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A HUMAN DOCUMENT 
 
 VOL. III. 
 
 1. 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT 
 
 BY 
 
 W. H. MALLOCK 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES 
 VOL. III. 
 
 LONDON: CHAPMAN AND HALL, Ld. 
 
 1892 
 
 [All rights reserved] 
 
Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, 
 London & Bungay. 
 
f 3 
 
 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 Two days later Grenville's diary ran thus — 
 ''She is gone, and I am left solitary. For a 
 week longer I am obliged to remain in London, 
 to complete the sale of my property ; and I 
 shall then follow her. As for my property, 
 the bitterness of death is past. Not yet 
 legally, but still, so far as I am concerned, 
 finally, that matter is settled. My family is 
 come to an end. It has no home and no 
 future. The place is to be bought as it stands 
 — pictures, furniture and all. I have been 
 allowed to reserve nothing but the portraits 
 of my mother and my sister, and a few minia- 
 tures. The ostensible purchaser is not the 
 
 VOL. III. B 
 
2 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 real purchaser ; and who the latter is I do not 
 know, and why should I care ? The terms are 
 such as will enable me to live without begging. 
 My lawyer tells me I am getting a fancy price. 
 So be it. I have chosen my lot in life, but 
 as yet I am not used to it. At present I feel 
 like a man who has lost his teeth, and whose 
 mouth is still strange to him ; or like a man 
 whose leg has been amputated, and who still 
 feels it aching. There is a gap, there is an 
 aching, everywhere. 
 
 If Lady Ashford could read this diary, 
 which was begun at her suggestion, what a 
 triumph it would be to her ! I could bear her 
 laughing at me. I could bear to confess to 
 her that she was right, and that I have found 
 my fate as she said I should. And yet once 
 or twice, though I hardly like to put it in 
 writing, this doubt has occurred to me — I 
 have asked myself whether one fine morning 
 I shall not wake up and find that all this 
 conduct of mine has been that of a drunken 
 man who has half undressed himself in the 
 street, and made himself for ever a laughing- 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 3 
 
 stock to himself and his friends also. Yes — 
 I have asked myself this ; but the answer is 
 instant and unvarying — that I am not like 
 such a drunken man, but that I see and think 
 clearly ; and that the treasure which I am 
 now deliberately choosing is for me as a 
 human soul, worth more than anything which 
 I give up for it. A week ago, though I should 
 have said the same thing, I might not perhaps 
 have been able to say it with so much courage. 
 Then I was being torn by doubts, and was 
 almost mad with anxiety ; but these few days 
 by the sea have set all my doubts to rest. 
 Distance may sometimes separate us, but 
 bitterness or doubt, never. 
 
 '*No — in choosing my lot I am not drunk. 
 Unlike the lover, to whom love is a foolish 
 intoxication, it has not even robbed me of my 
 ordinary cool prudence, or even rendered me 
 selfish. For those few persons who depend on 
 me, I have taken care that all due provision 
 shall be made. As for myself, I shall, when 
 my poor aunt dies, be rather better ofi* than 
 I have been ; and I shall for the present be a 
 
4 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 little, but not much poorer. I shall make up 
 for that by leaving these rooms next autumn, 
 and taking some that are cheaper. Six weeks 
 ago, my prospects were somewhat different. 
 I had then before me visions of big houses, 
 and servants, • and all the life that goes with 
 them. Yes — yes — I know quite well what I 
 am losing. No miser, unwillingly counting 
 over his coins as he pays them, knows better. 
 
 Let that go. But, Irma, now I must turn 
 to you, and confess to you, who have been 
 so guilelessly truthful to me, about another 
 trouble which I still have to reckon with, but 
 Avhich I can reckon with better than I could a 
 week ago. I am sad without you ; but my 
 complete trust in you gives to this sadness a 
 sort of cloistral quiet, in which I continually 
 think our situation over. I fancy, as I do this, 
 that I consist of four persons — myself as jury, 
 myself as prisoner, and two counsel, who are 
 respectively prosecuting and defending me. 
 The one attacks me as depraved, mean, and 
 wicked ; the other takes up every point in 
 order, considers it curiously and fairly, and 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 5 
 
 disposes of it. The attacking party — the counsel 
 for the prosecution — is extremely furious and 
 voluble ; and there are two qualities in his 
 rhetoric that at first intimidated me. He laid 
 down all his propositions as if no one could 
 question them ; and no doubt they were all of 
 them propositions I had heard before. He 
 said, ' You are ruining the happiness of a 
 home ; you are betraying a friend ; you are 
 wronging a man who has trusted you, and 
 who has never injured you.' And he went on 
 in this way till he w^as out of breath. He had 
 no need to think, for his phrases were supplied 
 him by newspapers. Then the other began, 
 taking every point in order. ' Ruining the 
 happiness of a home ! ' he exclaimed. ' What 
 does that mean ? The home in question had 
 none of that happiness which the conduct now 
 in question could ruin. Weak indeed must be 
 the case of a prosecution, when one of its most 
 formidable arguments rests upon something 
 which is, in this case, a mere conventional 
 fiction — some Richard Roe or some John Doe 
 of morality. If the happiness of a home has 
 
6 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 been here affected in any way, it has been 
 rather repaired than ruined. Betraying a 
 friend ! ' the counsel for the defence continues. 
 ' Here is another fiction — not a fiction in some 
 cases, but a fiction here ; and yet always 
 assumed conventionally, whether true or not.' 
 And then the counsel says, turning to me in 
 my capacity of jury — ' The arguments we 
 have just been listening to pretend to be 
 those of the conscience. They illustrate a fact 
 I have very often suspected, namely, that 
 much which passes for conscience, or a man's 
 own inmost voice, is not what it seems to be. 
 It is not what he says about himself — he who 
 knows all the circumstances ; but what he 
 thinks other people would say, who could 
 never know but a part of them, and that part 
 the least important. It is not the voice of 
 your own judgment on yourself, but your hypo- 
 thetical anticipation of how other people would 
 misjudge you.' In many cases I am con- 
 vinced that this is absolutely true. The counsel 
 for the prosecution is more furious than ever. 
 He drops the tone of argument, adopts that of 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 7 
 
 a sermon, and quotes various phrases which 
 either have no meaning, or derive it from an 
 assumption that the text of the New Testa- 
 ment is inspired. Instantly the other one 
 interrupts him. ' Stop/ he says, ' for a mo- 
 ment. Recollect yourself, and be consistent. 
 What is your attitude towards dogmatic 
 Christianity ? Do you believe that directly or 
 indirectly the words of the New Testament 
 come from some miraculous source ? Will you 
 stake your moral existence on the truth of the 
 Nicene Creed, of the doctrine of verbal in- 
 spiration, of the infallible and supernatural 
 authority of patristic and other traditions ? 
 Not you. Eightly or wrongly you assent to 
 the scientific methods of the as^e : and none of 
 these doctrines for you are more than facts of 
 history. How do you dare then — is this your 
 spiritual honesty — to bully me with texts and 
 opinions whose authority you yourself deny ? 
 The fear which you seek to raise in me, and 
 which if you could raise it you would attribute 
 to conscience, would indeed be fear exactly as 
 described by Solomon — it would be a betrayal 
 
8 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 of the succours that reason offereth' At this 
 point matters take a new turn. The prose- 
 cutor shifts his ground, and goes back to 
 reason. ' Suppose/ he says, ^ I admit your 
 arguments to be right in your own case, that 
 your own personal conscience has not full 
 grounds for condemning you, yet what would 
 be the result were this to be admitted generally ? 
 Every one would apply this admission to him- 
 self, to justify any caprice however depraved 
 or wanton. He could persuade himself that it 
 applied to his circumstances just as well as to 
 yours.' ^My friend/ the other answers, 'all 
 that you say sounds admirable, till you come 
 to examine the sense of it. The sense of what 
 you just have urged, if it has any sense, is 
 this : — that we must submit to conscience in 
 cases where we know it to be wTong, for fear 
 that others should not submit to it in cases 
 where it would be right.' 
 
 x4.nd so they go on — these arguing voices 
 within me : and I listen to them with an 
 interest in their general bearing which some- 
 times makes me* forget that they have any 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT, 9 
 
 reference to myself. And then when I re- 
 member that they have, and it all again becomes 
 personal, do you know what I am tempted to 
 do ? I am so inconsistent that I am sometimes 
 tempted to ask whether my . real conscience 
 must not be dead in me — whether I have not 
 lost my perception of right and wrong ; if I am 
 able really to doubt as to so grave a matter ? 
 And then I try the whole case over again. I 
 lay bare my passion to my conscience, and I 
 ask, does it degrade or raise me ? And out of 
 the depths of my conscience, or my conscious- 
 ness, comes always the same answer. There 
 is a passion that degrades, and there is a 
 passion that raises. Mine is the passion that 
 raises. How do I know that ? By a very 
 simple test — I know it by its fruits. And 
 what may its fruits be ? They are these. It 
 has 'created a soul under the ribs of death.' 
 It has taught me to value the true treasure of 
 life, not the glittering husk. It has quickened 
 my feeling for all other human beings. It is 
 killing selfishness. It has given to fidelity a 
 meaniDo; I never before conceived. It has 
 
10 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 made fidelity a part not only of every action, 
 but of every thought. It has nerved me not 
 only for great sacrifices, which once made are 
 made for ever, but for all those self-restraints 
 and self-denials for wliich occasion is always 
 arising, and in which the larger sacrifices are 
 repeated, as on an altar, daily. It has shown 
 me that the truest pleasures of life are the 
 simplest and also the purest. It has given 
 wings to the flesh, which have fanned them- 
 selves into the world of the spirit. It has 
 touched corruption, and corruption has put on 
 incorruption. If any one would understand 
 natural relio-ion, let him understand a natural 
 love like mine. This is that hidden well to 
 which all the pleasures and virtues and faiths 
 and aspirations ' repairing, in . their golden 
 urns draw light.' It contains everything that 
 can make us value life, and regret yet be 
 resigned to death." 
 
 So wrote Grenville on the day of Mrs. 
 Schilizzi's departure. That evening he went 
 out to a party, not because he was inclined for 
 society, but because he feared solitude. When 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 11 
 
 he came back to his room his brow was clouded, 
 and again turning to his diary, and bending 
 sadly over the pages, he proceeded thus : — 
 
 " On many occasions, but more especially 
 when I have been a passenger on some great 
 ocean steamer, and have watched the beauty of 
 its lines as it sheared the waves, or answered 
 like a living thing to the helm, or w^hen I have 
 looked down, as I often have done, into the 
 engine-room, and seen the ceaseless sliding 
 flash of the huge machinery — the measured 
 reeling of those towers of steel, the cylinders 
 — the rise and fall^of the burnished piston-rods 
 — the sway of the returning cranks — rising 
 and falling, turning and returning, all fulfill- 
 ing faithfully their appointed courses, I have 
 been lost in wonder at the perfect skill of 
 man. I have said over to myself the lines of 
 Sophocles — 
 
 ^ Full many things are wonderful, but none 
 More fearful and more wonderful than man.' 
 
 And then I have thought of man, as we all 
 know him, imperfect ; and again and again I 
 have said this to myself — What men make is 
 
12 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 SO much better than what they do ; what 
 they do is so much worse than what they are. 
 
