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Chapter 15 · Idols

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  Chapter fifteen of Idols by William John Locke. This LibriVox recording is in the
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  public domain. Recording by Simon Evers, Chapter fifteen. An aunt with whom
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  she had lived during the brief interval between her return from India and her marriage,
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  granted her a temporary asylum. If you will do with me until I
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  can find some place of my own, said Irene. I shall be grateful.
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  My house is always open to dear Robert's child, said miss Beechcroft.
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  She was an austere woman of primitive views, to whom Irini had ever been
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  a puzzle. As the heroine of this amazing scandal, Her niece was a
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  dark and inscrutable enigma. Its transcendency bewildered her. Having no moral foot rule
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  capable of measuring it. She did not attempt the obviously futile. She waved
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  explanatory details. Her dead brother's only child craved shelter. She gave it willingly
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  her own companionship. She withheld as much as possible for a variety of reasons,
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  not the least was the gentlewoman's respect for the dignity of suffering. The
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  freedom from misdirected sympathy was a boon to Irene. She needed solitude. Her
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  universe had crashed about her ears. At first she was dazed, stunned,
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  scarce knowing where to turn amid the shapeless wreckage. Few things could exemplify the
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  cataclysm overwhelming proof coming to Appall at the end of his life that there was
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  no Christ, that his opostulate had been pure silliness could not have brought him
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  more face to face with chaos. It was too sudden for her to look
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  within for contributing causes. Introspection comes later. At present, she could only
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  stare aghast at the ruins of her life, and proceeded to shape for herself
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  a temporary existence. On the second day after the trial, she found a
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  measure of mental calmness. The past was irrevocable. Gerard's self revelation was final.
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  There was no Gerard as she conceived him. Her worship had been a
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  futility. She was conscious that love was dead, killed outright by lightning.
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  Further, she could not go, noither could she forecast the consequences of her
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  threatened divorce. Reconstruction for the present was essential. The effort braced her strength.
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  Nature came to her aid, Pride armed her with stepfastness. The fod
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  of suffering steeled her will. She could humble herself no more to Gerard,
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  to super mercy. In everything hand forward, the initiative would lie with him.
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  She throned herself on snow capped heights. Yet from time to time her
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  warm woman's nature drooped earthward and sought for Hugh. But she shrank tremblingly from
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  meeting him. Wrote him a second vague postponement, then regretted it an hour
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  after she must see him, and that soon before he encountered Gerard. What
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  would happen if the two men met Gerard mad with jionous passion, Hugh blazing
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  with indignation. The gentler elements within her took fright. A month before,
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  she would have scouted the idea of violence as presposterous. Bloodshed in private quarrel
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  was a thing in England of the evil and romantic past. But she would
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  have counted as equally unreal the story of the recent sensational incidents in their lives.
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  Now nothing seemed too improbable for possibility. Calais sand stretched, wet and
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  blood stained before her imagination, But still she shrank from meeting Hugh. She
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  lay awake long that night in the primly furnished room where once she dreamed so
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  many girlish dreams of the man she was about to marry, and strove to
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  disentangle the complexities of her emotions. She dreaded Hugh learning Gerard's resolution, a
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  kindly impulse to send Hugh as mediator between Gerard and herself, the strangled of
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  birth by a fierce grip of pride. If she alone could not convince her
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  husband of her fidelity, what mattered his conviction at all? And then the
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  realization of that of which she stood self accused lapped her woman's chastity in far
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  from head to foot. At last she slept. The morning came, but
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  with it no letter of repentance, as she vaguely hoped from Girard his decision
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  had been final. In the afternoon, she went to Sunnington and superintended the
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  packing of her belongings. The maid Jane aided her, glancing every now and
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  then with scared eyes at the set face of her mysteries, and dimly comprehending
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  the anguish that lay behind. If I Reny had gone through the rooms tearful
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  and sobbing, the girl would have wept in sympathy, but there was that
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  in Irene's manner that held her silent, and he once did irone break down.
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  And then she was alone in the upstairs room that had been a nursery,
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  and whose high fire guards fixtures with it not disturbed when they took over.
