The Twilight of the Souls Part 51

"Constance! Constance!" cried Adeline, calling her back, holding her in her arms.

"Mamma! Mamma!... Aunt Constance! Aunt Constance!"

Constance rose to her feet, made a vast effort to overcome that dizzy faintness ... and, now that the body of the small, fair-haired woman lay moaning upon the body of the dead man, she opened the door.... Was every light in the house full on? Why were the maids sobbing like that? Was it real then, was it real?... Was this Marietje, clasping her so convulsively, trembling in her little nightgown?... Were these Guy and Alex, sleepy still their gentle eyes, cheeky their little mouths?...

Were these Gerdy--oh, so frightened!--and little Constant?...

"Aunt Constance, Aunt Constance!"

She overcame her dizziness, she did not faint:

"Darlings, my darlings, hush!... Hush!..."

And she led them back to their bedroom.... What could she do but embrace them, but press them to her?...

"Darlings, my darlings!..."

The wail of despair rang out once more.... Oh, she must go back to that poor woman! Oh, she had not arms enough, not lives enough!... Oh, she must multiply her life tenfold!...

"Mamma." It was Addie speaking. "The cab is here.... I'm going for Dr.

Alsma. One of the maids has gone to another doctor, close by."

"Yes, dear; and then ... and then go to ... oh, go to Grandmamma's!

She's expecting us! I know for certain that she's expecting us!... Stay in here, darlings, don't leave the room, promise me!... And, Addie, don't tell her ... don't tell her anything yet ... tell her ... tell her that...."

The wail of despair rang out. And there were only two of them, now that Addie was gone, there were only two of them, helpless, she and Henri, in that night of death and snow--as though death were snowing outside, as though death were snowing into the brightly-lit house, with its all-obliterating whiteness, dazzlingly light, dazzlingly white--there were only two of them....

CHAPTER XXIX

The twilight had pa.s.sed away in the dazzling white light.

But yonder, in the big, dark, chilly house, the old woman sat waiting.

She had sent the maids to bed and told them to put out all the lights, but she herself did not go to bed; she waited. She sat in her big, dark room, with just a candle flickering on the table beside her.

It seemed to her that she was waiting a long time. She felt very cold, though she had put her little black shawl round her shoulders. And she peered into the frowning shadow, which quivered with dancing black ghosts and with the flickering of the candle. It was a dance of ghosts, hovering silently round the room, and they seemed to have come from the distant past to haunt her, to have come out of the things of long ago, of very long ago: far-off, forgotten years of childhood and girlhood; the young man whom she had married; their long life together; their children, young around them.... Then the rise of their greatness; the rise of the white palaces in tropical climes; the glitter around them and their children of all the glittering vanity of the world.... Then the children growing up and moving farther and farther away from her....

And she saw it all looming so darkly and so menacingly in the long, dark rooms, while she sat waiting and watching by the flickering flame of the candle.

Then her old head nodded very slowly up and down, as if to say that she recognized all the things of long ago which loomed so darkly and threateningly, that there was not a ghost which she did not recognize, but that she did not understand why they all thronged round her to-night, like a vision of menace, a dance of death.... And, while she sat and wondered, it was as if each dancing phantom blacked out something of the room and the present that she still saw faintly gleaming, blacked out one outline after the other with dancing phantom after dancing phantom, until at last all was black around her ... and not only the room and the present had become black, but also the pale visions of the past: the years of childhood and girlhood; the young man whom she had married; and the children; and all the life, yonder, in the white palaces amid the tropical scenery: black, everything became black, until everything was blotted out, until the dance of all those phantoms was obliterated in shadow and the old woman, nodding her head, still sat peering into the dark, with the flickering candle beside her.

Thus she sat and waited; and, with the darkness before her, it was as if she did not see the candle, now that everything had become black. Thus she sat and waited and wondered whether many and many nights would still drag their blackness over her: how many black hours, how many black nights could the black future still drag along?... Until at last she heard a bell, clanging like a shrill alarm through the livid darkness.

And mechanically--because she was waiting--she rose painfully and took her candle. Through the dark room and the dim pa.s.sage she went; and the faint light went with her, so faint that she did not see it, that she just groped her way painfully through the pa.s.sage and down the stairs, still holding high the candle.... The stairs seemed steep to her and she went cautiously, waiting on each step; at each step the faint light of the candle descended with her; and behind her the night acc.u.mulated with each step that she left behind her.... She had now reached the foot of the stairs; and, slowly and painfully, with the dragging tread of age, she went through the hall to the front door, whence the alarm had rung.

And her trembling hand opened the door. Addie entered:

"Granny, is that you yourself?..."

"Yes, child."

"I came, Granny dear, because Mamma said that you expected us."

"Yes."

"Were you waiting up for us, Granny?"

"Yes."