A Duet, with an Occasional Chorus by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (ebook reader web .TXT) 📕

wouldn't have stood it,' said Maude.

It was pleasant to be out in the open air once more, but they were in the pine groves of Woking before Maude had quite shaken off the gloom of that dark, ghost-haunted house. 'After all, you are only twenty- seven,' she remarked as they walked up from the station. She had a way of occasionally taking a subject by the middle in that way.

'What then, dear?'

'When Carlyle was only twenty-seven I don't suppose he knew he was going to do all this.'

'No, I don't suppose so.'

'And his wife--if he were married then--would feel as I do to you.'

'No doubt.'

'Then what guarantee have I that you won't do it after all?'

'Do what?'

'Why, turn out a second Carlyle.'

'Hear me swear!' cried Frank, and they turned laughing into their own little gateway at the Lindens.


CHAPTER XXI--THE LAST NOTE OF THE DUET


Our young married couples may feel that two is company and three is none, but there comes a little noisy intruder to break into their sweet intimacy. The coming of the third is the beginning of a new life for them as well as for it--a life which is more useful and more permanent, but never so concentrated as before. That little pink thing with the blinking eyes will divert some of the love and some of the attention, and the very trouble which its coming has caused will set its mother's heart yearning over it. Not so the man. Some vague resentment mixes with his pride of paternity, and his wife's sufferings rankle in his memory when she has herself forgotten them. His pity, his fears, his helplessness, and his discomfort, give him a share in the domestic tragedy. It is not without cause that in some societies it is the man and not the woman who receives the condolence and the sympathy.

There came a time when Maude was bad, and there came months when she was better, and then there were indications that a day was approaching, the very thought of which was a shadow upon her husband's life. For her part, with the steadfast, gentle courage of a woman, she faced the future with a sweet serenity. But to him it was a nightmare--an actual nightmare which brought him up damp and quivering in those gray hours of the dawn, when dark shadows fall upon the spirit of man. He had a steady nerve for that which affected himself, a nerve which would keep him quiet and motionless in a dentist's chair, but what philosophy or hardihood can steel one against the pain which those whom we love have to endure. He fretted and chafed, and always with the absurd delusion that his fretting and chafing were successfully concealed. A hundred failures never convince a man how impossible it is to deceive a woman who loves him. Maude watched him demurely, and made her plans.

'Do you know, dear,' said she, one evening, 'if you can get a week of your holidays now, I think it would be a very good thing for you to accept that invitation of Mr. Mildmay's, and spend a few days in golfing at Norwich.'

Frank stared at her open-eyed.

'What! Now!'

'Yes, dear, now--at once.'

'But NOW of all times.'

Maude looked at him with that glance of absolute obvious candour which a woman never uses unless she has intent to deceive.

'Yes, dear--but only next week. I thought it would brace you up for- -well, for the week afterwards.'

'You think the week afterwards?'

'Yes, dear. It would help me so, if I knew that you were in your best form.'

'_I_! What can it matter what form _I_ am in. But in any case, it is out of the question.'

'But you could get leave.'

'Oh yes, easily enough.'

'Then do go.'

'And leave you at such a time!'

'No, no, you would be back.'

'You can't be so sure of that. No, Maude, I should never forgive myself. Such an idea would never enter my head.'

'But for my sake--!'

'That's enough, Maude. It is settled.'

Master Frank had a heavy foot when he did bring it down, and his wife recognised a decisive thud this time. With a curious double current of feeling, she was pleased and disappointed at the same time, but more pleased than disappointed, so she kissed the marrer of her plots.

'What an obstinate old boy it is! But of course you know best, and I should much rather have you at home. As you say, one can never be certain.'

In a conflict of wits the woman may lose a battle, but the odds are that she will win the campaign. The man dissipates over many things, while she concentrates upon the one. Maude had made up her mind absolutely upon one point, and she meant to attain it. She tried here, she tried there, through a friend, through her mother, but Frank was still immovable. The ordeal coming upon herself never disturbed her for an instant. But the thought that Frank would suffer was unendurable. She put herself in his place, and realised what it would be to him if he were in the house at such a time. With many cunning devices she tried to lure him off, but still, in his stubborn way, he refused to be misled. And then suddenly she realised that it was too late.

