Softly, thoughtfully, tenderly, the last two words were breathed into the silence, holding a world of reminiscence--a large-hearted woman"s faithful remembrance of tender moments in the past.
The listening crowd held its breath. This was not a song. This was the throbbing of a heart; and it throbbed in tones of such sweetness, that tears started unbidden.
Then the voice, which had rendered the opening lines so quietly, rose in a rapid crescendo of quivering pain.
"Each hour a pearl, each pearl a prayer, To still a heart in absence wrung; I tell each bead unto the end, and there-- A cross is hung!"
The last four words were given with a sudden power and pa.s.sion which electrified the a.s.sembly. In the pause which followed, could be heard the tension of feeling produced. But in another moment the quiet voice fell soothingly, expressing a strength of endurance which would fail in no crisis, nor fear to face any depths of pain; yet gathering to itself a poignancy of sweetness, rendered richer by the discipline of suffering.
"O memories that bless and burn!
O barren gain and bitter loss!
I kiss each bead, and strive at last to learn To kiss the cross ... to kiss the cross."
Only those who have heard Jane sing THE ROSARY can possibly realise how she sang "I KISS EACH BEAD." The lingering retrospection in each word; breathed out a love so womanly, so beautiful, so tender, that her ident.i.ty was forgotten--even by those in the audience who knew her best--in the magic of her rendering of the song.
The accompaniment, which opens with a single chord, closes with a single note.
Jane struck it softly, lingeringly; then rose, turned from the piano, and was leaving the platform, when a sudden burst of wild applause broke from the audience. Jane hesitated, paused, looked at her aunt"s guests as if almost surprised to find them there. Then the slow smile dawned in her eyes and pa.s.sed to her lips. She stood in the centre of the platform for a moment, awkwardly, almost shyly; then moved on as men"s voices began to shout "Encore! "core!" and left the platform by the side staircase.
But there, behind the scenes, in the semi-darkness of screens and curtains, a fresh surprise awaited Jane, more startling than the enthusiastic tumult of her audience.
At the foot of the staircase stood Garth Dalmain. His face was absolutely colourless, and his eyes shone out from it like burning stars. He remained motionless until she stepped from the last stair and stood close to him. Then with a sudden movement he caught her by the shoulders and turned her round.
"Go back!" he said, and the overmastering need quivering in his voice drew Jane"s eyes to his in mute astonishment. "Go back at once and sing it all over again, note for note, word for word, just as before. Ah, don"t stand here waiting! Go back now! Go back at once! Don"t you know that you MUST?"
Jane looked into those shining eyes. Something she saw in them excused the brusque command of his tone. Without a word, she quietly mounted the steps and walked across the platform to the piano. People were still applauding, and redoubled their demonstrations of delight as she appeared; but Jane took her seat at the instrument without giving them a thought.
She was experiencing a very curious and unusual sensation. Never before in her whole life had she obeyed a peremptory command. In her childhood"s days, Fraulein and Miss Jebb soon found out that they could only obtain their desires by means of carefully worded requests, or pathetic appeals to her good feelings and sense of right. An unreasonable order, or a reasonable one unexplained, promptly met with a point-blank refusal. And this characteristic still obtained, though modified by time; and even the d.u.c.h.ess, as a rule, said "please" to Jane.
But now a young man with a white face and blazing eyes had unceremoniously swung her round, ordered her up the stairs, and commanded her to sing a song over again, note for note, word for word, and she was meekly going to obey.
As she took her seat, Jane suddenly made up her mind not to sing The Rosary again. She had many finer songs in her repertoire. The audience expected another. Why should she disappoint those expectations because of the imperious demands of a very highly excited boy?
She commenced the magnificent prelude to Handel"s "Where"er you walk,"
but, as she played it, her sense of truth and justice intervened. She had not come back to sing again at the bidding of a highly excited boy, but of a deeply moved man; and his emotion was of no ordinary kind.
That Garth Dalmain should have been so moved as to forget even momentarily his punctilious courtesy of manner, was the highest possible tribute to her art and to her song. While she played the Handel theme--and played it so that a whole orchestra seemed marshalled upon the key-board under those strong, firm finger--she suddenly realised, though scarcely understanding it, the MUST of which Garth had spoken, and made up her mind to yield to its necessity. So; when the opening bars were ended, instead of singing the grand song from Semele she paused for a moment; struck once more The Rosary"s; opening chord; and did as Garth had bidden her to do.
"The hours I spent with thee, dear heart, Are as a string of pearls to me; I count them over, ev"ry one apart, My rosary,--my rosary.
"Each hour a pearl, each pearl a prayer, To still a heart in absence wrung; I tell each bead unto the end, and there-- A cross is hung!
"O memories that bless and burn!
O barren gain and bitter loss!
