The Return | Page 9

'if I could possibly
have spared you--if there had been anybody in the world to go to... I am
in horrible, horrible trouble, Sheila. It is inconceivable. I said I was
sane: so I am, but the fact is--I went out for a walk; it was rather stupid,
perhaps, so soon: and I think I was taken ill, or something--my heart. A
kind of fit, a nervous fit. Possibly I am a little unstrung, and it's all, it's
mainly fancy: but I think, I can't help thinking it has a little
distorted--changed my face; everything, Sheila; except, of course,
myself. Would you mind looking?' He walked slowly and with face
averted towards the dressing-table.
'Simply a nervous--to make such a fuss, to scare!...' began his wife,
following him.
Without a word he took up the two old china candlesticks, and held
them, one in each lank-fingered hand, before his face, and turned.

Lawford could see his wife--every tint and curve and line as distinctly
as she could see him. Her cheeks never had much colour; now her
whole face visibly darkened, from pallor to a dusky leaden grey, as she
gazed. It was not an illusion then; not a miserable hallucination. The
unbelievable, the inconceivable, had happened. He replaced the candles
with trembling fingers and sat down.
'Well,' he said, 'what is it really; what is it really, Sheila? What on earth
are we to do?'
'Is the door locked?' she whispered. He nodded. With eyes fixed
stirlessly on his face, Sheila unsteadily seated herself, a little out of the
candlelight, in the shadow. Lawford rose and put the key of the door on
his wife's little rose-wood prayer-desk at her elbow, and deliberately sat
down again.
'You said "a fit"--where?'
'I suppose--is--is it very different--hopeless? You will understand my
being... O Sheila, what am I to do?' His wife sat perfectly still,
watching him with unflinching attention.
'You gave me to understand--"a nervous fit"; where?'
Lawford took a deep breath, and quietly faced her again. 'In the old
churchyard, Widderstone; I was looking at--at the gravestones.'
'A fit; in the old churchyard, Widderstone--you were "looking at the
gravestones"?'
Lawford shut his mouth. 'I suppose so--a fit,' he said presently. 'My
heart went a little queer, and I sat down and fell into a kind of doze--a
stupor, I suppose. I don't remember anything more. And then I woke;
like this.'
'How do you know?'
'How do I know what?'

'"Like that"?'
He turned slowly towards the looking-glass. 'Why, here I am!'
She gazed at him steadily; and a hard, incredulous, almost cunning
glint came into her wide blue eyes. She took up the key carelessly,
glanced at it; glanced at him. 'It has made me--I mean the first shock,
you know--it has made me a little faint.' She walked slowly,
deliberately to the door, and unlocked it. 'I'll get a little sal volatile.' She
softly drew out the key, and without once removing her eyes from his
face, opened the door and pushed the key noiselessly in on the other
side. 'Please stay there; I won't be a minute.'
Lawford's face smiled--a rather desperate, yet for all that a patient,
resolute smile. 'Oh yes, of course,' he said, almost to himself, 'I had not
foreseen--at least--you must do precisely what you please, Sheila. You
were going to lock me in. You will, however, before taking any final
step, please think over what it will entail. I did not think you would,
after such proof, in this awful trouble--I did not think you would simply
disbelieve me, Sheila. Who else is there to help me? You have the letter
in your hand. Isn't that sufficient proof? It was overwhelming proof to
me. And even I doubted too; doubted myself. But never mind; why I
should have dreamed you would believe me; or taken this awful thing
differently, I don't know. It's rather awful to have to go on alone. But
there, think it over. I shall not stir until I hear the voices. And then:
honestly, Sheila, I couldn't face quite that. I'd sooner give up altogether.
Any proof you can think of-- I will... O God, I cannot bear it!' He
covered his face with his hands; but in a moment looked up, unmoved
once more. 'Why, for that matter,' he added slowly, and, as it were, with
infinite pains, a faint thin smile again stealing into his face, 'I think,' he
turned wearily to the glass, 'I think, it's almost an improvement!'
Something deep in those dark clear pupils, out of that lean adventurous
face, gleamed back at him, the distant flash of a heliograph, as it were,
height to height, flashing 'Courage!' He shuddered, and shut his eyes.
'But I would really rather,' he aided in a quiet childlike