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  The house still suggested its former use, and a small child's bed was
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  there occupied In her time by many deday waves, the associations the room had
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  always evoked came back to her. She threw herself face downward on the bed.
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  Thank God, thank God, she cried, I haven't got a child.
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  Three days are suspicient for a sensation to become ancient history in London.
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  This truth, like most others, is tame and unobtrusive, and therefore apt
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  to be disregarded by the still bloodshot vision of the hero of the sensation.
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  The man in the street had forgotten Hugh, but Hugh overrated his memory and
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  studiously kept out of his way. The West End knew him not what time
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  he did not remain restless in his flat. He walked or bicycled for miles
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  into the country, filling his lungs with the free, sweet spring air and
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  drowning anxieties in the intoxication of motion and freedom. He had not yet recovered
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  his mental balance, rudely upset by the extraord determination of the trial, not
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  whether to call himself arrant knave or blatant fool, a sorry don Quixote degraded
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  at the instant of self plumage, or a poor marionette with limbs jerked ludicrously
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  by destiny. He had faced death for a contemptuous sentiment of personal honor in
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  connection with a woman he despised. Life had been purchased for him at the
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  cost of the honor of the one woman in the world for whom he would
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  have gladly died a thousand deaths. How did his honor stand gratrusquely tragic under
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  any aspect. An interview with Irene and Gerard would perhaps restore some kind of
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  equilibrium, but hitherto that had been denied twice. Irene had written a brief
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  not yet delicately, commanded a scrupulous obedience, But the truer and still untainted
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  fountains of his heart welled out towards those two whose magnificent devotion transcended all powers
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  of gratitude and an exquisite sadness of our irony was superadded. Would the jury
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  of convicted him. After Gardener's handling of the evidence, cold reason returned an
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  assured negative. But this those two should never know. Meanwhile, he hungered
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  for the sight of Irene. A friend visited him on the third morning after
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  the trial. Cahusac, a rosy gold spectacled man who held a high position
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  on one of the great dailies. He was preparing to ride forth on his
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  quest of the intoxication of budding lanes. I must get Holloway out of my
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  blood, he explained, welcoming his friend. I think of nothing but God's
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  air and sunshine. What brings you from your bed at this hour, selfishness,
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  I come begging favors. I am the last one to confer them.
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  What are your plans? Asked Cahusac, throwing himself into a seat. Hugh
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  made a helpless gesture. I am a ruined man, Cahusac, my dear
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  fow half the world forgets, the rest forgives. I've been about much lately,
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  sounding society, the heroic condones, pardon my frankness, and those two
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  who are the Miriams, of course, they are much discussed, I know,
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  said Hugh. Look you ask for my plans. This is one.
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  I enter no house where I should be pardoned, and the Merriams condemned.
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  You must excuse me, comment, said Cahusac, somewhat at fault. I
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  am aware of delicate ground, But why do you speak of them more unitedly?
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  Miriam has broken no conventions. Naturally he will be received everywhere as usual.
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  He will claim equal privileges for his wife. But they are not continuing
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  to live together as if nothing had happened. Just as if nothing had happened,
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  replied Hugh, with the conviction of ignorance. And your relations remain unbroken.
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  Certainly, said Hugh. Cahusac, who'd been ascending the scale of mystification,
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  rose from his chair. You are three astounding people. The world won't
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  stand that. You know. It's almost too much for me. And I'm
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  not squeamish. Now hang it. All the muddy complaisant and Miriam is the
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  last man in the world beats me altogether. Look here, I'll come back
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  another time. I must digest this first. The cleanly Britton in him was
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  disgusted. Polyandrian taradl Fiego is ethnotically interesting. In England, it wears a
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  different aspect. Hugh broke into a half laugh, and, striding forward,
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  seized Cahusac by the shoulder and swung him round. You silly fool, he
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  cried, Do you suppose I'm the man to let you talk like this about
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  my private affairs? If things were as you think, as it never entered
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  your head, that the story was a lie from beginning to end, that
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  missus Merriam is the purest of women and the most spotless of wives. That
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  it was the desperate stroke of two heroic friends to save a man's life.