I kiss each bead, and strive at last to learn To kiss the cross ... to kiss the cross."
When Jane left the platform, Garth was still standing motionless at the foot of the stairs. His face was just as white as before, but his eyes had lost that terrible look of unshed tears, which had sent her back, at his bidding, without a word of question or remonstrance. A wonderful light now shone in them; a light of adoration, which touched Jane"s heart because she had never before seen anything quite like it. She smiled as she came slowly down the steps, and held out both hands to him with an unconscious movement of gracious friendliness. Garth stepped close to the bottom of the staircase and took them in his, while she was still on the step above him.
For a moment he did not speak. Then in a low voice, vibrant with emotion: "My G.o.d!" he said, "Oh, my G.o.d!"
"Hush," said Jane; "I never like to hear that name spoken lightly, Dal."
"Spoken lightly!" he exclaimed. "No speaking lightly would be possible for me to-night. "Every perfect gift is from above." When words fail me to speak of the gift, can you wonder if I apostrophise the Giver?"
Jane looked steadily into his shining eyes, and a smile of pleasure illumined her own. "So you liked my song?" she said.
"Liked--liked your song?" repeated Garth, a shade of perplexity crossing his face. "I do not know whether I liked your song."
"Then why this flattering demonstration?" inquired Jane, laughing.
"Because," said Garth, very low, "you lifted the veil, and I--I pa.s.sed within."
He was still holding her hands in his; and, as he spoke the last two words, he turned them gently over and, bending, kissed each palm with an indescribably tender reverence; then, loosing them, stood on one side, and Jane went out on to the terrace alone.
CHAPTER VII
GARTH FINDS HIS ROSARY
Jane spent but a very few minutes in the drawing-room that evening. The fun in progress there was not to her taste, and the praises heaped upon herself annoyed her. Also she wanted the quiet of her own room in order to think over that closing episode of the concert, which had taken place between herself and Garth, behind the scenes. She did not feel certain how to take it. She was conscious that it held an element which she could not fathom, and Garth"s last act had awakened in herself feelings which she did not understand. She extremely disliked the way in which he had kissed her hands; and yet he had put into the action such a pa.s.sion of reverent worship that it gave her a sense of consecration--of being, as it were, set apart to minister always to the hearts of men in that perfect gift of melody which should uplift and enn.o.ble. She could not lose the sensation of the impress of his lips upon the palms of her hands. It was as if he had left behind something tangible and abiding. She caught herself looking at them anxiously once or twice, and the third time this happened she determined to go to her room.
The d.u.c.h.ess was at the piano, completely hidden from view by nearly the whole of her house party, crowding round in fits of delighted laughter.
Ronnie had just broken through from the inmost circle to fetch an antimaca.s.sar; and Billy, to dash to the writing-table for a sheet of note-paper. Jane knew the note-paper meant a clerical dog collar, and she concluded something had been worn which resembled an antimaca.s.sar.
She turned rather wearily and moved towards the door. Quiet and un.o.bserved though her retreat had been, Garth was at the door before her. She did not know how he got there; for, as she turned to leave the room, she had seen his sleek head close to Myra Ingleby"s on the further side of the d.u.c.h.ess"s crowd. He opened the door and Jane pa.s.sed out. She felt equally desirous of saying two things to him,--either: "How dared you behave in so unconventional a way?" or: "Tell me just what you want me to do, and I will do it."
She said neither.
Garth followed her into the hall, lighted a candle, and threw the match at Tommy; then handed her the silver candlestick. He was looking absurdly happy. Jane felt annoyed with him for parading this gladness, which she had unwittingly caused and in which she had no share. Also she felt she must break this intimate silence. It was saying so much which ought not to be said, since it could not be spoken. She took her candle rather aggressively and turned upon the second step.
"Good-night, Dal," she said. "And do you know that you are missing the curate?"
He looked up at her. His eyes shone in the light of her candle.
"No," he said. "I am neither missing nor missed. I was only waiting in there until you went up. I shall not go back. I am going out into the park now to breathe in the refreshing coolness of the night breeze. And I am going to stand under the oaks and tell my beads. I did not know I had a rosary, until to-night, but I have--I have!"
"I should say you have a dozen," remarked Jane, dryly.
"Then you would be wrong," replied Garth. "I have just one. But it has many hours. I shall be able to call them all to mind when I get out there alone. I am going to "count each pearl.""
"How about the cross?" asked Jane.
"I have not reached that yet," answered Garth. "There is no cross to my rosary."
"I fear there is a cross to every true rosary, Dal," said Jane gently, "and I also fear it will go hard with you when you find yours."
But Garth was confident and unafraid.
"When I find mine," he said, "I hope I shall be able to"-- Involuntarily Jane looked at her hands. He saw the look and smiled, though he had the grace to colour beneath his tan,--"to FACE the cross," he said.