 To-night I have felt this last remark to be 
 bitterly true as to myself. In these pages, 
 but an hour or two ago, I was writing about 
 the fidelity which went through all my acts 
 and thoughts. And now to-night — what way- 
 ward devil was in me ? — miserable as I was, 
 smarting as I was with the sense of her 
 absence, I have allowed myself to take some 
 sort of alien pleasure in the eyes of other 
 women. Each time it was for a moment only. 
 It was a poor little starved emotion, which I 
 stamped upon every moment it showed itself. 
 And yet, if she knew of this I should be 
 ashamed. And mentally, amongst all those 
 people, I kept saying to her, ' Irma, forgive me ; 
 I am yours, and yours only.' I won't write 
 more about these misdeeds. Never till now 
 would they have seemed to me misdeeds at all. 
 What to you, Irma, seems an infidelity I should 
 have looked on as fidelity to any other woman. 
 
 This occurs to rae. Suppose in this diary 
 I were to be absolutely unreserved, telling 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 13 
 
 all my minutest faults, even to those of each 
 thwarted impulse, not only would another 
 reading it think me worse than I am, but 
 I should probably myself think so. We 
 should both of us probably think that I was 
 vainglorious in describing my virtues, whilst 
 the more candid I was in confessing my 
 sins that the more sins we both should think 
 remained behind, being too shameful for con- 
 fession. If one man, or only a few men, are 
 candid in this way, they are certain to be 
 misjudged thus. They will seem to be worse 
 than others, only because they are more honest. 
 And yet if only a few men would with absolute 
 truth o-ive us some record of the workino;s of 
 their consciences, -what advances in knowledge 
 might be made ! 
 
 Irma — you will never see what I am 
 writing. These words will never reach you ; 
 but before I go to bed let me solemnly swear 
 this to you — that if you could see the whole 
 of my heart and soul, these sins which, small 
 as they are, I repent so bitterly, would not 
 destroy your faith in me, or make you think 
 
14 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 me less wholly yours. All my life turns to 
 you. All my life depends on you.'' 
 
 Mrs. Schilizzi's plans were to go at once 
 to the Princess and bring the children back 
 again to the hotel in the forest ; and there, 
 as soon as he could do so, Grenville was to 
 rejoin her. It would be a day or two, there- 
 fore, before he could count on hearing from 
 her; and yet even on the second, though he 
 knew she would be spending it in the train, 
 he fondly hoped that she might manage to 
 despatch a line to him. He knew that under 
 the same circumstances he would do so to 
 her. But no line came. The disappointment 
 could not be said to have taken away the 
 sunlight from him ; but, for all that, it did 
 take away the sunshine. He went mechanic- 
 ally about his melancholy legal business. 
 He dined out as if he had been dining in a 
 dream, and he knew no happiness till weary 
 he went to bed, hoping that sleep would 
 hurry him to a letter from her next morning. 
 There was one. It was written hastily ; most 
 of it was mere fragmentary news, but there 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 15 
 
 was a phrase or two and a sentence that 
 breathed affection, filling him with a sense 
 of it like a box of spikenard broken. That 
 day was a happy one, except for one discovery 
 which it brought to him — that his business 
 would keep him in London for ten days 
 instead of for a week ; but this was again 
 counterbalanced by his news from Mrs. 
 Schilizzi.- Her husband, she had just heard 
 in Vienna, would be later in returning than 
 he anticipated; so they would at all events 
 have time to set their house in order. 
 
 That day was a happy one, but the next 
 was a total blank. There was not so much 
 as a line from her. Then came a weary 
 third. Again there was no letter. He had 
 written every day, pouring out to her every 
 thought of his heart. He had hardly been 
 able to bring himself to close his envelopes, 
 and cease sending his voice to her. Like 
 Dante's souls in purgatory, up till now he 
 had been ''contented in the flame," but this 
 third day's silence was more than his rerves 
 could bear. No one watching him, no one 
 
16 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 talking to him, as he went through his 
 business, and dined out, would have guessed 
 from his acuteness in the one case and his 
 flow of conversation in the other that a tooth 
 sharper than the serpent's was gnawing him 
 under his shirt and waistcoat. A week went 
 by before he had heart to continue his diary, 
 and when he did so his record of that week 
 was as follows : — 
 
 " Of all physical maladies perhaps the most 
 acute is sea-sickness, and yet none receives 
 so little pity. With regard to the pains of 
 the soul, the heart, the spirit — the devil 
 knows what to call it — I am beo:innino; to 
 see that the same thing holds good. Some 
 of the most pitiable are those that would be 
 least pitied. I think this week I have been 
 almost mad sometimes, and even now my 
 temper gets into my pen, and I talk of the 
 devil before I know wdiat I am doing. I am 
 a fool — a fool ; and yet I am not a coward, 
 for to all the world I have shown an unruffled 
 front. But — fool I must be ; for what is 
 the cause of my wretchedness ? Merely that 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 17 
 
 a woman in ten days has written only three 
 times to me, and one of these times only 
 three careless lines. What a trifling calamity 
 that sounds to one who reads of it ! but to 
 me who feel it — what has it meant to me ? 
 Here is a woman for whose sake I am re- 
 nouncing everything. I am remaining in 
 London for no other reason than to complete 
 the death of my ambition, and the act that 
 will make me homeless. And through every 
 hour of the day her image has haunted me. 
 Every thought I have thought I have mentally 
 brought to her, as some Catholic votarist 
 lays flowers upon an altar. The one occupa- 
 tion that has given me any real comfort 
 has been to write to her. All my hours of 
 exertion have been like steps to the hour 
 which was dedicated to this writing. And 
 each day all my hopes naturally were to hear 
 from her. I have been accustomed to reason 
 with myself from my own experience ; and 
 knowing how to write to her is for me a 
 daily necessity — how every day I am straitened 
 till this is accomplished, I could not but 
 
 VOL. III. c 
 
18 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 conclude that unless her affection were de- 
 creasing, to write to me would be an equal 
 necessity for her. 
 
 " Two of her letters have been almost worse 
 than none — evidences of carelessness far more 
 than of care. I was patient at first, though 
 disappointed ; but at last the gathering pain 
 burst out in my mind like a fountain of bitter 
 water. Much as I long to be honest, I cannot 
 for very shame's sake commit to paper all 
 the things I have said about her ; and I 
 cannot, for another reason — because no words 
 could express it — commit to paper the misery 
 in which I said them. But the kind of 
 judgment which, in these moods, I have passed 
 upon her, I can describe in general terms. 
 Just as her connection with myself has been 
 ennobled and sanctified in my eyes by my 
 believing it, as I have done, to be the result 
 of a serious passion, so the moment I was 
 tempted to consider that passion a caprice, 
 not even strong enough to have the semblance 
 of unselfishness, her whole conduct and cha- 
 racter have entirely changed their aspect. 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 19 
 
 My devotioa to her has turned into a sort 
 of surprised contempt, to be equalled only 
 by my own contempt for myself. 
 
 ''Stay, stay. It will be perhaps as well 
 if I do actually record one or two specimens 
 of my accusations against her. I have said, 
 ' Here am I, who am giving up all my life to 
 her : and she will not sacrifice for me even 
 five minutes out of the day.' I have said 
 also, ' And does she feel it a sacrifice to write 
 to me ? If she does, by feeling so she shows 
 the sacrifice to be worthless,' Again I have 
 imagined myself saying this to her — ' The 
 things you value in life, you value in this 
 order — first your children, then your clothes, 
 then your comfort — and after your comfort 
 you have fancied you valued me.' 
 
 And day by day, whilst she was forcing 
 me to think like this of her, I was completing 
 for her sake the surrender of all my worldly 
 prospects. Had I been forced to be solitary, 
 I think I should have gone mad. I have 
 been constantly mixing in society by w^ay of 
 a counter-irritant ; and the kindness I have 
 
20 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 met in the world has seemed such a strange 
 thing to me, when compared with her cruelty, 
 for whom I am giving the world up. A few 
 nights ago, at a concert, whom should I meet 
 but Lady Evelyn Standish ! Was she different, 
 or was I different, from what I or she was 
 at Vicenza ? It seemed to me that there 
 was a deeper welcome in her eyes. She took 
 evident pleasure in being with me. She 
 contrived to dismiss civilly every one who 
 attempted to interrupt us ; and I remained 
 at her side, talking to her all the evening. 
 And I thought, ' I am giving you up for that 
 hard, thankless woman ! ' And yet, all that 
 evening, not for a single moment did I let 
 voice or look convey any thought or feeling 
 which was more than what a friend might 
 have conveyed, or by which that hard, thank- 
 less woman would have been wronged. 
 
 Were my mood as I write this the mood 
 I have been just describing, I should never 
 have had the heart to make so miserable a 
 confession. But I have as yet told only half 
 my stor3\ I have said that I — I myself — 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 21 
 
 have been accusing her. It was not I, but 
 some pack of rebellious voices in me — wolves 
 of the spirit, which in lacerating her, lacerated 
 me first. As for me — as for my real self — 
 I was ashamed that the purlieus of my mind 
 should harbour such beasts of prey ; and day 
 by day I fought with them, beating them 
 down, and striking them into silence. How 
 quickly they sprang up again ! Again I 
 struck them down. 
 
 I strengthened myself for this struggle in 
 three ways — first, by thinking how unworthy 
 it was of me, as a man, to allow myself to be 
 so savagely disturbed by anything ; secondly, 
 by thinking how, even were the worst I could 
 impute to her true, there was still in her a 
 goodness and a tenderness, as to which I 
 could not have been deceived, and how, if 
 she needed forgiveness, I should find peace in 
 forgiving her ; and lastly, by making myself 
 the advocate of her cause, and seeing how 
 much might be said that would altogether 
 justify her. I urged on my own attention 
 how far harder, for many reasons, it probably 
 
22 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 was for her to write than for me. T argued 
 that the shortness of her letters might be a 
 sign of trust in me, rather than of indifference, 
 showing her to believe that even in a few 
 hasty words I should see the affection whose 
 existence she never dreamed of my doubting. 
 I said to m^yself again, that under certain 
 circumstances, an affection sure of itself, and 
 sure of the desired return, felt the need of 
 writing less than an affection less deep and 
 trusting ; and I also reminded myself of a 
 fact of my own experience — that once or 
 twice, though all day T had been writing 
 letters to her mentally, the actual composition 
 of one had been an effort even to myself. 
 
 Tn this way I have reduced my mind to 
 order, though I am still smarting after the 
 conflict. Irma, I feel that I owe you so much 
 more than a man owes a woman, under other 
 and more fortunate conditions. I want to 
 subdue pride, and selfishness, and evil temper. 
 I want to offer to you all this self-cou quest, 
 though you never know what it has cost me, 
 or reward me by any recognition of it. And 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 23 
 
 yet how easy you might make it, would 
 you only treat me with a kindness which 
 surely would cost you nothing ! Of these 
 three last letters you have written me, the 
 last has been really kind, short as it was. 
 Your image, which had almost vanished from 
 me, or become distorted, came close to me 
 and was clear again. The strife in my heart 
 was hushed. The bitter waters became 
 sweet." 
 
 A little later he added this : — Even if at 
 times I pass out of her mind, and she is not 
 conscious that she feels I am of much value 
 to her, it does not follow that she really is 
 shallow and inconstant. What seems indiiSer- 
 ence is often merely security ; just as rich 
 men often proclaim themselves, and think 
 themselves, indifferent to their riches, yet 
 if asked to part with them would not yield 
 up a penny ; and if robbed of them would 
 be miserable. As such men love their riches, 
 so I will believe that she loves me. I am 
 coming to see that men may control their 
 judgments; that judgments which are false 
 
24 
 
 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 are being perpetually suggested to us ; and 
 that sometimes we can hold to the true only 
 by an act of will, which enables us to stop 
 our ears to the words of the false witness 
 within us." 
 
