Read Online Valerie French (1923) by Dornford Yates - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Dornford Yates
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misery and despair. And here, for the very first minute in all these frightful weeks, I felt at peace. The weight that was breaking me was taken: that awful, desolate feeling fell away. Perhaps you can imagine the relief— after two solid months. I could have cried with gratitude. In fact, I did. Then I went to the village and took a room at the inn, so that I might be able to come here every day....
"And now— you've smashed my sanctuary ... sown it with stinging memories ... poisoned the peace I found here ... hunted me back into the night.... I tell you, you've robbed the destitute. You say you're poor. You fool. I am Poverty. And yet you've found a pocket in my rags— and rifled that."
She turned and passed out of the pleasaunce like a stricken queen....
Her red lips parted, wide-eyed, the other watched her go, and, after she had gone, stared at her point of disappearance.
Presently her brown eyes narrowed, and she began to frown.
IT TOOK A good deal to stagger Miss André Strongi'th'arm, but the trick had been done. For this, a finer personality, a blow from an unexpected quarter, and an air of frozen dignity were together responsible. She had been shaken much as a confident boxer may be shaken by the shock of the sudden punch of a better man. She walked home thoughtfully.
THAT SAME NIGHT, in her chamber, she threw herself, dressed, on her bed and considered her plight. Her windows were wide open, and from where she lay she could command the dark heaven, literally crammed with stars. These afforded, as ever, a majestic spectacle, conducive to meditation. Occasionally one of them would leave its place in the pageant and take its dying leap into eternity.... After a little André began to feel that Fate not only was pretty powerful, but possibly knew its job rather better than she.
For more than six dragging months she had been most deeply in love with Anthony Lyveden. Never once in all that time had she viewed this passion impersonally. It was, of course, a question of effort, purely: and the effort had never been made. She had let herself go— let herself love, dream, suffer. Six months ago she had stumbled upon a pool, sunlit, inviting. Without an instant's thought, she had flung herself in.... Soon the sunlight had gone and the waters begun to grow chill. She had stayed there desperately. Gradually the waters had become icy: but she would not come out, because they had once been warm and the sun had lighted them. To-night, for the very first time, she saw herself crouched in the pool, wide-eyed, frozen.... She was only just in time. A moment later the pool was empty.
A feeling of resignation stole into André's heart, as blood that has been congealed begins to liquefy.
The reason for this is plain.
The girl was a fine lover, handsome and careless. This morning she would have given her life to bring back Anthony, and given it gladly, without a thought. But to-night— no. She would not have crooked a finger. This morning she would have asked no questions, made no conditions, but would have gone to the block with the shining eyes of a zealot. To-night she would have seen eternity end before she brought him back for another woman. André was neither selfish nor unselfish. She was just human. Continuing to look through her new, impersonal lens, she perceived that Lyveden's death had been predestinate. This discovery relieved her immensely. Till now she had always felt that she might have saved him. The millstone of self-condemnation began to slip from her neck.... Still using this comfortable lens, she found it perfectly manifest that Anthony was not for her, because he was for no woman. This finding was more than a relief: it was a positive cordial.
The glow of resignation began to course through André's veins, as blood which has got going begins to circulate.
Staring up at the regalia of Destiny, it struck her that Anthony Lyveden had crossed her path like one of those falling stars, flooding her life
"And now— you've smashed my sanctuary ... sown it with stinging memories ... poisoned the peace I found here ... hunted me back into the night.... I tell you, you've robbed the destitute. You say you're poor. You fool. I am Poverty. And yet you've found a pocket in my rags— and rifled that."
She turned and passed out of the pleasaunce like a stricken queen....
Her red lips parted, wide-eyed, the other watched her go, and, after she had gone, stared at her point of disappearance.
Presently her brown eyes narrowed, and she began to frown.
IT TOOK A good deal to stagger Miss André Strongi'th'arm, but the trick had been done. For this, a finer personality, a blow from an unexpected quarter, and an air of frozen dignity were together responsible. She had been shaken much as a confident boxer may be shaken by the shock of the sudden punch of a better man. She walked home thoughtfully.
THAT SAME NIGHT, in her chamber, she threw herself, dressed, on her bed and considered her plight. Her windows were wide open, and from where she lay she could command the dark heaven, literally crammed with stars. These afforded, as ever, a majestic spectacle, conducive to meditation. Occasionally one of them would leave its place in the pageant and take its dying leap into eternity.... After a little André began to feel that Fate not only was pretty powerful, but possibly knew its job rather better than she.
For more than six dragging months she had been most deeply in love with Anthony Lyveden. Never once in all that time had she viewed this passion impersonally. It was, of course, a question of effort, purely: and the effort had never been made. She had let herself go— let herself love, dream, suffer. Six months ago she had stumbled upon a pool, sunlit, inviting. Without an instant's thought, she had flung herself in.... Soon the sunlight had gone and the waters begun to grow chill. She had stayed there desperately. Gradually the waters had become icy: but she would not come out, because they had once been warm and the sun had lighted them. To-night, for the very first time, she saw herself crouched in the pool, wide-eyed, frozen.... She was only just in time. A moment later the pool was empty.
A feeling of resignation stole into André's heart, as blood that has been congealed begins to liquefy.
The reason for this is plain.
The girl was a fine lover, handsome and careless. This morning she would have given her life to bring back Anthony, and given it gladly, without a thought. But to-night— no. She would not have crooked a finger. This morning she would have asked no questions, made no conditions, but would have gone to the block with the shining eyes of a zealot. To-night she would have seen eternity end before she brought him back for another woman. André was neither selfish nor unselfish. She was just human. Continuing to look through her new, impersonal lens, she perceived that Lyveden's death had been predestinate. This discovery relieved her immensely. Till now she had always felt that she might have saved him. The millstone of self-condemnation began to slip from her neck.... Still using this comfortable lens, she found it perfectly manifest that Anthony was not for her, because he was for no woman. This finding was more than a relief: it was a positive cordial.
The glow of resignation began to course through André's veins, as blood which has got going begins to circulate.
Staring up at the regalia of Destiny, it struck her that Anthony Lyveden had crossed her path like one of those falling stars, flooding her life
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