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  Journalist's rosy face expressed blank astonishment. He sank upon a chair and muttered,
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  inker and wonder and apology. You are more astounding than ever, he exclaimed.
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  At last, of course, I has taken in at the judge,
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  jury, press, public, everybody. I'm heartily thankful. Suddenly he grew
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  very grave. Are you aware that you have committed a blazing indiscretion in telling
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  you? Yes, I know something of men? Said Hugh in his grand
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  way. You can no more ne'er man in calm weather than you can nor
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  ship. I myself am not aware what a villain guy could be if it
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  were worth my while. I'll try to keep straight, but don't trust any
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  one else with your secret. The blabbing tongue, the ears of the police,
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  that her very woman had up for burgery. I need say no more.
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  He walked about the room, agitated. You are right, of course,
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  I knew it in a vague sort of way. But I've been driven
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  half crazy the strain of a laugh month unimaginable. God knows how I pulled
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  through. You're the first man I've spoken to. I couldn't better let you
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  think ill of her, and your kind, honest mug was so refreshing to
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  me. I couldn't help it. I never realized clearly before that to save
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  her from penal servitude, I must consent to stand by and see the world
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  throw mud at her. What a complicated wreck one's life becomes as soon as
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  it leaves the rails. Don't make yourself miserable with false analogies, said Cahusac
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  philosophically, I'm sick of the rails, and I want to get off them.
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  For that reason, I asked what your plans were. I meant,
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  for the immediate future, I shall give up the bar said Hugh with a
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  shudder. The least criminal work, I said. I was a ruined man.
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  That's why you persist in misunderstanding, said the other with a smile.
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  You forget. I came to ask a favor and thinking of going abroad for
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  a holiday, taking it now instead of in the inevitable audust wife doesn't montige
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  I am companionless? Will you take pity on me? Hugh's impulsive nature responded
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  to all the motives of the kindly act. He seized Cahusac's hand. I
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  won't thank you. There's some deeds of friendship beyond thanks. I'll come with
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  you all the more gladly now that I have told you. But I should
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  like to see the mirriams before we start. Cahusac lifted his eyebrows. You
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  haven't seen them yet. He received discomfort from his glance, He explained vaguely.
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  Take your own time, said Cahusac, gain rising to go. Thinks
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  are slack just now. I can get away pretty easily. The good Samaritan
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  departed, and Hugh remained for some time speculative at the window, looking out
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  into the sunshine. He knewed Cahusac and his wife fairly intimately. For several
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  years. They were friends too, of the Merriams, but hitherto he had
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  shrouded his private life from them in his customary reserve. He wondered, now,
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  at the indiscreet expansiveness of which you've been guilty? The secret was safe
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  enough with Cahusac, but would he not have betrayed it just the same to
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  a less scrupulous friend who come to him that morning with a sympathetic face.
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  The thought gave qualms. The past year had loosened his character. The past
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  month had played havoc with it had weakened too. His firm grasp of logical
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  issues Causack had enabled his mind to gain fresh hold. He faced the consequences
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  of Arena's action with the pain of a great dismay. The physical longing for
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  air and sun and forgetfulness in quick motion lured him out of doors. He
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  rode hard through Sunnington and along the heath Road until he reached the open country.
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  He traversed many miles that day, going along lonely stretches of clear road
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  and racing speed, which brought the thrill into his veins and the lust of
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  physical life that flood's thought he was in that condition of being which in a
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  more elemental age would have carried him bessark into the joy of battle. Civilization
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  substitutes the bicycle. Perhaps, after all, we are no more grotesque than
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  our ancestors. The dusk was falling when he returned by the heath road.
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  Dusty and thoroughly fatigued, he glanced wistfully at the Merriam's house as he sped
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  by. The lights were not yet lit. It bore a strange aspect of
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  desertion. For a moment he felt the impulse to turn and seek admittance,
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  get through the strange first interview, whose indefinite postponement was growing stranger still.