 Next day he continued — " At last — at last, 
 I am happier. I have heard again from her 
 — it is true a few lines only ; but still they 
 showed that she cannot be really changed. 
 She is at Lichtenbourg with her children and 
 the Princess. There have been, she says, 
 no more cases of scarlatina. The place is 
 pronounced safe ; and she has told the 
 Princess that I shall be there shortly. My 
 work in London is at last over. The fatal 
 papers will be sent to me at Lichtenbourg for 
 my signature ; and at last I am free. I leave 
 England to-morrow." 
 
CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 As Grenville returned to Lichtenbourg, lie 
 could not help contrasting his journey from 
 it, in Mrs. Schilizzi's company, with his 
 present journey, in the company of nothing 
 but his thoughts. It is true he was now 
 hopeful, but his life was hope tempered with 
 anxiety ; whereas on that former occasion, 
 though trouble was indeed confronting him, 
 he had hardly had more than a slight foretaste 
 of those minute estrangements which, without 
 killing their affection, had since then inflicted 
 on it the shocks of repeated deaths. He 
 hardly knew then the look of her face in 
 anger. Now he had eaten of the tree of 
 knowledge, and he knew. 
 
 At Vienna, however, where he was obliged 
 
26 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 to pass the night, he was greeted at his hotel 
 by a letter from her, telling him how she 
 longed for his arrival. The phraseology, it 
 is true, struck him as a little conventional ; 
 but under the circumstances he was satisfied. 
 The following day, as he sat in the dusty 
 railway-carriage, the thought of her welcome 
 in the evening shone through his mind like 
 sunlight ; the nearer he got to her, the more 
 did his doubts evaporate ; and nothing dis- 
 turbed him till, reaching a certain junction, 
 he found that his train had just missed its 
 connection, and that he would be three hours 
 late in reaching his destination. This contre- 
 temps, however annoying in itself, constituted, 
 at all events, a valuable counter-irritant, 
 which precluded the recrudescence of any 
 sentimental sorrows ; and when at last the 
 later train, by which he was to proceed, 
 arrived. Fate had arranged for him another 
 and more agreeable distraction. 
 
 I was still chafing inwardly,'' he wrote 
 in his diary, when Fritz, who had tried 
 vainly to find an empty compartment for me, 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 27 
 
 ushered me into one which had but a single 
 occupant. This was a man who, despite the 
 warmth of the weather, had with him, though 
 not on him, a magnificent rug of sables. The 
 rug was what first struck me ; but only a 
 moment later I saw some more magnificence 
 in the shape of a gorgeous dressing-bag. 
 The possessor of all these splendours was 
 himself oddly in keeping with them. In 
 point of age he seemed a well-preserved 
 seventy. His grizzled hair was curly ; his 
 grizzled moustaches waxed ; one ungloved 
 hand showed a number of turquoise rings ; 
 and there gleamed in his eyes, and lurked 
 in his many wrinkles, a seasoned charity 
 towards misconduct which evidently began 
 at home. It was necessary for me to ex- 
 change one or two remarks with him, in 
 connection with the moving of some packages ; 
 and I saw at once that I was talking to a 
 polished man of the world. I suppose his 
 perception paid me a similar compliment ; 
 for, presently producing a cigarette-case that 
 was gilt and jewelled, and sparkled most 
 
28 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 aggressively with the balls of a monstrous 
 coronet, he offered me a cigarette, which, the 
 moment I had taken a puff at it, I found to 
 be more delicate than anything I before had 
 tasted. Nothing foments confidence so much 
 as fine tobacco. This, my companion told 
 me, came from Egypt, where he gave me to 
 understand he had means of securing what 
 was choicest. I myself have been once or 
 twice in Cairo, and 1 mentioned the names 
 of several people connected with it. They 
 were people of high position — travellers, 
 financiers, diplomats, fashionable visitors, and 
 friends of the late Khedive. The stranger 
 knew all of them by name, and most of them 
 personally. He had begun talking in French. 
 His French was perfect ; but he presently 
 saw I was an Englishman, and began talking 
 English. His English was equally good, 
 except perhaps for the accent. I discovered 
 that he knew London. He had been there 
 for six weeks once. His acquaintance had 
 not been large, but it seemed to have con- 
 sisted exclusively of royal personages, of 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 29 
 
 diplomats, and some of the ultra-fashionable 
 stars of society. Presently the name cropped 
 up of our own ambassador at Vienna. My 
 companion knew him intimately. I said that 
 he was a friend of my own. My companion, 
 whose keen eyes had caught my name on a 
 luggage label, at once assumed a smile of 
 mixed surprise and gratification, and flattered 
 my sense of importance by asking me if I 
 were myself. I told him I was. ' And you 
 know,' he asked, ' Lady Ashford ? ' On my 
 saying I did, he went on, ^ She is coming to 
 stay with me. 1 have an old castle not very 
 far from Lichtenbourg.' A sudden light 
 broke on me. This must be the Pasha or 
 the devil. Perhaps he was both ; he at any 
 rate proved to be the former. I told him I 
 had visited his castle, and that I was now 
 going to Lichtenbourg. He begged me before 
 I left to come for a few days and stay with 
 him. I said, if I could I would. He little 
 knew how unlikely I was to do so. 
 
 When we reached our station, I was 
 annoyed to find that this late train was met 
 
30 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 by no conveyance from Lichtenbourg. There 
 was one carriage only — a large break, with 
 some coronets on it, whose balls looked like 
 rows of brass-headed nails, and with four 
 milk-white horses. The Pasha, discovering 
 my plight, offered to take me with him, and 
 send me over to Lichtenbourg the following 
 morning ; adding, what proved to be quite 
 true, that there was rain in the clouds, and 
 that I had better make sure of shelter. I 
 thanked him, but declined his offer. Irma 
 I knew would even now be waiting for me, 
 and all my heart was famished for the sight 
 of her. I told Fritz to go to a neighbouring 
 posting-house and secure anything on wheels 
 — if even an open cart — which would bring 
 my luggage, and that I would walk on before 
 him. I had a small bag containing a change 
 of clothing, which I slung over my back, and 
 prepared to set out on my pilgrimage. At 
 this moment some drops began to fall, the 
 air grew rapidly colder, and mixed with the 
 rain came hail. For a moment I doubted 
 whether I would go in this coming down-pour. 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 31 
 
 But my doubts were only momentary ; and 
 to the dismay of Fritz I went. I was soon 
 drenched. The rain blinded me, the hail 
 stung me. In half an hour the roads were 
 turning into quagmires, and darkness was 
 coming before its time. I thought I should 
 never arrive. I began to grow bewildered, 
 and once or twice I thought I had lost my 
 way. But at last arrive I did. I hurried 
 through the clipped alleys ; I reached the 
 well-known hotel. It was ten o'clock. I 
 pushed the doors open roughly, and showed 
 myself blinking in the " hall, an object so 
 strange and weather-beaten, that a waiter 
 and a man from the bureau hurried out, ready 
 to eject me. At last I was recognized; and 
 though they probably thought me mad, they 
 showed me to the room I had ordered, where 
 I hastily changed my things, and then 
 demanded to be shown to the salon of Mrs. 
 Schilizzi and the Princess. I entered. Irma 
 was sitting at the table listlessly, by a great 
 bowl of flowers, not expecting me, and not 
 looking up at first. When she did look up, 
 
32 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 a cry of delight broke from her. It seemed 
 to me that I had not seen her for years ; her 
 voice at first sounded strange. Her face too 
 looked strange. I seemed to have lost the 
 clue to it. For a moment or two we were 
 embarrassed ; and then — we looked at each 
 other, and were re-united. Yes — yes ; but 
 what happened then ? She took my hand 
 and held it. I did not think that that would 
 be all. Some other seal of welcome, some 
 other touch with healing in it — she saw that 
 I expected this ; but all in a second, like the 
 writing on Belshazzar's wall, a frown appeared 
 on her forehead, and she almost pushed me 
 from her. ' How can you be so silly ? ' she 
 exclaimed, in a stinging emphatic whisper. 
 ' My aunt's in the next room. Have you 
 absolutely no consideration for me ? ' I felt 
 that this was unjust. Her conduct at this 
 moment was far more likely to reach the ears 
 of the Princess than the gift of a noiseless 
 moment, which would have satisfied me. 
 ' You know,' she went on, still chilling me 
 by her accent, ' you know that I am glad to 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 33 
 
 see you. But it would have been far better 
 had you managed to come earlier, or else had 
 put off calling on us till some time to-morrow 
 morning/ At this moment the door of the 
 neighbouring room opened, and in bustled the 
 Princess, her face wrinkled with smiles. She 
 asked me how it was I had managed to come 
 so late. I told her about the trains. I told 
 her also that I had walked. * Walked ! ' she 
 exclaimed ; ^ and in this rain ; and all these 
 long nine miles ! ' I said I had told her niece 
 that I hoped to join them at dinner, and so 
 was determined to reach them in time to 
 excuse myself that night for my absence. As 
 I said this, I was aware that Irma started ; 
 and I felt that her eyes were fixed on 
 me with a new expression. 1 met them in 
 one rapid look, and they were full of a 
 repenting tenderness. And now, too, her 
 voice came musical to my ears with solicitude, 
 as she exclaimed to her aunt, ' And most 
 likely he's had no dinner. Do let us ring, 
 and see if we can't get him something 
 here.' 
 
 VOL. III. D 
 
34 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 The Princess assented. She also was full 
 of kindness ; but just at this juncture Fritz 
 appeared at the door, announcing not only 
 that he had arrived and the luggage, but also 
 that a supper for me was ready in my own 
 room. Till a moment ago I had no know- 
 ledge that I was hungry. But the change in 
 Irma's manner, I suppose by restoring peace 
 to me, left me free to listen to the cries of 
 appetite. I was more than hungry. I was 
 faint indeed; and confessing as much, I left 
 them, receiving as I went from Irma s hand 
 and eyes an assurance whose charm made 
 every nerve cease aching. In the passage the 
 manager met me, wanting to tell me some- 
 thing about the money I lent the doctor. 
 I gather it will be repaid in a day or two. 
 If that is the case, it will no doubt be a great 
 convenience to me. I shall hear about it to- 
 morrow. I couldn't attend to-night. Wearied 
 a.s I am by my walk, and disposed to sleep 
 as I am by my supper, I have only been able 
 to get through this piece of diary, because 
 I am inspired by the happiness which her last 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 35 
 
 look gave me. Irma, so long as you are true 
 to me, I can bear anything ; and I can see 
 ahead of us many things that must be borne. 
 Let us try together so to bear all, that Avhat 
 is ignoble in many cases may not be so in 
 ours. Irma, during the days which we still 
 have to ourselves, never quarrel with me — 
 never move aside from me. Watch with 
 me. Is there in the heart of things any 
 reason why I should not say, Pray with 
 me? I shall see you, I shall be with you, 
 to-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, 
 and many to-morrows afterwards, uninter- 
 rupted. Be to me always what you have 
 been ! " 
 
 This last request, though it never reached 
 Mrs. Schilizzi's ears, was granted by her 
 during the next few days partially, though 
 not entirely. She never quarrelled with him. 
 The daggers he had discovered she could use 
 were all hid in their sheaths ; but her old 
 frankness, at once passionate and childlike, 
 was, except on rare occasions, troubled by a 
 certain nervousness, which was not far from 
 
36 
 
 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 irritability, and which sometimes indeed only 
 avoided being so by taking the form of 
 preoccupation. 
 
