She read the letter again and again, until the words seemed blurred and the lines irregular as a spider"s web. Then she thought: "We can not part forever like this. I must see him again whatever happens. Perhaps he has not yet gone."
It was now half-past eight and time to go on duty, but she went upstairs to Sister Allworthy and asked for an hour"s further leave. The request was promptly refused. She went downstairs to the matron and asked for half an hour, only that she might see a friend away on a long journey, and that was refused too. Then she tightened her quivering lips, returned to the porter"s room, fixed her bonnet on before the scratched pier-gla.s.s, and boldly walked out of the hospital.
It was now quite dark and the fashionable dinner hour of Belgravia, and as she hurried through the streets many crested and coroneted carriages drew up at the great mansions and discharged their occupants in evening dress. The canon"s house was brilliantly lighted, and when the door was opened in answer to her knock she could see the canon himself at the head of his own detachment of diners coming downstairs with a lady in white silk chatting affably on his arm.
"Is Mr. Storm at home?"
The footman, in powdered wig and white cotton gloves, answered haltingly. "If it is--er--anything about the hospital, miss, Mr.--er--Golightly will attend."
"No, it is Mr. Storm himself I wish to see."
"Gorn!" said the footman, and he shut the door in her face.
She had an impulse to hammer on the door with her hand, and command the flunky to go down on his knees and beg her pardon. But what was the good? She had no time to think of herself now.
As a last resource she would go to Bishopsgate. How dense the traffic seemed to be at Victoria! She had never felt so helpless before.
It was better in the city, and as she walked eastward, in the direction indicated by a policeman, every step brought her into quieter streets.
She was now in that part of London which is the world"s busiest market-place by day, but is shut up and deserted at night. Her light footsteps echoed against the shutters of the shops. The moon had risen, and she could see far down the empty street.
She found the place at last. It was one of London"s weather-beaten old churches, shouldered by shops on either hand, and almost pushed back by the tide of traffic. There was an iron gate at the side, leading by an arched pa.s.sage to a little courtyard, which was bounded by two high blank walls, by the back wall of the church, and by the front of a large house with a small doorway and many small windows. In the middle of the courtyard there was a tree with a wooden seat round its trunk.
And being there, she felt afraid and almost wished she had not come.
The church was dimly lighted, and she thought perhaps the cleaners were within. But presently there was a sound of singing, in men"s voices only, and without any kind of musical accompaniment. Just then the clock in the steeple struck nine, and chimes began to play:
Days and moments quickly flying.
The singing came to an end, and there was some low, inarticulate droning, and then a general "Amen." The hammer of the bell continued to beat out its hymn, and Glory stood under the shadow of the tree to collect her thoughts.
Then the sacristy door opened and a line of men came out. They were in long black ca.s.socks, and they crossed the courtyard from the church to the house with the measured and hasty step of monks, and with their hands clasped at their b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Almost at the end of the line, walking with an old man whose tread was heavy, there was a younger one who was bareheaded, and who did not wear the ca.s.sock. The moon threw a light on his face, which looked pale and worn. It was John Storm.
Glory gave a faint cry, a gasp, and he turned round as if startled.
"Only the creaking of the sycamore," said the Superior. And then the mysterious shadows took them; they pa.s.sed into the house, the door was closed, and she was alone with the chimes:
Days and moments quickly flying, Blend the living with the dead.
Glory"s strength had deserted her, and she went away as she came. When she got back to Victoria, she felt for the first time as if her own little life had been swallowed up in the turmoil of London, and she had gone down to the cold depths of an icy sea.
It was a quarter to ten when she returned to the ward, and the matron, with her dog on her lap, was waiting to receive her.
"Didn"t I tell you that you could not go out to-night?"
"Yes, ma"am," said Glory.
"Then how did you dare to go?"
