The Lady of the Shroud(32)
I hurried to the fireplace. It was empty; there was no fire laid. I turned to her, and said:
"Wait just a few minutes here. I shall call someone, and get help-- and fire."
Her voice seemed to ring with intensity as she answered without a pause:
"No, no! Rather would I be"--here she hesitated for an instant, but as she caught sight of her cerements went on hurriedly--"as I am. I trust you--not others; and you must not betray my trust." Almost instantly she fell into a frightful fit of shivering, drawing again her death-clothes close to her, so piteously that it wrung my heart. I suppose I am a practical man. At any rate, I am accustomed to action. I took from its place beside my bed a thick Jaeger dressing- gown of dark brown--it was, of course, of extra length--and held it out to her as I said:
"Put that on. It is the only warm thing here which would be suitable. Stay; you must remove that wet--wet"--I stumbled about for a word that would not be offensive--"that frock--dress--costume-- whatever it is." I pointed to where, in the corner of the room, stood a chintz-covered folding-screen which fences in my cold sponge bath, which is laid ready for me overnight, as I am an early riser.
She bowed gravely, and taking the dressing-gown in a long, white, finely-shaped hand, bore it behind the screen. There was a slight rustle, and then a hollow "flop" as the wet garment fell on the floor; more rustling and rubbing, and a minute later she emerged wrapped from head to foot in the long Jaeger garment, which trailed on the floor behind her, though she was a tall woman. She was still shivering painfully, however. I took a flask of brandy and a glass from a cupboard, and offered her some; but with a motion of her hand she refused it, though she moaned grievously.
"Oh, I am so cold--so cold!" Her teeth were chattering. I was pained at her sad condition, and said despairingly, for I was at my wits' end to know what to do:
"Tell me anything that I can do to help you, and I will do it. I may not call help; there is no fire--nothing to make it with; you will not take some brandy. What on earth can I do to give you warmth?"
Her answer certainly surprised me when it came, though it was practical enough--so practical that I should not have dared to say it. She looked me straight in the face for a few seconds before speaking. Then, with an air of girlish innocence which disarmed suspicion and convinced me at once of her simple faith, she said in a voice that at once thrilled me and evoked all my pity:
"Let me rest for a while, and cover me up with rugs. That may give me warmth. I am dying of cold. And I have a deadly fear upon me--a deadly fear. Sit by me, and let me hold your hand. You are big and strong, and you look brave. It will reassure me. I am not myself a coward, but to-night fear has got me by the throat. I can hardly breathe. Do let me stay till I am warm. If you only knew what I have gone through, and have to go through still, I am sure you would pity me and help me."
To say that I was astonished would be a mild description of my feelings. I was not shocked. The life which I have led was not one which makes for prudery. To travel in strange places amongst strange peoples with strange views of their own is to have odd experiences and peculiar adventures now and again; a man without human passions is not the type necessary for an adventurous life, such as I myself have had. But even a man of passions and experiences can, when he respects a woman, be shocked--even prudish--where his own opinion of her is concerned. Such must bring to her guarding any generosity which he has, and any self-restraint also. Even should she place herself in a doubtful position, her honour calls to his honour. This is a call which may not be--MUST not be--unanswered. Even passion must pause for at least a while at sound of such a trumpet-call.
This woman I did respect--much respect. Her youth and beauty; her manifest ignorance of evil; her superb disdain of convention, which could only come through hereditary dignity; her terrible fear and suffering--for there must be more in her unhappy condition than meets the eye--would all demand respect, even if one did not hasten to yield it. Nevertheless, I thought it necessary to enter a protest against her embarrassing suggestion. I certainly did feel a fool when making it, also a cad. I can truly say it was made only for her good, and out of the best of me, such as I am. I felt impossibly awkward; and stuttered and stumbled before I spoke:
"But surely--the convenances! Your being here alone at night! Mrs. Grundy--convention--the--"
She interrupted me with an incomparable dignity--a dignity which had the effect of shutting me up like a clasp-knife and making me feel a decided inferior--and a poor show at that. There was such a gracious simplicity and honesty in it, too, such self-respecting knowledge of herself and her position, that I could be neither angry nor hurt. I could only feel ashamed of myself, and of my own littleness of mind and morals. She seemed in her icy coldness--now spiritual as well as bodily--like an incarnate figure of Pride as she answered: