The Price of Things

Chapter 18

Denzil was wounded at Neuve Chapelle on March 10th, 1915, though not

seriously--a flesh wound in the side. He had done most gallantly and was

to get a D.S.O. He had been in hospital for two weeks and was almost well

when Amaryllis came up to Brook Street, on the first of April. She had

read his name in the list of wounded, and had telegraphed to his mother

in great anxiety, but had been reassured, and now she throbbed with

longing to see him.

To know that soon he would be going back again to the Front, was almost

more than she could bear. She was feeling wonderfully well herself. Her

splendid constitution and her youth made natural things cause her little

distress. She was neither nervous nor fretful, nor oppressed with fancies

and moods. And she looked very beautiful with her added dignity of mien

and perfectly chosen clothes.

Mrs. Ardayre came at once to see her the morning after her arrival, and

suggested that Denzil should come when out driving that afternoon.

Amaryllis tried to accept this suggestion calmly, and not show her joy,

and Mrs. Ardayre left, promising to bring her son about four.

Denzil had said to his Mother when he knew that Amaryllis was coming

to London:

"Mum, I want to see Amaryllis--please arrange it for me. And Mum, don't

ask me anything about it; just leave me there when we drive and come and

fetch me when I must go in again."

Mrs. Ardayre was a very modern person, but she could not help exclaiming

in a half voice while she sat by her son's bed:

"You know she is going to have a baby in a month, dear boy, perhaps she

won't care to see you now."

A flush rose to Denzil's forehead: "Yes, I do know," he said a little

hurriedly, "but we are not conventional in these days. I wish to see her;

please, darling Mother, do what I ask."

And then he had turned the conversation.

So his mother had obediently arranged matters, and at about four in the

afternoon left him at the Brook Street door.

Early as it was, Amaryllis had made the tea, and expected to see both

Denzil and his mother. The room was full of hyacinths and daffodils, and

she herself looked like a spring flower, as she sat on the sofa among the

green silk cushions, wrapped in a pale parma violet tea-gown.

The butler announced "Captain Ardayre," and Denzil came in slowly, and

murmured "How do you do?"

But as soon as the door was closed upon him, he started forward,

forgetting his stiff side.

He covered her hands with kisses, he could not contain his joy; and

then he drew back and looked at her with worship and reverence in his

blue eyes.

The most mysterious, quivering emotions were coursing through him, mixed

with triumph, as he took in the picture she made. This delicate,

beautiful creature! And to see her--so!

Amaryllis lowered her head in a sweet confusion; her feelings were no

less aroused. She was thrilling with passionate welcome and delicious

shyness. Nature was indeed ruling them both, and with a glad "Darling

Angel!" Denzil sat down beside her and clasped her in his arms. Then for

a few seconds delirious pleasure was all that they knew.

"Let me look at you again, Sweetheart," he ordered presently, with a tone

of command and possession in his very deep voice, which caused Amaryllis

delight. It made her feel that she really belonged to him.

"To me you have never been so beautiful--and every scrap of you is mine."

"Absolutely yours."

"I had to come--I cannot help whether it is right or wrong. I must go

back to the Front as soon as I am fit, and I could not have borne to go

without seeing you, darling one."

They had a hundred things to say to each other about themselves--and

about the baby, and the next hour was very sacred and wonderful.

Denzil was a superlatively perfect lover and knew the immense value of

tender words.

He intoxicated Amaryllis' imagination with the moving things he said.

Alas! how many worthy men miss themselves, and make their loved ones

miss the best part of life's joys by their mulish silence and refusal

to gratify this desire of all women to be _told_ that they are loved,

to have the fact expressed in passionate speech! No deeds make up for

this omission.

Denzil had none of these limitations; he said everything which could

cajole and excite the imagination. He murmured a hundred affecting

tendernesses in her ears. He caressed her--he commanded and mastered her,

and then assured her that he was her slave. He was arrogant and

humble--arrogant when he claimed her love, humble in his worship. He

spoke of the child and what it meant to him that it should be his and

hers. He caused her to feel that he was strong and protective and that

she was to be cherished and adored. He made pictures of how it would be

if he could spend a whole day and night with her presently in June, when

she would be quite well, and of how thrilled with interest he would be to

see the baby, and that, of course, it _must_ be exactly like himself! And

Amaryllis' eyes, all soft and swimming with emotion answered him.

Naturally, since she loved him so passionately, it would be his image!

Had not his own mother accounted for his pronounced Ardayre stamp by her

having been so in love with his father--so, of course, this would

re-occur! It was all dear to think about!

They spent another hour of divine intoxication, and then the clock

struck six.

It sounded like a knell.

Amaryllis gave a little cry.

"Denzil, it is altogether unnatural that you should have to go. To

think that you must leave me, and may not even welcome your son! To

think that by the law we are sinning, because I am sitting here clasped

in your arms! To think that I may not have the joy of showing you the

exquisite little clothes, and the pink silk cot--all the things which

have given me such pleasure to arrange.... It is all too cruel! You

know that eighteenth century engraving in the series of Moreau le

Jeune, of the married lovers playing with the darling, teeny cap

together! Well, I have it beside my bed, and every day I look at it and

pretend it is you and me!"

"Darling--Darling!"--and Denzil fiercely kissed her, he was so

deeply moved.

"It is all holy and beautiful, the coming to earth of a soul. It only

makes me long to be good and noble and worthy of this wonderful thing.

But for us--we who love truly and purely, it has all been turned into

something forbidden and wrong."

"Heart of me--I must have some news of you. I cannot starve there in the

trenches, knowing that all the letters that should be mine are going to

John. My mother is really trustworthy, will you let her be with you as

often as you can, that she may be able to tell me how you are, precious

one? When the seventh of May comes I shall go perfectly mad with suspense

and anxiety. I will arrange that my mother sends me at once a telegram."

"Denzil!" and Amaryllis clung to him.

"It is an impossible situation," and he gave a great sigh. "I shall tell

John that I have seen you--I cannot help it, the times are too precarious

to have acted otherwise. And afterwards, when the war is over, we must

face the matter and decide what is best to be done."

"_I_ cannot live without you, Denzil, and that I know."

They said good-bye at last silently, after many kisses and tears, and

Denzil came out into the darkening street to his mother in the motor,

with white, set face.

"I am a little troubled, dearest boy," she whispered, as they went along.

"I feel that there is something underneath all this and that Amaryllis

means some great thing in your life--the whole aspect of everything fills

me with discomfort. It is unlike your usual, sensitive refinement,

Denzil, to have gone to see her--now--"

"I understand exactly what you mean, Mother. I should say the same thing

myself in your place. I can't explain anything, only I beg of you to

trust me. Amaryllis is an angel of purity and sweetness; perhaps some day

you will understand."

She took his hand into her muff and held it:

"You know I have no conventions, dearest, and my creed is to believe what

you say, but I cannot account for the situation because of your only

having met Amaryllis so lately for the first time. I could understand it

perfectly if you had been her lover, and the child was your child, but

she has not been married a whole year yet to John!"

Denzil answered nothing--he pressed his mother's hand.

She returned the pressure:

"We will talk no more about it."

"And you will go on being kind?"

"Of course."

Before they reached the hospital door in Park Lane Mrs. Ardayre had been

instructed to send an immediate telegram the moment the baby was born,

and to comfort and take care of Amaryllis, and tell her son every little

detail as to her welfare and about the child.

"I will try not to form any opinion, Denzil; and some day perhaps things

will be made plain, for it would break my heart to believe that you are a

dishonourable man."

"You need not worry, Mum dearest. Indeed, I am not that. It is just a

tragic story, but I cannot say more. Only take care of Amaryllis, and

send me news as often as you can."

* * * * *

The telegram to say that Amaryllis had a little son came to John Ardayre

on the night before he went into the trenches again at the second battle

of Ypres on May 9th, 1915. He had been waiting in feverish impatience

and expectancy all the day, and, in fact, for three days for news.

His whole inner life since that New Year's night had been strangely

serene, in spite of its frightful outward turmoil and stress. He had

taken the tumult of Neuve Chapelle calmly, and had come through it and

all the beginning of the Ypres battle without a scratch. He had felt that

he was looking upon it all from some detached standpoint, and that it in

no way personally concerned him.

He had seen Denzil do the splendid thing and he had felt a distinct

distress when he had seen him fall wounded.

Denzil was just back now and in the trenches again with the rest of the

dismounted cavalry. They might meet in the attack at dawn.

When John read the telegram from his aunt, Lady de la Paule, his emotion

was so great that he staggered a little, and a friend standing by in the

billet took out his flask and gave him some brandy, thinking that he must

have received bad news.

Then it seemed as though he went mad!

The repression of his life appeared to fall from him, he became as a new

man. All his comrades were astonished at him, and a Scotch Corporal was

heard to remark that it was "na canny--the Captain was fey."

The Ardayres were saved! The family would carry on!

Fondest love welled up in his heart for Amaryllis. If he only came

through he would devote his life to showing her his gratitude and

showering everything upon her that her heart could desire--and

perhaps--perhaps the joy of the baby would make up for the absence of

Denzil. This thought stayed with him and comforted him.

Lady de la Paule had wired:

"A splendid little son born 11:45 A.M. seventh May--Amaryllis

well--all love."

And an hour or two before this Denzil had also received the news from his

Mother. He, too, had grown exalted and thanked God.

So the day that the Germans were to fail at Ypres, and destiny was to

accomplish itself for these two men--dawned.

* * * * *

Of what use to write of that terrible fight and of the gas and the horror

and the mud? John Ardayre seemed to bear a charmed life as he led his men

"over the top." For an hour wild with exaltation and gladness, he rallied

them and cheered them on. The scene of blood and c*****e has been too

often repeated on other fateful days, and as often well described, when

acts of glorious heroism occurred again and again. John had rushed

forward to succour a wounded trooper when a shell crashed near them, and

he fell to the ground. And then he know what the great thing was the New

Year had promised him. For death was going to straighten out

matters--John was going beyond. Well, he had never been rebellious, and

he knew now that light had come. But the sky above seemed to be darkening

curiously, and the terrible noise to be growing dim, when he was

conscious that a man was crawling towards him, dragging a leg, and then

his eyes opened wildly for an instant, and he saw that it was Denzil all

covered with blood.

"Are we both going West, Denzil?" he demanded faintly. "At least I am--"

then he gasped a little, while a stream of scarlet flowed from his

shattered side.

"I've asked you in a letter to marry Amaryllis immediately--if you get

home. I hope your number is not up, too, because she will be all alone.

Take care of her, Denzil, and take care of the child...." His voice grew

lower and lower, and the last words came in spasms: "There is an Ardayre

son, you know--so it's all right. The family is saved from Ferdinand and

I am very glad to die."

Denzil tried to get out his flask, but before he could reach John's lips

with it he saw that it would be of no avail--for Death had claimed the

head of the Family. And above his mangled body John's face wore a look of

calm serenity, and his firm lips smiled.

Then things became all vague for Denzil and he remembered nothing more.