Glory looked at her unwaveringly, with glittering eyes that seemed to smile, whereupon the matron picked up her dog, gathered up her train, and swept out of the ward, saying:
"Nurse, you can leave me at the end of your term; and you need never cross the doors of this inst.i.tution again."
Then Glory, who had all night wanted to cry, burst into laughter. The ward Sister reproved her, but she laughed in the woman"s fat face, and would have given worlds to slap it.
There was not a nurse in the hospital who showed more bright and cheerful spirits when the patients were being prepared for the night.
But next morning, in the gray dawn, when she had dragged herself to bed, and was able at length to be alone, she beat the pillows with both hands and sobbed in her loneliness and shame.
XX.
But youth is rich in hope, and at noon, when Glory awoke, the thought of Drake flashed upon her like light in a dark place. He had compelled Lord Robert to a.s.sist Polly in a worse extremity, and he would a.s.sist her in her present predicament. How often he had hinted that the hospital was not good enough for her, and that some day and somewhere Fate would find other work for her and another sphere. The time had come; she would appeal to him, and he would hasten to help her.
She began to revive the magnificent dreams that had floated in her mind for months. No need to tell the people at home of her dismissal and disgrace; no need to go back to the island. She would be somebody in her own right yet. Of course, she would have to study, to struggle, to endure disappointments, but she would triumph in the end. And when at length she was great and famous she would be good to other poor girls; and as often as she thought of John Storm in his solitude in his cell, though there might be a pang, a red stream running somewhere within, she would comfort herself with the thought that she, too, was doing her best; she, too, had her place, and it was a useful and worthy one.
Before that time came, however, there would be managers to influence and engagements to seek, and perhaps teachers to pay for. But Drake was rich and generous and powerful; he had a great opinion of her talents, and he would stop at nothing.
Leaping out of bed, she sat down at the table as she was and wrote to him:
"Dear Mr. Drake: Try to see me to-night. I want your advice immediately.
What do you think? I have got myself "noticed" at last, and as a consequence I am to leave at the end of my term. So things are urgent, you see. I "wave my lily hand" to you. Glory.
"P.S.--save time I suggest the hour and the place: eight o"clock, St.
James"s Park, by the bridge going down from Marlborough House."
Drake received this note as he was sitting alone in his chambers smoking a cigarette after drinking a cup of tea, in that hour of glamour that is between the lights. It seemed to bring with it a secret breath of pa.s.sion out of the atmosphere in which it had been written. At the first impulse it went up to his lips, but at the next moment he was smitten by the memory of something, and he thought: "I will do what is right; I will play the game fair."
He dined that night with a group of civil servants at his club in St.
James"s Street, but at a quarter to eight, notwithstanding some playful bantering, he put on his overcoat and turned toward the park. The autumn night was soft and peaceful; the stars were out and the moon had risen; a fragrant mist came up from the lake, and the smoke of his cigar was hardly troubled by the breeze that pattered the withered ta.s.sels of the laburnums. Big Ben was striking eight as he reached the end of the little bridge, and almost immediately afterward he was aware of soft and hurrying footsteps approaching him.
Glory had come down by the Mall. The whispering of the big white trees in the moonlight was like company, and she sang to herself as she walked. Her heart seemed to have gone into her heels since yesterday, for her step was light and sometimes she ran a few paces. She arrived out of breath as the great clock was striking, and seeing the figure of a gentleman in evening dress by the end of the bridge, she stopped to collect herself.
Her hand was hot and a little damp when Drake took it, and her face was somewhat flushed. She had all at once become ashamed that she had come to ask him for anything, and she took out her pocket-handkerchief and began to roll it in her palms. He misunderstood her agitation, and trying to cover it he offered her his arm and took her across the bridge, and they turned westward down the path that runs along the margin of the lake.
"Mr. Storm has gone," she said, thinking to explain herself.
"I know," he answered.
"Is it generally known, then?"
"I had a letter from him yesterday."
"Was it about me?"
"Yes."
"You must not mind if he says things, you know."