The Reason Why

Chapter 17

The moon was shining brightly and a fresh breeze had risen when Tristram

left the hotel and walked rapidly towards the pier. He was mad with rage

and indignation from his bride's cruel taunts. The knowledge of their

injustice did not comfort him, and, though he knew he was innocent of

any desire to have made a bargain, and had taken her simply for her

beautiful self, still, the accusation hurt and angered his pride. How

dared she! How dared her uncle have allowed her to think such things! A

Tancred to stoop so low! He clenched his hands and his whole frame

shook.

And then as he gazed down into the moonlit waves her last words came

back with a fresh lashing sting. "Leave me, I hate you, animal that you

are!" An animal, forsooth! And this is how she had looked at his love!

And then a cold feeling came over him--he was so very just--and he

questioned himself. Was it true? Had it, indeed, been only that? Had he,

indeed, been unbalanced and intoxicated merely from the desire of her

exquisite body? Had there been nothing beyond? Were men really

brutes?--And here he walked up and down very fast. What did it all mean?

What did life mean? What was the truth of this thing, called love?

And so he strode for hours, reasoning things out. But he knew that for

his nature there could be no love without desire--and no desire without

love. And then his conversation with Francis Markrute came back to him,

the day they had lunched in the city, when the financier had given his

views about women.

Yes, they were right, those views. A woman, to be dangerous, must appeal

to both the body and brain of a man. If his feeling for Zara were only

for the body then it was true that it was only lust.

But it was _not_ true; and he thought of all his dreams of her at

Wrayth, of the pictures he had drawn of their future life together, of

the tenderness with which he had longed for this night.

And then his anger died down and was replaced by a passionate grief.

His dream lay in ruins, and there was nothing to look forward to but a

blank, soulless life. It did not seem to him then, in the cold

moonlight, that things could ever come right. He could not for his

pride's sake condescend to any further explanation with her. He would

not stoop to defend himself; she must think what she chose, until she

should of herself find out the truth.

And then his level mind turned and tried to see her point of view. He

must not be unjust. And he realized that if she thought such base things

of him she had been more or less right. But, even so, there was some

mystery beyond all this--some cruel and oppressing dark shadow in her

life.

And his thoughts went back to the night they had first met, and he

remembered then that her eyes had been full of hate--resentment and

hate--as though he, personally, had caused her some injury.

Francis Markrute was so very clever: what plan had he had in his head?

By what scorpion whip had he perhaps forced her to consent to his wishes

and become his--Tristram's--wife? And once more the disturbing

remembrance of Mimo returned, so that, when at last dawn came and he

went back to the hotel, tired out in body and soul, it would not let him

rest in his bed. His bed--in the next room his wife!

But one clear decision he had come to. He would treat her with cold

courtesy, and they would play the game. To part now, in a dramatic

manner, the next day after the wedding, was not in his sense of the

fitness of things, was not what was suitable or seemly for the Tancred

name.

And when he had left her Zara had stood quite still. Some not understood

astonishment caused all her passion to die down. For all the pitifully

cruel experiences of her life she was still very young--young and

ignorant of any but the vilest of men. Hitherto she had felt when they

were kind that it was for some gain, and if a woman relented a second

she would be sure to be trapped. For her self-respect and her soul's

sake she must go armed at all points. And after her hurling at him all

her scorn, instead of her husband turning round and perhaps beating her

(as, certainly, Ladislaus would have done), he had answered with dignity

and gone out of the room.

And she remembered her father's cold mien. Perhaps there was something

else in the English--some other finer quality which she did not yet

understand.

The poor, beautiful creature was like some ill-treated animal ready to

bite to defend itself at the sight of a man.

It spoke highly for the strength and nobility of her character that,

whereas another and weaker woman would have become degraded by the

sorrows of such a life, she had remained pure as the snow, and as cold.

Her strong will and her pride had kept completely in check every

voluptuous instinct which must certainly have always lain dormant in

her. Every emotion towards man was frozen to ice.

There are some complete natures which only respond to the highest touch;

when the body and soul are evenly balanced they know all that is divine

of human love. It is those warped in either of the component parts who

bring sorrow--and lust.

The perfect woman gives willingly of herself, body and soul, to the _one

man_ she loves.

But of all these things Zara was ignorant. She only knew she was

exhausted, and she crept wearily to bed.

Thus neither bride nor bridegroom, on this their wedding night, knew

peace or rest.

They met next day for a late breakfast. They were to go to Paris by the

one o'clock boat. They were both very quiet and pale. Zara had gone into

the sitting-room first, and was standing looking out on the sea when her

husband came into the room, and she did not turn round, until he said

"Good morning," coldly, and she realized it was he.

Some strange quiver passed over her at the sound of his voice.

"Breakfast should be ready," he went on calmly. "I ordered it for eleven

o'clock. I told your maid to tell you so. I hope that gave you time to

dress."

