_ FIFTH PART. I BECOME A MOTHER
SEVENTIETH CHAPTER
Next morning, at half-past eight, my Martin left me.
We were standing together in the boudoir between the table and the fire, which was burning briskly, for the sultry weather had gone in the night, and the autumn air was keen, though the early sun was shining.
At the last moment he was unwilling to go, and it was as much as I could do to persuade him. Perhaps it is one of the mysteries which God alone can read that our positions seemed to have been reversed since the day before.
He was confused, agitated, and full of self reproaches, while I felt no fear and no remorse, but only an indescribable joy, as if a new and gracious life had suddenly dawned on me.
"I don't feel that I can leave England now," he said.
"You can and you must," I answered, and then I spoke of his expedition as a great work which it was impossible to put off.
"Somebody else must do it, then," he said.
"Nobody else can, or shall," I replied.
"But our lives are for ever joined together now, and everything else must go by the board."
"Nothing shall go by the board for my sake, Martin. I refuse and forbid it."
Everything had been arranged, everything settled, great sums of money had been subscribed out of faith in him, and him only, and a large company was ready and waiting to sail under his command. He was the Man of Destiny, therefore nothing--nothing whatever--must keep him back.
"Then if I must go, you must go too," he said. "I mean you must go with me to London and wait there until I return."
"That is impossible," I answered.
The eyes of the world were on him now, and the heart of the world was with him. If I did what he desired it would reflect dishonour on his name, and he should not suffer for my sake under any circumstances.
"But think what may happen to you while I am away," he said.
"Nothing will happen while you are away, Martin."
"But how can you be so sure of the future when God alone knows what it is to be?"
"Then God will provide for it," I said, and with that last answer he had to be satisfied.
"You must take a letter from me at all events," said Martin, and sitting at my desk he began to write one.
It is amazing to me now when I come to think of it that I could have been so confident of myself and so indifferent to consequences. But I was thinking of one thing only--that Martin must go on his great errand, finish his great work and win his great reward, without making any sacrifice for me.
After a few minutes he rose from the desk and handed me his letter.
"Here it is," he said. "If the worst comes to the worst you may find it of some use some day."
I took it and doubled it and continued to hold it in my hand.
"Aren't you going to look at it!" he said.
"No."
"Not even to see whom it is written to?"
"That is unnecessary."
I thought I knew it was written to my husband or my father, and it did not matter to me which, for I had determined not to use it.
"It is open--won't you see what it says?"
"That is unnecessary also."
I thought I knew that Martin had tried to take everything upon himself, and I was resolved that he should not do so.
He looked at me with that worshipful expression which seen in the eyes of the man who loves her, makes a woman proud to be alive.
"I feel as if I want to kiss the hem of your dress, Mary," he said, and after that there was a moment of heavenly silence.
It was now half-past eight--the hour when the motor-car had been ordered round to take him to the town--and though I felt as if I could shed drops of my blood to keep back the finger of my cuckoo clock I pointed it out and said it was time for him to go.
I think our parting was the most beautiful moment of all my life.
We were standing a little apart, for though I wanted to throw my arms about his neck at that last instant I would not allow myself to do so, because I knew that that would make it the harder for him to go.
I could see, too, that he was trying not to make it harder for me, so we stood in silence for a moment while my bosom heaved and his breath came quick.
Then he took my right hand in both of his hands and said: "There is a bond between us now which can never be broken."
"Never," I answered.
"Whatever happens to either of us we belong to each other for ever."
"For ever and ever," I replied.
I felt his hands tighten at that, and after another moment of silence, he said:
"I may be a long time away, Mary."
"I can wait."
"Down there a man has to meet many dangers."
"You will come back. Providence will take care of you."
"I think it will. I feel I shall. But if I don't. . . ."
I knew what he was trying to say. A shadow seemed to pass between us. My throat grew thick, and for a moment I could not speak. But then I heard myself say:
"Love is stronger than death; many waters cannot quench it."
His hands quivered, his whole body trembled, and I thought he was going to clasp me to his breast as before, but he only drew down my forehead with his hot hand and kissed it.
That was all, but a blinding mist seemed to pass before my eyes, and when it cleared the door of the room was open and my Martin was gone.
I stood where he had left me and listened.
I heard his strong step on the stone flags of the hall--he was going out at the porch.
I heard the metallic clashing of the door of the automobile--he was already in the car.
I heard the throb of the motor and ruckling of the gravel of the path--he was moving away.
I heard the dying down of the engine and the soft roll of the rubber wheels--I was alone.
For some moments after that the world seemed empty and void. But the feeling passed, and when I recovered my strength I found Martin's letter in my moist left hand.
Then I knelt before the fire, and putting the letter into the flames I burnt it. _