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  Irene's sensitiveness he could understand. Besides, she had written twice. But Gerard's
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  silence was unaccountable. Was he waiting, despite Irene's messages for him to take
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  the initiative. The temptation was strong, but obegiance to Irene prevailed. He
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  went on, letting his weary mind drift on trivial matters. He would have
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  a meal, smoke, and sleep like a log. It would be the
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  first sound on stirring sleep for many weeks. The night before he He had
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  a shivering dream of Minner, which had kept him awake till morning. Where
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  was she, he wondered vaguely. Suddenly a figure crossing the road in front
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  of him caused him to ring his bell. The figure turned, he recognized
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  Irene. In a second he had dismounted and was by her side. She
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  extended her hand, looked at him frankly in the waning light. Fate has
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  arrange it for us, he said. If he knew how I've been hungering
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  for speech with you, I couldn't send for you. She replied. There
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  were reasons. I know. I've waited patiently, but you feel what I
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  have to express somehow to you and Gerard. You mustn't see Gerard, she
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  said, with a little break in her voice. I think it woul be
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  best if you did not see me either. What is the good of words
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  to thank me? We understand each other too well to need them. Couldn't
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  you go away for a holiday somewhere? It would be the best for all
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  of us. You mustn't be hurt, indeed you mustn't, but you will
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  do what I ask you anything in the wide world. In fact, I'm
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  going abroad with cohusac. I was only waiting until I had seen you.
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  But I don't understand. He stopped, regarded her anxiously. In spite of
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  the falling darkness, he could see that she looked thoroughly. Ill, I
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  may as well tell you at once, she said, with quiet abruptness,
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  moving a step nearer to him and laying her fingers on the bicycle handle.
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  You are making the same mistake as I did, reckoning on Gerard's acquiescence.
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  He is unspeakably angry. We have quarreled over it. That is why I
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  didn't send for you. If you could do anything, I should ask you.
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  But it is a matter solely concerning the two of us. Time will
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  set it right. She spoke so quietly that he never suspected the truth.
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  On the other hand, he could well realize that Gerard not consenting the public
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  sacrifice of his honor should arouse his furious indignation. His conception of the breach
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  between Irenian Gerard were sufficient in itself to keep him speechless with pain and remorse.
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  Wasn't your fault, dear Hugh, he said at length, comfortingly.
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  I don't think I regret what I did. Gerald was here it in the
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  same light as myself some day now. To course this division between you and
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  which I have pleaded guilty, it would have settled everything at once. The
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  words fell somewhat incoherently, he writhed, under a sense of impotence. How
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  could he comfort or reassure her? His wits floundered. Suddenly they came to
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  sharp contact with an idea. Why was she walking away from the house at
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  this hour of the evening? He put the question, I am staying with
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  my aunt in Redcliffe Gardens. She replied calmly. It was best to avoid
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  attention at home. I cannot blame Gerard, said Hugh in a low voice.
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  And yet I thought, yes, said Irenia, looking him full in
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  the face. We both thought, hitherto they've been standing still by the roadside.
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  Now She turned and moved onwards, Hugh accompanying her, slowly wheeling his
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  machine an incongruous element. You can see now why I want you to go
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  away for a little, only too clearly, he said bitterly. Irene knew
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  that he did not see at all, and cast up at him an instinctive
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  feminine glance, half grateful, half pitying. When should you start practically at
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  once, as soon as Cahusac can get away? Are you anxious that I
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  should go quickly? I should feel easier? Can I come to see you
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  before I leave? Let's not. It will make no difference between us.
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  The old friendship remains. There come to the end of a line of Vena
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  residences, to the cross road that marked the beginning of Sunnington proper. Irene
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  halted. You must ride on, she said, sending her hand. He
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  saw the social necessity. They were remarked couple, and several passers by had
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  already turned curious eyes upon them. I shall stay abroad until I have your
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  permission to return, he said. She smiled sadly. It would not be
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  her summons that would bring him back from exile, but she nodded an assent.
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  He pressed her hand, murmured her, God bless you, and rode
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  off. The interview that each had looked forward to with such trepidation was over.
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  Irene felt somewhat faint from the strain Deceit was alian to her nature,
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  which ever erred in over frankness. Yet when he quickly disappeared from her following
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  eyes into the gathering darkness, she gave a little sob of relief and hurried
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  on at a brisk pace. End of Chapter fifteen,