It was early one morning that the conviction came home to her, but he, at her side, knew nothing of it. He came up to her before he left for the City.

'You have not eaten anything, dear.'

'No, Frank, I am not hungry.'

'Perhaps, after you get up--'

'Well, dear, I thought of staying in bed.'

'You are not--?'

'What nonsense, dear! I want to keep very quiet until next week, when I may need all my strength.'

'Dear girl, I would gladly give ten years of my life to have next week past.'

'Silly old boy! But I do think it would be wiser if I were to keep in bed.'

'Yes, yes, do.'

'I have a little headache. Nothing to speak of, but just a little.'

'Don't you think Dr. Jordan had better give you something for it.'

'Do you think so? Well, just as you like. You might call as you pass, and tell him to step up.'

And so, upon a false mission, the doctor was summoned to her side, but found a very real mission waiting for him when he got there. She had written a note for Frank the moment that he had left the house, and he found both it and a conspiracy of silence waiting for him when he returned in the late afternoon. The note was upon the hall-table, and he eagerly tore it open.

'My dear boy,' said this mendacious epistle, 'my head is still rather bad, and Dr. Jordan thought that it would be wiser if I were to have an undisturbed rest, but I will send down to you when I feel better. Until then I had best, perhaps, remain alone. Mr. Harrison sent round to say that he would come to help you to pot the bulbs, so that will give you something to do. Don't bother about me, for I only want a little rest.--MAUDE.'

It seemed very unnatural to him to come back and not to hear the swift rustle of the dress which followed always so quickly upon the creak of his latch-key that they might have been the same sound. The hall and dining-room seemed unhomely without the bright welcoming face. He wandered about in a discontented fashion upon his tiptoes, and then, looking through the window, he saw Harrison his neighbour coming up the path with a straw basket in his hand. He opened the door for him with his finger upon his lips.

'Don't make a row, Harrison,' said he, 'my wife's bad.'

Harrison whistled softly.

'Not--?'

'No, no, not that. Only a headache, but she is not to be disturbed. We expect THAT next week. Come in here and smoke a pipe with me. It was very kind of you to bring the bulbs.'

'I am going back for some more.'

'Wait a little. You can go back presently. Sit down and light your pipe. There is some one moving about upstairs. It must be that heavy-footed Jemima. I hope she won't wake Maude up. I suppose one must expect such attacks at such a time.'

'Yes, my wife was just the same. No, thank you, I've just had some tea. You look worried, Crosse. Don't take things too hard.'

'I can't get the thought of next week out of my head. If anything goes wrong--well there, what can I do? I never knew how a man's nerves may be harrowed before. And she is such a saint, Harrison-- such an absolutely unselfish saint! You'll never guess what she tried to do.'

'What, then?'

'She knew what it would mean to me--what it will mean to me--to sit here in impotence while she goes through this horrible business. She guessed in some extraordinary way what my secret feelings were about it. And she actually tried to deceive me as to when it was to occur- -tried to get me out of the house on one pretext or another until it was all over. That was her plot, and, by Jove, she tried it so cleverly that she would have managed it if something had not put me on my guard. She was a little too eager, unnaturally so, and I saw through her game. But think of it, the absolute unselfishness of it. To consider ME at such a time, and to face her trouble alone and unsupported in order to make it easier for me. She wanted me to go to Norwich and play golf.'

'She must have thought you pretty guileless, Crosse, to be led away so easily.'

'Yes, it was a hopeless attempt to deceive me on such a point, or to dream for an instant that my instincts would not tell me when she had need of me. But none the less it was beautiful and characteristic. You don't mind my talking of these things, Harrison?'

'My dear chap, it is just what you need. You have been bottling things up too much. Your health will break down under it. After all, it is not so serious as all that. The danger is very much exaggerated.'

'You think so.'

'I've had the experience twice now. You'll go to the City some fine morning, and when you come back the whole thing will be over.'

'Indeed it won't. I have made arrangements at the office, and from the hour that she first seems bad I will never stir from the house. For all she may say, I know very well that it gives her strength and courage to feel that I am there.'

'You may not know that it is coming on?'

Frank laughed incredulously.

'We'll see