me at last--that you have not quite forgotten!"
"Forgotten?" Her voice vibrated. "Believe me or not, as you will, there
has never been a day for nine long years when I have not
remembered--never a night when I have not prayed God to bless
you----" She broke off, her mouth working uncontrollably.
Very