 The proximate cause of this was evidently 
 the presence of the Princess, from whose 
 company they could escape only for precarious 
 intervals. People who judge of the lives of 
 others from a distance, are accustomed to 
 make light of impediments of this kind. They 
 quote the proverb, Where there's a will 
 there's a way," and affirm that if somebody 
 had but really wished it, he or she could of 
 course have done so-and-so. Such critics of 
 conduct entirely fail to realize how strong are 
 the fetters, fine and invisible though they 
 may be, which the most trivial of social cir- 
 cumstances can sometimes weave around us : 
 and Grenville and Mrs. Schilizzi constantly 
 found now that a tete-d-tete w^as as wholly 
 beyond their reach as if for the time being 
 there was a whole ocean between them. He, 
 however, could not get rid of the feeling that 
 the difficulties which beset them were some- 
 times unnecessarily increased by a perverse 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 37 
 
 timidity on her part, the suspicion of which 
 pained and troubled him. Still,, in spite of 
 all this, hardly a day passed on which they 
 did not secure at least an hour together — 
 either in the sitting-room, when the Princess 
 was enjoying her siesta, or else where some 
 seat in the gardens lurked amongst sequestered 
 leafage. 
 
 During these interviews the last thing with 
 which he could tax her was hardness ; but at 
 moments he was conscious on her part of a 
 certain gentle shrinking from him, and her 
 eyes appealed to him as if full of some un- 
 uttered truth which, it seemed, she longed to 
 tell him, pleading with him for encourage- 
 ment to do so. As for him, he vacillated 
 between two moods — a mood of compassion, 
 made all the deeper and more unselfish by the 
 passion that was absorbed and lurked in it ; 
 and a mood of sadness caused by the im- 
 portunate contrast between her old remem- 
 bered frankness and this present estranging 
 hesitancy. 
 
 At last she began to give him some clue 
 
38 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 to her feelings. They were seated, as they 
 often were, in the gardens. ''Bobby/' she 
 began. He looked at her. Her eyes had 
 tears in them. She glanced round her hastily 
 to see that there was no one near, and took 
 his hand, as if she were clinging to his sym- 
 pathy. Bobby," she began again, and her 
 voice was oddly tremulous, I wonder what 
 you would do supposing that this happened — 
 supposing that some day you were to discover 
 I had become very good. Would you cease 
 to care for me ? Would you go quite away 
 from me ? " 
 
 His answer was, No ; you asked me that 
 once before." 
 
 " I expect you would," she said, ignoring 
 these last words. Not at first, perhaps ; 
 but later. It would necessarily make some 
 difference." 
 
 ''Will you," he said presently, "be patient, 
 and let me answer you slowly ; and if you 
 find me hesitating in my phrases, believe me 
 that the reason is this — I am not trying to 
 hide my thoughts, but to find them. Yes," 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 39 
 
 he resumed, after a pause, you are right. 
 It would make a difference. It wouldn't 
 destroy my affection for you ; but I think 
 that for that very reason it would separate us. 
 Irma — what I am saying might, to a gross 
 mind, seem to bear quite a base and selfish 
 sense ; but the gross mind would quite mis- 
 apprehend me. That chain which you talk 
 of severing, though important in one sense, 
 in another sense how unimportant it has 
 been to us ! Subtly and closely as it has 
 helped to bind us together, how few and how 
 slender have been its links. We have not 
 valued it for its own sake. It has been 
 hidden and lost in its results. And yet, 
 Irma — yet — how shall I pick my words ? 
 Listen — let me put it like this. We are 
 accustomed to speak of ourselves as souls 
 and bodies ; and when affection is slight and 
 passion strong, we are for practical purposes 
 thus divisible ; and we can, if we will it, 
 sacrifice either element to the other. But 
 when affection is not slight, but fills and 
 absorbs the soul, the soul then fills and 
 
40 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 absorbs the body ; and the body is to this 
 transfigured affection what the brain is to 
 the intellect. Low and high, good and bad 
 — you cannot cut up a unity into such 
 divisions as these. Some people may say 
 that it is nobler to think than to eat ; but 
 without doing the one we never shall do 
 the other." 
 
 She watched him as he spoke, weighing 
 every word, far out of reach of the hiss of any 
 impure propriety, her heart not insulting her 
 cheeks with the indecency of a blush. She 
 was face to face with the eternal mysteries 
 of existence — not a body, not a ghost, but 
 a woman ; and the eyes with which she 
 watched him were, in the words of Byron, 
 " All youth, but with an aspect beyond time." 
 He saw that she expected him to continue. 
 
 I think," he said, thus far I know my 
 meaning clearly ; but when I come to the 
 practical application of it, I am doubtful. 
 I naturally should incline to say that I 
 couldn't part from you by halves. And yet, 
 again, by no arguments of mine will I even 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 41 
 
 try to sway your conscience against your 
 will. If your conscience tells you to take a 
 
 certain course " 
 
 He paused. Dear," she said, go on. 
 Tell me." 
 
 I believe," he said, " I could bear any 
 change in your conduct so long as it meant 
 no change in your disposition towards me. 
 I could never reproach you — never. And 
 yet, if our dispositions remain unchanged 
 — however I argue, I am brought back to 
 this — our only course is to part or to change 
 nothing." 
 
 Dear," she said gently, I haven't the 
 strength to change. But I must teach you 
 a new lesson. You must pity as well as love 
 me." 
 
 This conversation left Grenville full of 
 trouble, and presented his whole conduct in a 
 new and ghastly light to him. So far indeed 
 as it was conduct concerning himself only, his 
 judgment of it was in no way altered ; but if 
 she were becoming unhappy on account of her 
 own partnership in it, her unhappiness he felt 
 
42 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 would be his work. So long as she was at 
 peace with herself, her attachment to him 
 might be raising her ; but the moment she 
 began to despise herself on account of it, it 
 would begin to degrade and ruin both her 
 and him together. And in that case he 
 asked himself what course would be open 
 to him ? To abandon her and to remain with 
 her seemed equally fraught with misery. 
 These considerations gathered in his mind 
 like clouds ; but before they had done more 
 than cast some advancing shadows, Mrs. 
 Schilizzi's quiet seemed to have come back 
 to her ; and Grenville's storm floated away 
 and evaporated. That evening, when he 
 was playing a game of chess with her, she 
 said, 
 
 I agree with you quite in all that you said 
 this morning. You took me too seriously ; 
 and yet I am glad you did — because else I 
 should not have heard you explain the matter 
 so clearly." 
 
 What is he explaining ? said the Prin- 
 cess, looking up from her book. Are you 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 43 
 
 two turning into philosophers over your 
 game ? 
 
 ''We were puzzled by a problem/' said 
 Grenville, and have now solved it by ex- 
 perience." 
 
 Next day, when they found themselves alone 
 in the gardens, Mrs. Scliilizzi alluded to this 
 slight incident. 
 
 You see," she said, '' how careful one 
 oup^ht to be. Mv aunt's ears are like needles. 
 I was in fault last night ; but Fm often afraid 
 that you may say something imprudent. Do 
 be kind to me ; don't when we are with her 
 lower your voice in talking to me, or do any- 
 thing to suggest even that there is any under- 
 standing between us. Perhaps she would 
 never dream of such a thing. Perhaps I'm 
 absurdly nervous ; but think how fatal might 
 be the least suspicion on her part. When I 
 first met you," she went on presently, I 
 would have sat with you and whispered with 
 you for hours, if you would have condescended 
 to do so, without a thought or fear of either 
 my aunt or any one. But now This is 
 
44 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 our seat ; rm tired, Bobby. Let us sit down. 
 You did the talking yesterday. Let me do it 
 to-day. As I told you, dear, I have thought 
 over all you said ; and I agree with it ; and 
 oh, believe me, I don t want you to go. I 
 think that yesterday I gave you a wrong 
 impression ; and I think I was wrong about 
 my own meaning myself. I think that what 
 has been troubling me chiefly these last few 
 days has not been the thought of sin ; for 
 to-day, as much as ever, I feel that my soul 
 has been made alive through you. But — I 
 wonder if you would understand ? You are 
 not a woman. How should you ? And for 
 you things are all so diff'erent." 
 
 He protested that this was not so. She 
 shook her head sadly, and not without an 
 effort continued — 
 
 " As to the way in which most people 
 would condemn me, in that way I don t con- 
 demn myself, and I don't pretend to. The 
 hypocrisy of self-condemnation is as bad as 
 the hypocrisy of self-approval. But what I 
 feel is this. Till lately I had nothing that 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 45 
 
 I cared to conceal from any one ; and now, 
 as you saw in London, and as you again see 
 here, I am obliged to conceal things even from 
 my mother-in-law and my aunt ; and by and 
 by, Bobby, all this will be worse. Naturally 
 I am so very simple. I like all things — even 
 my sorrows — to be straightforward ; and this 
 seems to be destroying the simplicity of my 
 life. I am not ashamed of loving you ; nor 
 am I ashamed of wronging Paul, for it is 
 impossible for me to believe that I am 
 doing so ; but I am ashamed — or, at least, 
 dear, I am troubled — by the thought of 
 having to live with half my frankness 
 gone.'' 
 
 I understand you,'' he answered. Irma, 
 what can I say ? If you suffer like this, it 
 is I who have caused your suffering ; and if 
 for your sake I suffer in the same way myself, 
 that will hardly be much comfort. Do you 
 know, during the last two days I have 
 thought your aunt has been wondering what 
 keeps me at Lichtenbourg. Ah, if we only 
 could both be open ! " 
 
46 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 " See ! " she exclaimed, here are the 
 children. They have come out to look 
 for us." 
 
 And the happiness of a mother shone 
 suddenly in her eyes, and gave to her laugh 
 the gay ripple of girlhood. 
 
 Grenville was puzzled, as he had sometimes 
 been before, by the odd inconsequence of 
 her moods. He for his part, whatever might 
 be the case with her, could not free his mind 
 of the thoughts she had just suggested to 
 him ; and before they had another opportunity 
 of renewing their conversation, he eased his 
 mind by writing and transmitting to her the 
 following note — 
 
 I have been thinking of what you said 
 about lying. I hate a lie just as you do. I 
 remember once for a whole fortnight I felt 
 contrite and humiliated by a lie I told to 
 get off a dinner-party. Lying seems to reduce 
 one to the level of a naughty school-boy. 
 And yet even the eaxly Christians, in times 
 of persecution, though if questioned with 
 regard to their faith they were, of course, 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 47 
 
 bound to bear witness to it, were expressly 
 forbidden to let it be so mucli as suspected 
 unnecessarily. If our faitli to one another 
 has any of those qualities in it, which we 
 believe it to have, we may hope to protect 
 it without stooping to a denial of it. We 
 shall not for that reason lead a life that is 
 externally easier, but at least we shall keep 
 unsullied our own self-respect ; and that is 
 a talisman which will save us at least from 
 one thing — that voluntary parting, more bitter 
 than any enforced one, which is caused when 
 two w^ho have clung together faithfully, dis- 
 cover at last that neither is worth the faith of 
 the other." 
 
 That same evening she had one moment 
 alone with him. She looked thoughtful, but 
 much happier. 
 
 ''Do you know,'' she said to him hastily, 
 what you do, when you tell me things ? 
 You seem to cut an alley through a wood 
 that I thought impassable, and I see suddenly 
 a gleam of light at the end." 
 
 '' More philosophy ! exclaimed the Princess, 
 
48 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 entering. Come — come. We ordered dinner 
 at seven. Give me your arm, Bobby Grenville, 
 and let me totter along with you to the 
 restaurant.'' 
 
CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 Grenville little knew when he took his 
 seat at their table, how soon the peace in his 
 mind, which just seemed to have renewed 
 itself, was about to be broken again in a yet 
 more serious way, and the bitterness of the 
 lot he had chosen was again to make itself 
 felt. 
 