"Yes, thank you," was all she said; and he rang the bell and opened the

papers, which the waiters had piled on the table, knowing the delight of

young bridal pairs to see news of themselves!

And as Zara glanced at her lord's handsome face she saw a cynical,

disdainful smile creep over it, at something he read.

And she guessed it was the account of their wedding; and she, too, took

up another paper and looked at the headings.

Yes, there was a flaming description of it all. And as she finished the

long paragraphs she raised her head suddenly and their eyes met. And

Tristram allowed himself to laugh--bitterly, it was true, but still to

laugh.

The lingering fear of the ways of men was still in Zara's heart and not

altogether gone; she was not yet quite free from the suspicion that he

still might trap her if she unbent. So she frowned slightly and then

looked down at the paper again; and the waiters brought in breakfast at

that moment and nothing was said.

They did not seem to have much appetite, nor to care what they ate, but,

the coffee being in front of her, politeness made Zara ask what sort her

husband took, and when he answered--none at all--he wanted tea--she was

relieved, and let him pour it out at the side-table himself.

"The wind has got up fiercely, and it will be quite rough," he said

presently. "Do you mind the sea?"

And she answered, "No, not a bit."

Then they both continued reading the papers until all pretense of

breakfast was over; and he rose, and, asking if she would be ready at

about half-past twelve, to go on board, so as to avoid the crowd from

the London train, he went quietly out of the room, and from the windows

she afterwards saw him taking a walk on the pier.

And for some unexplained psychological reason, although she had now

apparently obtained exactly the terms she had decided were the only

possible ones on which to live with him, she experienced no sense of

satisfaction or peace!

No pair could have looked more adorably attractive and interesting than

Lord and Lady Tancred did as they went to their private cabin on the

boat an admiring group of Dover young ladies thought, watching from the

raised part above where the steamer starts. Every one concerned knew

that this thrilling bride and bridegroom would be crossing, and the

usual number of the daily spectators was greatly increased.

"What wonderful chinchilla!" "What lovely hair!" and "Oh! isn't he just

too splendid!" they said. And the maid and the valet, carrying the jewel

case, dressing bags, cushion and sable rug, followed, to the young

ladies' extra delight.

The _apanages_ of a great position, when augmented by the romance of a

wedding journey, are dear to the female heart.

They had the large cabin on the upper deck of the _Queen_, and it was

noticed that until the London train could be expected to arrive the

bridal pair went outside and sat where they could not be observed, with

a view towards Dover Castle. But it could not be seen that they never

spoke a word and that each read a book.

When it seemed advisable to avoid the crowd Tristram glanced up and

said,

"I suppose we shall have to stay in that beastly cabin now, or some cad

will snapshot us. Will you come along?"

And so they went.

"It is going to be really quite rough," he continued, when the door was

shut. "Would you like to lie down--or what?"

"I am never the least ill, but I will try and sleep," Zara answered

resignedly, as she undid her chinchilla coat.

So he settled the pillows, and she lay down, and he covered her up; and

as he did so, in spite of his anger with her and all his hurt pride he

had the most maddeningly strong desire to kiss her and let her rest in

his arms. So he turned away brusquely and sat down at the farther end,

where he opened the window to let in some air, and pulled the curtain

over it, and then tried to go on with his book. But every pulse in his

body was throbbing, and at last he could not control the overmastering

desire to look at her.

She raised herself a little, and began taking the finely-worked,

small-stoned, sapphire pins out of her hat. They had been Cyril's gift.

"Can I help you?" he said.

"It is such soft fur I thought I need not take it off to lie down," she

answered coldly, "but there is something hurting in the back."

He took the thing with its lace veil from her, and the ruffled waves of

her glorious hair as she lay there nearly drove him mad with the longing

to caress.

How, in God's name, would they ever be able to live? He must go outside

and fight with himself.

And she wondered why his face grew so stern. And when she was settled

comfortably again and the boat had started he left her alone.

It was, fortunately, so rough that there were very few people about, and

he went far forward and leant on the rail, and let the salt air blow

into his face.

What if, in the end, this wild passion for her should conquer him and he

should give in, and have to confess that her cruel words did not hinder

him from loving her? It would be too ignominious. He must pull himself

together and firmly suppress every emotion. He determined to see her as

little as possible when they got to Paris, and when the ghastly

honeymoon week, that he had been contemplating with so much excitement

and joy should be over, then they would go back to England, and he would

take up politics in earnest, and try and absorb himself in that.

And Zara, lying in the cabin, was unconscious of any direct current of

thought; she was quite unconscious that already this beautiful young

husband of hers had made some impression upon her, and that, underneath,

for all her absorption in her little brother and her own affairs, she

was growing conscious of his presence and that his comings and goings

were things to remark about.

And, strengthened in his resolve to be true to the Tancred pride,

Tristram came back to her as they got into Calais harbor.