Athalie

Now,--if there were in him anything higher than the mere clay that

clotted his bones--now was the moment to show it. And if there were a

diviner armour within reach of his unsteady hand, he must don it now

and rivet it fast in the name of God.

Darkness is a treacherous councillor; he rose heavily, and turned the

switch, flooding the room with light, then flung himself across the

bed, his clenched fists over his face.

In his ears he seemed to hear the dull roar of the current which, so

far through life, had borne him on its crest, tossing, hurling him

whither it had listed.

It should never again have its will of him. This night he must set his

course forever.

"Clive!"

But the faint, clear call was no more real, and no less, than the

voice which was ringing always in his ears, now,--no softer, no less

winning.

"Clive!"

After a moment he raised himself to his elbows and gazed,

half-blinded, toward the door. Then he got clumsily to his feet,

stumbled across the floor, and opened it.

She stood there in her frail chamber robe of silk and swansdown,

smiling, forlornly humorous, and displaying a book as symbol of her

own insomnia.

"Can't you sleep?" she asked. "We'll both be dead in the morning. I

thought I'd better tell you to go to sleep when I saw your light break

out.... So I've come to tell you."

"How could you see that my window was lighted?"

"I was leaning out of my window listening to the little owl, and

suddenly I saw the light from yours fall criss-cross across the

grass.... Can't you sleep?"

"Yes. I'll turn out the light. Will you promise to go to sleep?"

"If I can. The night is so beautiful--"

With a gay little smile and gesture she turned away; but halfway down

the corridor she hesitated and looked back at him.

"If you are sleepless," she called softly, "you may wake me and I'll

talk to you."

There was a window at the end of the corridor. He saw her continue on

past her door and stand there looking out into the garden. She was

still standing there when he closed his door and went back to his

chair.

The night seemed interminable; its moonlit fragrance unendurable. With

sleepless eyes he gazed into the darkness, appalled at the

future--fearing such nights to come--nights like this, alone with

her; and the grim battle to be renewed, inexorably renewed until that

day should come--if ever it was to come--when he dared take in the

name of God what Destiny had already made his own, and was now

clamouring for him to take.