 They were later than most of the company, 
 and there were many people departing before 
 their own meal had arrived at its middle stage. 
 The Princess was studying the moving figures 
 through her spectacles, when she suddenly, 
 in her penetrating voice, exclaimed — 
 Baron — baron, won t you look at me ? 
 
 A tall, grizzled man started, and then 
 caught sight of her. They shook hands 
 
 VOL. III. E 
 
50 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 effusively. She asked him how long he had 
 been at Lichtenbourg. He said for two days, 
 and that that night he was leaving. 
 
 You know my niece ? said the Princess. 
 
 The Baron turned to Mrs. Schilizzi. 
 
 *^0f course/' he said; ''but I have not 
 met you since you were married. Once or 
 twice I have seen you walking with your 
 husband, and I wondered if my mind was 
 deceiving me when it whispered that I had 
 the honour of knowing you. Will you have 
 the goodness to present me to Herr von 
 Schilizzi ? 
 
 Grenville, despite every effort, was conscious 
 that his brows contracted; and though as a 
 matter of fact his colour changed but little, he 
 felt that his face must be hot with indignant 
 protest. The mistake was corrected almost as 
 soon as made ; and his vanity was soothed by 
 finding that this stranger recognized his name 
 when it was mentioned, and bowed to him 
 with evident deference. But Mrs. Schilizzi 
 had noted every change in his expression ; 
 and after the Baron had gone, she became 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 51 
 
 absorbed and silent. The manner of the 
 Princess too, though he did not notice it at 
 the time, underwent, as he reflected after- 
 wards, an almost imperceptible change. 
 
 ''The Baron," she said to him presently, 
 '*has a beautiful old castle in Styria. There 
 is hardly a roof that doesn t let in the rain, 
 and hardly a table with more than three 
 legs. It's so old and dirty, that Fm sure 
 you should have a look at it." 
 
 Grenville felt that this allusion to his tastes 
 was not very sympathetic ; and before dinner 
 was over he became a trifle embarrassed by 
 the Princess asking him what other antiquities 
 he would visit, and when his official engage- 
 ments would be taking him back to London. 
 The doubt came back to him which he had 
 mentioned to Mrs. Schilizzi, as to w^hether 
 his continuance at Lichtenbourg had struck 
 the Princess as curious; and instinct rather 
 than reason at once supplied him with a 
 defence. 
 
 As to his return to London, a vague answer 
 was sufficient. ''But as to old castles," he 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ilLii^^' 
 
52 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 went on good-naturedly, I have been asked 
 to be a guest at another, and that is the 
 castle of our Pasha. If I like to go there, 
 I believe I shall be welcome in a week or so ; 
 and meanwhile this is a charming place to 
 wait at." 
 
 With this intelligence the Princess seemed 
 quite content. With an almost motherly 
 friendliness, Help me up from my chair," 
 she said, and come to our room to be beaten 
 again at chess/' 
 
 The game that evening proceeded almost 
 in silence. No word or look came from Mrs. 
 Schilizzi which showed that her thoughts 
 had strayed beyond knights and pawns and 
 bishops. The following day when he started 
 on his usual stroll with her, she surprised 
 him by saying with decision — 
 
 ''I am not going to stay out long." And 
 as soon as they had reached a walk which 
 was comparatively unfrequented, she began, 
 
 I want to tell you something. You had 
 much better go away. It is best for every 
 reason." 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 53 
 
 Surprised and bewildered, he asked her 
 what she meant. Where must I go ? Why 
 must I go ? When ? " 
 
 " Soon/' she said. Can't you see that 
 my aunt is beginning to wonder about you ? 
 and any morning I may hear from my husband 
 that he is coming;. Indeed I shouldn't be 
 surprised if he came without my hearing. 
 Tm getting so uncomfortable I hardly know 
 what to do.'' 
 
 It was not only what she said, but there 
 was a peculiar quality in her manner, that 
 roused in Grenville a certain sense of injustice, 
 and seemed to have placed at once a distance 
 between him and her. 
 
 ^'Certainly," he replied, ^'if you wish it, I 
 will go. It is true I have nowhere to go to 
 — except, I suppose, England. I have no home, 
 as you know, either there or anywhere." 
 
 " England ! " she exclaimed. ''No — I 
 didn't mean that." 
 
 '' Well then, Paris, if you like it better. I 
 can easily make arrangements to go by the 
 evening train." 
 
54 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 Don't be silly/' she cried. " Do try to 
 understand me. I only mean, go away for 
 a day or two ; and if you like to do so, come 
 back when Paul arrives. It matters about 
 my aunt, so much more than about him ; and 
 if you are here when he is, it will look so 
 much better to her.'' 
 
 Do you mean then that I must go at 
 once ? Tell me. I am at your orders." 
 
 Her tone was almost tender : but as she 
 went on it grew chilly again. No — no — I 
 don't want you to go to-day. That would 
 look worse than if you remained till Christ- 
 mas. But talk to my aunt about going — 
 make her think you are going. It will be 
 quite enough, in any case, if you go to the 
 Pasha for a day or two. Come," she said 
 presently, I must be turning back again. 
 For the last two mornings I have neglected 
 my children ; and I mean to teach them some 
 lessons before luncheon." 
 
 Grenville could not help being annoyed at 
 the instructions given him. The matter of 
 them he could bear, but what he could not 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 55 
 
 bear was the manner. The former affected 
 him like any ordinary pain, which he could 
 accept with fortitude and acquiescence ; but 
 the latter seemed rather to produce some 
 irritated rebellion of the nerves, whose action 
 lay beyond the province of fortitude. Of 
 course/' he said to himself, ''I will go should 
 she really wish it; or even if I see myself 
 that it is well for her that I should go. But 
 she seems to think that if she wishes to send 
 me away, I can be sent away like a footman, 
 and rung for when I again am wanted." 
 
 In this language he recognized the return 
 of the temper which had attacked and 
 tortured him in London, and with which he 
 had so long struggled there. He found, 
 however, that he had since then advanced 
 considerably in the art of self-discipline. The 
 cruel thoughts that now whispered themselves 
 in his ear against her he managed to charm 
 away, by quoting from his memory, as a saint 
 might quote a text to the devil, some former 
 words of love, or some look of trust and 
 kindness. He tried to place himself in her 
 
56 
 
 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 exact position, and see the requests she made 
 him as he supposed she saw them herself. 
 He also — although on reflection he considered 
 them quite unnecessary — faithfully followed 
 her instructions with regard to his conduct 
 towards the Princess. Without committing 
 himself to a statement as to when he was 
 going to leave, he let the Princess know, as 
 he could do with perfect truth, that he 
 expected very shortly to be going to see the 
 Pasha ; and more than this, with regard to 
 Mrs. Schilizzi, he put, out of deference to her 
 wishes, a restraint on his manner and move- 
 ments, whenever they were in the Princess's 
 presence, which seemed as superfluous to his 
 judgment as it was trying to his feelings. 
 
 But though Grenville outwardly was per- 
 fectly calm and good-tempered, and to Mrs. 
 Schilizzi, whenever he was alone with her, 
 tender, his life for the next few days was one 
 constant eff'ort of self-control. Apart from 
 the Princess or her children he daily saw less 
 and less of her. She did not deny him the 
 walks which had by this time become 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 57 
 
 habitual ; but she professed a distaste for the 
 lonelier parts of the gardens ; she kept as 
 much as she could to the paths which were 
 most frequented ; and she seemed by pre- 
 ference to take the children with her. She 
 did not find fault or quarrel with him ; but 
 she did what was more estranging. She 
 avoided, so far as she could, all topics that 
 were personal, and whenever he tried to 
 approach them, she adroitly turned to others. 
 He had sometimes thought her hard, he had 
 sometimes thought her cruel. He was now 
 fretted with an even worse suspicion of her — 
 that so far as he was concerned she was 
 gradually showing herself frivolous. 
 
 Inward troubles like these, depending on 
 such slight vicissitudes, seem to many people 
 to be hardly troubles at all, and to need 
 on a man's part no firmness in bearing 
 them. Let such people consider how small 
 and hidden an injury in the vital parts of 
 the body may cause the most intolerable 
 suffering; and they then may learn that a 
 mind may be sometimes as sensitive as a 
 
58 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 stomach, and that the finest minds, though 
 they may show suffering least, are those that 
 feel it most, and need most strength to bear 
 it. Grenville's secret sufferings were of two 
 kinds. First was the sense, made the more 
 diflScult to deal with because it was doubtful, 
 that the woman who had been so near to 
 him was now gradually withdrawing herself ; 
 whilst a phantom was constantly facing him 
 of his own coming desolation. Secondly was 
 a sense of his own unutterable folly, supposing 
 this woman to be actually thus treating him. 
 All the thoughts which were in the service 
 of his own self-love began to plot together, 
 and break out into insurrections, threatening 
 her and clamouring to be revenged on her ; 
 but never once, by an angry look or word, 
 did he allow a sign of this inward tumult to 
 escape him. On the contrary, whilst one part 
 of his mind was stinging him with distrust of 
 her and resentment, he forced himself, by the 
 aid of another part, to act as if he completely 
 trusted her. However unreasonable or capri- 
 cious her conduct and words might seem to 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 59 
 
 him, he forced himself to interpret them in 
 some way to her advantage ; nor did he relax 
 his forbearance, though it hourly grew more 
 difficult, as he looked in vain for any sign 
 that she was touched by it, or was even 
 aware of it. 
 
 As time went on the situation became 
 nearly intolerable. Every day he hoped for 
 some softening change in her, and every day 
 was the casket of some fresh and complete 
 disappointment. Not only did she avoid 
 anything like personal conversation, but she 
 avoided even the literary and other subjects 
 in which formerly she had shown the deepest 
 interest ; or if for a moment or two she would 
 now and then allude to them, instead of 
 considering what he said, she ignored or 
 sharply contradicted it. At last, indeed, he 
 was growing to dread rather than look 
 forward to his meetings with her ; when one 
 morning, to his extreme surprise, she received 
 him with a voice and look like those of their 
 early days — those days in the forest, which 
 seemed now like some lost existence. 
 
60 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 " Bobby," she said softly, I have a great 
 deal to say to you. T am going this morning 
 to take you for a walk in the country — you 
 see I am ready. Have you got your hat ? 
 Then come.'' 
 
 Hardly able to believe in such a return of 
 happiness, Grenville walked by her side, un- 
 conscious of the road they were taking, till 
 she said, We will go to a place where I took 
 you once before.'' He then realized that they 
 were on their way to the mill. Listen," 
 she went on presently. This morning I 
 have heard from Paul. He perhaps will be 
 here to-morrow, or at farthest the day after ; 
 and my aunt, who has only been staying here 
 in order to keep me company, has settled 
 already to return home after luncheon." 
 
 Grenville looked at her, and received the 
 news in silence. One curious thing struck 
 him about her. Circumstances were ap- 
 proaching which, more than all others, might 
 seem calculated to increase the nervousness 
 she had so often before exhibited ; but the 
 nervousness instead of increasing seemed to 
 
A H[JMAN DOCUMENT. 61 
 
 have wholly vanished. She was serious 
 indeed ; but so far as frankness goes, she was 
 as fearlessly, as affectionately frank, as she 
 had been on the lake or in the hunting-lodge. 
 Only now even she surprised him by what 
 seemed an outburst of caprice, though it was 
 not of a kind to pain him ; and her manner, 
 even if it had been, was quite enough to have 
 robbed it of every sting. " Darling ! she 
 exclaimed suddenly, — it was long since she 
 had used that word, — will you mind if I ask 
 you one thing ? Let us turn back now, and 
 go for this walk later. My aunt will have 
 left by that time ; and the whole afternoon 
 will be our own. I don't want to be hurried. 
 I have so much to say to you." 
 
 Grenville assented, and they returned almost 
 in silence — a silence of union, not a silence of 
 estrangement. 
 
 "I hope,'' said the Princess to Grenville, 
 just before her departure, when Mrs. Schilizzi 
 happened to have left the room, I hope 
 you'll write and tell me of your visit to this 
 wonderful Pasha ; and if you have time on 
 
62 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 your hands, come back again to me. I/' 
 she continued, am wanted here no longer, 
 now that Irma will have her husband ; and 
 IVe business at home that has been asking for 
 me for the last five days. As you are not going 
 directly, you of course will make his acquaint- 
 ance. He's not grand, like your friends the 
 Count and Countess — but I don't know any 
 one with a better head on his shoulders/' 
 
 Grenville wondered if in this there was any 
 oblique hint to himself. Of one thing he had 
 become aware at all events, that the Princess 
 saw no need of conveying any hints to her 
 niece. 
 
 " Tell me,'' said Mrs. Schilizzi, when the 
 Princess had driven off, " should you mind, 
 Bobby, if we took the children with us ? It 
 would give them so much pleasure ; and I 
 should like it myself, for other reasons. I 
 can't bear to think that you should come 
 between me and them ; and indeed you don't ! 
 But I was a little afraid of you thinking that 
 they might come between you and me. They 
 won't ; but I'll do as you wish about it." 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 63 
 
 Take them/' he said ; and she saw that he 
 said it willingly. 
 
 They went again by the way they had gone 
 that morning. They came to the place where 
 the well-remembered path took them from the 
 high-road, and led them by the willows and 
 the river. 
 
 " Have you forgotten/' she said to him, 
 ''the day when I first brought you here? I 
 keep in my mind every word that you said to 
 me. My soul was being born that day, and 
 all the world seemed beautiful." 
 
 I,'' he answered, " have also forgotten 
 nothing." 
 
 " Let us," she said, " for the time — let us 
 forget something. Let us forget our troubles. 
 For a few hours let us be happy. Let our 
 walk now be a continuation of our other walk. 
 Bobby, you smile. For a few hours be happy 
 with me." She took his arm for a moment or 
 so, and leant on it. ''Look," she exclaimed 
 presently, " did you see that water-ousel, with 
 its little white breast ? How pretty it was ! It 
 darted out from the shadow of those two 
 
64 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 bushes. Those bushes when last we were 
 here had very few leaves on them. You 
 picked up a stone, when we went past them. 
 I remember what you said. I wonder if you 
 do ? You said that when two people were 
 really fond of each other, the heavens were 
 opened for them. I wonder, Bobby, if they 
 will be open for me much longer ? 
 
 Before he could answer she had begun 
 calling to the children, as if to escape from 
 feelino[s which she could no lono;er control. 
 
 Come,'' she said, both of you and show me 
 those pretty flowers." The children came, 
 and trotted like dogs along by her, extracting 
 a promise that they should have tea at the 
 mill. They had it in the summer-house which 
 Grenville so well remembered. Every incident 
 of that first visit to it recurred to him. His 
 present life was then just beginning, with all 
 its rapture, and all its unforeseen bitterness. 
 The rude green table, scratched over with the 
 names of tourists, stared at him like some 
 papyrus inscribed with his own destiny. 
 But what that destiny was, was still a riddle 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 65 
 
 to him. Was it heaven or ruin ? At this 
 moment it seemed heaven. Irma was by his 
 side ; and the children were laughing close to 
 them. They too laughed with the children, 
 distributing the simple delicacies ; and to all 
 four of them cakes and cream and sugar 
 seemed for the moment to be the greatest 
 pleasures of life, and its most important 
 problem the division of them. 
 
 At last when the little mouths were begin- 
 ning to move more slowly, Mrs. Schilizzi said, 
 " Now, children, go and play.'' Off they flew 
 like two obedient butterflies, and the mother's 
 face then turned towards Grenville, and her 
 lips said tremulously, Listen — I want to 
 speak to you." 
 
 Yes ? " he said. He saw that she struggled 
 for her voice. She found it only with an eff'ort. 
 
 "Bobby," she said at last, *'you won't go 
 away and leave me ? " 
 
 With the eloquence that lies only in words 
 
 broken and chosen helplessly, he protested 
 
 that he would not. ''Why," he asked, 
 
 ''should you think so?" 
 
 VOL. III. F 
 
66 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 " For many reasons/' she said. I can 
 hardly tell yet how many. When Paul 
 comes, I shall know.'' 
 
 Does he mind what you do, Irma ? 
 
 He would mind/' she said, anything 
 which he thought was an affront to himself. 
 But he doesn't care in any other way. How 
 I spend my life, or that I have a life to spend, 
 is a thing that hardly occurs to him. But the 
 fonder I am of you — does not this seem 
 strange ? — the stronger grows my sense of 
 the duties I ow^e to him." 
 
 No/' said Grenville, " I don't think it is 
 strange." 
 
 " I want," she went on, to give him all I 
 can, except one thing — to wait on him when 
 he orders me ; to be good-tempered with him ; 
 to be his hired companion — to respect his 
 crotchets — to be a good ornamental servant — 
 to give him what he has paid for. And to 
 give him this, dear, I shall have to be robbing 
 you — I mean of my time. Often I shall be 
 unable to see you ; and then you will be 
 disgusted, and angry with me." 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 67 
 
 ''Never/' he said, ''never. And yet, Irma, 
 I may be tempted to be. I know what an 
 unreasonable thing one's reasoning often is ; 
 but, in my real heart of hearts, instead of 
 being angry, I shall admire you. We talked 
 about truth the other day. You see yourself 
 how truth is still open to you." 
 
 "Perhaps it is," she answered. "Still I 
 am getting so fearful. Bobby — if I seem to 
 neglect you, will you promise me not to be 
 angry ? Oh — but that's not the worst. Many 
 little things may happen, and I shall be forced 
 to lie. I shall — I foresee it all. Listen," she 
 went on, and looked him full in the eyes — " I 
 am naturally very .truthful ; and if ever you 
 find I am not so — I don't mean not so to you 
 — will you promise me to remember this ? — 
 that I 
 
 * Put to proof art alien to the artist, 
 Once, and only once, and for one only.' 
 
 Yes — I know you think you will. I see your 
 lips move, but I can't hear what you say. 
 But I wonder if you will really. Oh, tell me 
 
68 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 — tell me, if I have to lie for you, tell me you 
 won't hate me." 
 
 Irma/' he said, the very fact that you 
 ask me this, is a proof that you never can do 
 anything that will part me from you. What- 
 ever blame there may be to fall on any one, 
 it will be mine, not yours." 
 
 Tell me,'^ she went on, hardly heeding his 
 words, and yet reassured by the tone of them, 
 
 tell me, Bobby, that I may always lean upon 
 you — always feel that in spirit, even if not in 
 the body, you are close to me, that you are 
 upholding me, and that you will never, never 
 abandon me. AVill you never go away from 
 me ? Are you sure ? Are you quite sure ? 
 
 Her hand had stolen into his, holding it in 
 a convulsive clasp. He answered her slowly, 
 
 I am weiijhing; each word I utter. Look — 
 
 CD O 
 
 the people of the mill are moving about in 
 sight of us ; the children are close by ; I can 
 do nothing but speak. I put all my life into 
 those four words — I am quite sure." 
 
 I believe you," she said. I am happier. 
 Come, let us go back again." 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 69 
 
 Next morning she sent him a note early. 
 Paul/' it ran, will be here at ten. He 
 has been travelling all night. Let me see you 
 in the garden, just for one five minutes.'' 
 
 They met There was little to say. Their 
 thoughts seemed to partake of the breathless 
 character of their words ; but he pulled from 
 his pocket a crumpled sheet of paper, and said 
 to her — 
 
 See — this is what I wrote last night." 
 
 Read it," she said. " We still have a 
 minute or two. Sit down here, and read it ; 
 and let me look at it whilst you do so.'^ 
 
 What he read was as follows ; and when he 
 had read it, she took the paper from him. 
 
 " Your eyes and mine are turned towards tlie light ; 
 How can our footsteps tend towards the night '? 
 They do not — cannot : though above our road 
 Sorrow and clouds are gathering like a load. 
 For learn this secret : 'Tis to us allowed 
 To make a silver lining to our cloud : 
 And we will turn the dark to daylight by 
 That one clear lamp — our own fidelity. 
 You will be faithful — will you 1 This I know, 
 I shall not leave you till you make me go." 
 
CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 This brief interview was duly noted in his 
 diary, which, continued thus : — 
 
 ^' The event of this morning, though I knew 
 it must happen some day, used to seem as 
 vague a thing to me as to healthy people 
 death seems. Latterly, indeed, I had felt its 
 aspect growing day by day distincter ; but 
 distincter only as being more distinctly miser- 
 able : and even now it has taken place I am 
 doubtful what it may portend. Anyhow, this 
 man has at last become a reality for me, and 
 what I think of myself will depend on v/hat I 
 think of him. Hitherto, though I have met 
 and talked and dined with him, he has been a 
 mere abstraction to me ; and I had begun to 
 wonder whether my recollection of him could 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 71 
 
 be accurate, and whether it might not be doing 
 him some grotesque wrong. Should such 
 prove to be the case, I foresaw that my posi- 
 tion would be this — the better I was obliged 
 to think of him, the worse I should be obliged 
 to think of two other people. Am I then, in 
 order to think well of myself, reduced to the 
 necessity of hoping that I may be able to 
 think ill of another ? No — not quite that. I 
 don't want him to be bad. Let him be in- 
 different to her — that is all I ask for. I 
 should hate to injure him. Let me find that 
 he is incapable of being injured. Hitherto I 
 have often said to myself that if I influence 
 his life at all, it will be for good, because I 
 may help her to bear his yoke more happily. 
 But now that the time has come for putting 
 this view to the test, doubts have begun to 
 trouble me. I was thinking only yesterday 
 that when he came, it would be like the day 
 of judgment, arraigning me and revealing me 
 before myself. And now he has come, and, 
 like the day of judgment, suddenly. 
 
 ^^To a certain extent, what I have just 
 
72 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 written is ancient history. When events 
 which we have long been dreading actually 
 arrive, we often find them to be like shadows, 
 which look absolutely black from a distance, 
 but which prove when we enter them to be 
 merely a clouded daylight. That was my 
 experience this morning. We were in the 
 garden for very few minutes. He was expected 
 by ten at the earliest, and our watches were 
 not hurrying us ; but so anxious was she to be 
 on the spot awaiting him, that we were back 
 at the hotel a quarter before the hour. She 
 paused on the steps, and said to me — 
 
 " ' What will you do to-day ? I shall hardly 
 be able to see you — indeed, I had better not.' 
 
 A sudden inspiration came to me. ' I will 
 go/ I said, ' and call on the Pasha/ 
 
 The proposal pleased her. We entered. 
 When we were in the hall, the first thing that 
 met our eyes was a large portmanteau, with 
 the letters 'P. S.' painted on it. 
 
 ' He has com^ ! ' she cried. ' Don't move 
 a step farther with me.' 
 
 ''And before I had time to think, she was 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 73 
 
 hurrying up the stairs. As for me, I was on 
 the point of returning to the garden, when I 
 heard her break into a laugh, and distinguished 
 this exclamation, ' Well ! ' She had reached 
 the first landing, and a man had come down 
 towards her. I could not move. I was con- 
 strained to observe the meeting. I saw his 
 boots first — shining varnished boots, with 
 buff* tops to them. Then I saw his whole 
 figure. Yes, there he was — my friend of the 
 Orient Express, even worse than I had pictured 
 him. They shook hands ; and then, as if he 
 were performing some necessary duty, he gave 
 her a hasty kiss, seeming relieved when it was 
 over. ' I suppose/ he said, ' you have had 
 your coffee long ago. As for me, Tve been 
 
 ordering a d d good English breakfast.' 
 
 And he made a cluck with his tongue, as I 
 had heard him do in the train — a sign, I 
 presume, of satisfaction at his own promptitude. 
 
 '^All this took place in considerably less 
 than a minute. I turned away, and the weight 
 on my heart was lightened. How well I 
 remembered his voice. In the train I had 
 
74 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 thought it oil)^ It sounded now as if there 
 were a sort of grit in it. Its tone was hard, 
 almost ironical — the very negation of affection. 
 
 At this moment I was button-holed by 
 the hotel manager. 'The doctor/ he said, 
 ' will repay me in a week your loan to him. 
 He told me so last night. He was very 
 anxious about the matter. Of course I have 
 never said that the money came from your 
 Excellency.' Well — I have been looking at my 
 bank-book. The repayment will be very 
 welcome ; but just then the matter came to 
 me as an irritating trifle. 
 
 " I wandered out of doors. I determined to 
 avoid meeting them. Them, I say — them! 
 How strange it seems to be obliged to think 
 of her as bound to any human being besides 
 myself! — to find suddenly that I am an out- 
 sider ! But after all it is easier to bear than I 
 expected. The look of the man, the coldness 
 of his greeting — that has taken my worst fears 
 away, and I found myself, to my surprise, 
 almost in good spirits. 
 
 My one wish now was to be away for the 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 75 
 
 whole day ; so without returning to the hotel, 
 I went to a stand of carriages, and taking a 
 light fiacre at once set off for my Pasha's. 
 Was it pain or pleasure that filled me during 
 the drive ? I can hardly tel] ; but I know^ 
 that all the way lier voice was in my ears, her 
 cheeks were close to me ; her presence was in 
 the woods and brooks, still lingering there like 
 a perfume. I reached the castle, as I had 
 expected, just about the hour of dejeuner. 
 I sent in my card, and a smooth-faced French 
 valet soon appeared at the gates, who smilingly 
 invited me to enter. I was taken up a private 
 staircase, to a round room in a tower, where I 
 found the Pasha arranged tastefully on a 
 divan. He was draped in a gorgeous dressing- 
 gown, and reading a French novel. My eyes 
 were so dazzled by the red and gold on the 
 walls, and by silver crescents studding an 
 azure ceiling, that the Pasha had risen and 
 was hospitably pressing my hand before I was 
 aware of seeing anything clearly. He was 
 charmed, he was ravished to receive me. He 
 had feared I had quite forgotten him. Break- 
 
76 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 fast would be ready presently. Would I 
 excuse him whilst he completed his toilette ? 
 He took me by the arm, and led me to another 
 room — a room which I recognized, dim with 
 purple velvet, and glimmering through its 
 dimness with silver inkstands and blotting- 
 books. He left me here alone with a copy of 
 the Vie Pm^isienne, and presently reappeared, 
 doing infinite credit to his tailor, illuminated 
 by three rose-buds and some maiden-hair 
 fern in his buttonhole, and breathing perfume 
 like a god of Greek mythology. 
 
 " ' Let us descend,' he said. ' By the way, 
 there is here a friend of yours. You must 
 come and pass some days with me, and help 
 me to entertain her. I have now here only 
 ladies. There was a gentleman coming, but 
 he has failed me.' 
 
 Before I had time to ask him who my 
 friend was, some folding-doors were thrown 
 open by a servant, and I found myself in the 
 vaulted hall, with its mountains of Florentine 
 furniture. Amongst these in a moment I 
 distinguished the figure of Lady Ashford, 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 77 
 
 and was conscious at the same time of the 
 rustle of other dresses besides hers. Lady 
 Ashford greeted me with her usual charm of 
 manner; but I fancied — though this must 
 have been fancy only — that she eyed me a 
 little curiously, as if thinking of the prophecies 
 she had made about me two months ago. 
 She certainly expressed surprise at my not 
 being yet at Constantinople. Then, whilst 
 we were talking, there appeared from behind 
 a piano — who ? Why the very two ladies 
 who had been pointed out to me in the Prater 
 
 — the Baroness X and Miss Juanita 
 
 Markham. The Baroness is a woman of dis- 
 agreeable expression, youthful in dress, in 
 years a faded fifty ; and there is all the light 
 of superannuated intrigue in her eyes. As 
 for the girl, her whole toilette was wonderful. 
 Her dress suggested a yachting costume, but 
 there was nothing loud or startling in it. It 
 was wonderful for a far more subtle reason. 
 It seemed in its fit and finish like a caress 
 or embrace by herself of her own beauty. It 
 specially called attention to her throat, her 
 
78 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 waist, and her wrists. Her faultless shoes did 
 the same thing for her feet, and her dainty 
 fringe for her forehead. Her hands, ex- 
 quisitely modelled, quietly called attention 
 to themselves. Why do I write all this ? 
 Why do I notice these things ? I suppose 
 because she contrived to make me notice 
 them. And yet never was there a girl whose 
 demeanour w^as more fastidiously quiet. Let 
 me say no more about her. To me she is 
 less than nothing. I hardly spoke to her. 
 
 Suddenly a gong sounded, as if in honour 
 of some Indian idol, and we went in to 
 breakfast. On our way we passed through 
 that series of gaudy rooms, with their jewelled 
 armour on their walls, and with their tapestry 
 hangings, at which Irma and I smiled. Lady 
 Ashford sat on one side of me, and the 
 Baroness on the other. The Baroness peered 
 at me superciliously. I talked almost entirely 
 to Lady Ashford. We talked naturally of 
 what had happened to us since the night of 
 our dinner-party in Vienna ; and again she 
 asked me when I was going to begin my 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 79 
 
 duties. I cannot flatter myself that I was 
 extremely candid ; and oddly enough, neither 
 was she. I felt certain she was not, from 
 her manner. She had been in Italy — there 
 was nothing odd about that; but then, she 
 had come back to Vienna instead of going to 
 London ; and about this move of hers there 
 was evidently some mystery. Later on, I 
 obtained, as I think, a clue to it. 
 
 The Pasha after breakfast insisted on taking 
 us for a drive. We all sat together in the 
 brake which had taken him from the station. 
 I did not enjoy myself. I was constantly and 
 unpleasantly aware that that girl's eyes were 
 trying to catch mine. I exerted myself to 
 talk, but my voice was far from my thoughts, 
 like that of a plover crying far from its nest. 
 The Pasha insisted that I should remain for 
 dinner ; and in one way I was glad to do so, 
 as I wished to be as late as I could in Pfettino; 
 back to Lichtenbourg. After our drive he 
 took me to his smoking-room. He is certainly 
 an agreeable man, and his manners are highly 
 polished. Indeed they are like furniture on 
 
80 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 which the polish is hardly dry. As for origin, 
 he comes, I believe, of a distinguished family ; 
 but still, though he is as much of a gentleman 
 as an adventurer could well be, what one sees 
 first in him is the adventurer rather than 
 the gentleman. Well — having talked about 
 everybody, and almost everything, in Europe 
 and in Egypt, he told me he had been ex- 
 pecting a visit from the King of Moldavia, 
 who I then recollected had a villa at Lichten- 
 bourg. I saw in his eye an odd ambiguous 
 light, and I suddenly began to suspect what 
 I am quite sure is the truth. He had asked 
 Miss Markham here in order that she might 
 meet the King. The King, it appears, how- 
 ever, is not able to come ; and the Pasha is 
 consequently finding his party a trifle flat. 
 ' Lady Ashford,' he said with a certain dis- 
 contented dryness, ' is here looking after her 
 niece, whose chest is delicate, and who ought 
 to avoid draughts. I fear Lady Ashford gives 
 
 herself unnecessary trouble. Baroness X 
 
 could have taken care that Miss Markham 
 took no cold.' 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 81 
 
 ' My dear man/ I said mentally to him, 
 
 'Baroness X could take care of most 
 
 things/ Yes — Miss Markham is obviously 
 the reason of her aunt's return to Vienna, 
 and of her presence here. It's an odd story, 
 full of painful suggestions ; and it made me 
 glad when I was once quit of the gates, and 
 breathing the clear night air, on my way back 
 through the forests. Irma, since I have 
 known you, things shock and pain me which 
 once I should have laughed at with indifference. 
 
 It was eleven o'clock when I arrived. 
 Fritz was full of alarm about me. And so 
 at last this strange day is over. The morning 
 of it seems to me • as if it were years ago : 
 and as for her^ when did I last see her ? 
 When shall I see her next ? And how ? 
 Will it be to-morrow ? '' 
 
 To this closing question events answered 
 Yes ; and they gave their answer early. About 
 ten o'clock he hoped he might have a note 
 from her; and to kill the intervening time 
 which, when he was dressed, confronted him, 
 he walked down to the springs, and watched 
 
 VOL. III. G 
 
82 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 the morning water-drinkers. These were now 
 numerous — a variegated and well-dressed 
 crowd ; some clustering round the pavilions 
 at which the several waters were dispensed, 
 others moving slowly along the winding walks. 
 Grenville looked on with an absent kind of 
 amusement, his eyes caught at times by some 
 dress or parasol that shone like a wandering 
 flower. But how little to him, he reflected, 
 did the whole world mean now, when he 
 suddenly saw with a start, amongst all these 
 nameless figures, a dress which he thought 
 he recognized. He was right. Mrs. Schilizzi 
 was there. She was some fifty yards away ; 
 she was walking slowly. There were many 
 people near her ; but so far as Grenville 
 could judge, she was without any companion. 
 He hurried across the grass ; he overtook 
 her ; he spoke to her. Again, as he did so, 
 some of his old doubts returned, as to how 
 she would greet him. The fantastic fear had 
 seized him that the last four-and -twenty hours 
 might have worked some complete change in 
 her, that she would stare at him as if he were 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 83 
 
 a stranger, and resent his approacli as an 
 impertinence. And once again his fantastic 
 fears were dissipated. 
 
 ''I looked for you yesterday/' she said. 
 ''1 thought we might have seen you in 
 the restaurant, or at the band in the 
 evening." 
 
 He told her that he had purposely stayed 
 away all the day. 
 
 Well/' she said, " I dare say you were 
 right ; but I wanted you so. I was feeling 
 so depressed and lonely. Tell me,'' she went 
 on quickly, you're not going away again 
 to-day, are you ? " 
 
 '^No," he answered, '^of course not — not 
 if I can be with you." 
 
 You can be with me, I think," she said, 
 almost as much as you like. Paul has found 
 some friends here — business friends from 
 Vienna ; and all yesterday afternoon he spent 
 with them playing billiards in the cafe. He 
 seems in quite a good humour, and was cross 
 only twice — once about his breakfast, and 
 once about his bedroom. But as for that, 
 
84 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 they've given him another now, not in the 
 hotel itself, but in the annexe, over the cafe. 
 He's delighted with that. He feels himself 
 quite a bachelor. I told him you were here, 
 and that I had met you at my aunt s. He 
 had found out all about you soon after 
 parting from you in the train ; and so far 
 as I can see he's rather proud of my knowing 
 you. I told him too that it was through 
 you I had heard of the hotel in the forest : 
 you need therefore make no mysteries about 
 it. He's here somewhere with some of his 
 billiard- playing friends. I must introduce 
 you, and you must come and breakfast with 
 us at the restaurant. See, there he is. 
 Come with me, and let us meet him." 
 
 A figure clothed in a suit of light lavender 
 grey, and adorned by a brilliant flower, was 
 now visible moving across the grass towards 
 them. As it came nearer, there could be 
 distinguished, in addition to the flower, the 
 brightness of teeth revealed by a long smile, 
 and then the restless gleam of two dark 
 almond-shaped eyes. As all these details 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 85 
 
 became more distinct, Grenville thought that 
 Mrs. Schilizzi must have been somewhat mis- 
 taken as to the good-humour she had claimed 
 for her husband ; for the smile, which at a 
 distance had seemed to corroborate what she 
 said, was at a closer view far more like a 
 grin of irritation, and said in advance to his 
 wife, almost as plainly as if he had shouted 
 it, Who the devil is this you have ventured 
 to pick up and to be talking to ? " But the 
 moment he realized who her companion was 
 his air changed, and his face took the very 
 expression which a moment ago Grenville had 
 falsely attributed to it. 
 
 Ah, Mr. Grenville," he exclaimed, de- 
 lighted to come across you again ! I didn't 
 know in the train what a distinguished person 
 I was travelling with. Mrs. Schilizzi tells me 
 you have been of the greatest help to her. 
 And then, too, you know the Princess. Ah, 
 Mr. Grenville, charming old lady that is I Of 
 course," he went on, not indeed taking Gren- 
 ville's arm, but sidling along close to him, as 
 if he would have liked to do so, coming from 
 
86 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 Turkey as I do, your name is a household 
 word to me. We hope you are going to bring 
 us a new epoch of prosperity. The country, 
 Mr. Grenville, wants only two things — sound 
 finance and a railway system. You will give 
 them the one ; I have begun the other. We 
 built a bridge last month out of the seats of 
 an old Greek theatre — all of marble, and a 
 third of the price of brick." 
 
 Grenville hardly knew in what way to 
 comport himself ; but instinct prompted him 
 with the manner which reflection would have 
 led him to cultivate. He was perfectly civil ; 
 he listened with an air of interest ; but neither 
 in look nor tone was there any trace of a wish 
 to allow his acquaintance with his companion 
 to approach the domain of friendship. Mr. 
 Schilizzi, however, it seemed was entirely 
 satisfied ; and when Grenville had responded 
 sufficiently to the above introductory observa- 
 tions, he at once went on to ask him about 
 some racing stables which he heard were in 
 the neighbourhood. Grenville was unable to 
 give him any information ; that subject there- 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 87 
 
 fore dropped. All this while they had been 
 strolling in the direction of the hotel, and 
 Mrs. Schilizzi now had walked on a little 
 ahead of them. At the same moment there 
 sailed past them a gorgeously-dressed lady, 
 whose character, with a happy clairvoyance, 
 Mr. Schilizzi recognized. He slightly nudged 
 Grenville, and, with an air of furtive con- 
 noisseurship, " Did you see that ? he said. 
 ''That was a well-made woman.'' 
 
 ''Paul,'' said Mrs. Schilizzi, looking back, 
 "we breakfast at twelve, don't we? As you 
 won't put up with the children's dinner, we 
 shall now be obliged to go always to the 
 restaurant; so I have told Mr. Grenville 
 that if he likes he can share our table 
 with us." 
 
 "Delighted," said Mr. Schilizzi. "I always 
 say that at meals a tete-a-tete is a mistake. 
 My dear, I should advise you to go back to 
 your rooms, or you'll never be ready for 
 luncheon at twelve o'clock." Obedient to this 
 airy sarcasm, Mrs. Schilizzi left them. Mr. 
 Schilizzi looked round him, as if relieved by 
 
88 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 her absence. This place," he exclaimed, 
 ''is not a patch upon Smyrna!'* j 
 
 " Indeed ? replied Grenville. 
 
 Mr. Schilizzi threw back his head, and half 
 closed his eyes, in a parenthesis of ecstatic 
 memory. ''The girls there,'' he said, "if you 
 know where to look for them — God bless me, 
 you never saw such a thing ! By the way," 
 he went on, for a wonder changing the sub- 
 ject, '' do you play at billiards ? No ? They've 
 a new table here — an English one — cushions 
 perfect. Schwabe and I were playing till 
 eleven o'clock last night. I've found two of 
 my friends," he went on, " undergoing a little 
 of the waters — and, I fancy, a good bit of the 
 wine — with whom at Vienna I do a bit of 
 racing sometimes. My wife won't know 'em ; 
 and so, between you and me," — Mr. Schilizzi's 
 voice became easily confidential, — " they have 
 not the opportunity of telling tales out of 
 school. I've promised to meet them at half- 
 past ten at the cafe. Ah — there they are, by 
 Gad! Are you willing to join us?" 
 
 Grenville declined on some plausible pre- 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 89 
 
 text. Mr. Schilizzi waved a lavender glove 
 at him, and grinning, ''Then au revoir!'' 
 rapidly strode away, and soon had his hands 
 on the shoulders of a couple of Semitic 
 dandies. 
 
 '' Certainly/' Grenville reflected, as he 
 wandered ofi* alone, " in no sense other than 
 a theoretical one have I done this man so 
 much as the shadow of a wrong. I have 
 interrupted no union that ever existed ; or 
 whatever there was to interrupt has long since 
 ceased. The only union that exists between 
 him and her — and there is one — may desolate 
 my own life ; but my life does nothing to 
 disturb it. The case is quite the contrary. 
 She, sustained by the consciousness of my 
 friendship and constancy, will perform better 
 all the duties, and the only duties, she owes 
 him. She will bear with him ; she will con- 
 sult his welfare ; she will be for him every- 
 thing she has been, except being again a 
 mother ; and as for her love, poor child^ if 
 he ever thought he possessed it, it was merely 
 because he cared for it so little that he never 
 
90 
 
 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 noticed its absence. Noticed its absence ! " 
 his thoughts repeated presently. Do I not 
 know that he actually would have resented its 
 presence ? No — to a man like that I have 
 certainly done no wrong.^^ 
 
 These considerations were his companions, as 
 he rapidly moved along, and absorbed him so 
 completely that he hardly knew where he was 
 going, till he suddenly found himself in the 
 deep quiet of the country, and realized that 
 his steps had taken him, almost without his 
 consciousness, to the river-side path leading 
 to the well-known mill. 
 
 The whole scene was haunted for him with 
 memories of certain moments — with images 
 of the children playing amongst the flowers, 
 and making a heaven on the green floor of 
 the meadows, and the mounting movement 
 both of his soul and of hers, towards an 
 opening heaven of the spirit, of which child- 
 hood was an unconscious reflection. And 
 other memories too mixed themselves soon 
 with these, tearful and plaintive, like a drift 
 of rain sweeping suddenly into the wind — 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 91 
 
 memories of her entreaties that he would 
 never despise or hate her. He remained for 
 a long time motionless, leaning on a broken 
 post, whilst his thoughts of the present were 
 shifted under the influence of the past. The 
 sense of relief brought to him by his study 
 of Mr. Schilizzi's character slowly gave way 
 to a sense of new anxiety, which already 
 indeed had touched him, but which he had 
 not till now quite realized. What he now 
 began to ask himself was, How should he treat 
 this man ? 
 
 We know little,'' he reflected, " when 
 we enter on such a situation as mine, 
 what problems it may in time reveal to 
 us. It is like a plant whose thorns sleep 
 in. the sprouting stalk. It must root 
 itself and grow in our lives till we really 
 can know its nature. This man,'' he con- 
 tinued, I can't be uncivil to him. Why 
 should I be ? On the contrary, I will, 
 unknown to him, do him any good turn in 
 my power. Only it must be unknown to 
 him. I will never have him thanking me ; 
 
92 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 and never from him will I take the smallest 
 favour. And Irma — what of her ? Does 
 the situation to her seem as hard as it does 
 to me ? She appeared this morning to be 
 such a complete mistress of it I I ought to 
 think of her far more than of myself. My 
 moral anxiety was just now too selfish. And 
 yet, in a way, things are simpler for her than 
 for me. However civil and friendly she may 
 be to her husband, she is merely paying him 
 what he may justly claim. He will not put, 
 and he will not want to put, any interpreta- 
 tion on her goodness which would make it 
 false or treacherous.'^ 
 
 Thoughts are sometimes far more rapid 
 than any possible record of them, sometimes 
 far slower. In this case they were far slower ; 
 and the stroke of a distant clock here warned 
 Grenville that already it wanted only half 
 an hour of twelve. He hurried back, mind- 
 ful of his engagement for breakfast, half in 
 eagerness to rejoin one of the party, half 
 shrinking from the prospect of even apparent 
 amity with the other. His way to the 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 93 
 
 restaurant led him close to the cafe. The 
 tall doors were open. In front of them were 
 chairs and tables ; and there, seated with an 
 empty liqueur glass in front of him, and 
 quietly winking an eye at a neat demoiselle 
 de comptoir, with whom he was affecting to 
 haggle over a few Jcreutzers, was Mr. Schilizzi 
 basking in happy idleness. He called to 
 Grenville, and, jumping up from his seat, 
 swore pleasantly at the time, which was, he 
 declared, past twelve, and hurried into the 
 hotel, with somewhat of the air of a terrier, 
 saying, I must worry my wife out. She 
 was never punctual in her life.'' 
 
 He presently reappeared, having accom- 
 plished this chivalous purpose ; and he^ Gren- 
 ville, and Mrs. Schilizzi were soon seated 
 before some olives and sardines in the 
 restaurant. Mrs. Schilizzi 'asked Grenville 
 where he had been during the morning. He 
 described the course of his walk, and the 
 spot where he had stood meditating. The 
 tone of his voice was as careless as tone could 
 be ; but a look in her eyes told him his 
 
94 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 words meant much to her. Mr. Schilizzi, 
 it appeared, had devoted the same period 
 to billiards, and announced that in the 
 afternoon he was going with his friends to 
 the racing stables. He had found out all 
 about them, and proposed that his wife 
 should accompany him. Watching the pair, 
 Grenville was struck by two things— first, 
 that this proposal on his part was a mere 
 concession to civility, made without any wish 
 or expectation that she would accept it ; 
 secondly, that she received it with an ex- 
 pression of weary aversion, and was on the 
 point of returning to it some contemptuous 
 answer. The next moment he saw that she 
 controlled the feelings uppermost in her, and 
 forced an acquiescent smile. As you know, 
 Paul,'' she said, I don t care much about 
 horses ; but still, if you wish it, I shall be 
 very happy to come." 
 
 You will be, will you," said her husband. 
 Then all I can say is, that a minute ago you 
 certainly didn't look it." 
 
 Grenville stared at him with a quick and 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 95 
 
 painful interest. The man's glib voice still 
 had its oily ring ; but again it struck Gren- 
 ville's ears as if some grit had got into it. 
 It seemed in its rapid movement to rasp 
 and grate ; and the speaker eyed his wife 
 with a look of detecting sharpness, as if 
 he had caught some elusive fault in her, and 
 was impishly delighted with the capture. 
 "My dear," he went on, ''will you let us 
 begin smoking ? Mr. Grenville, try one of 
 these cigarettes.'' 
 
 It was Grenville's impulse to refuse, but 
 he had no excuse for doing so ; and he eased 
 his conscience afterwards by paying more than 
 his share of the bill. , Mr. Schilizzi meanwhile 
 had turned away from his wife as if it were 
 not worth his while to speak to her further 
 about the drive, contriving, so Grenville felt, 
 to make the dropping of his proposal an 
 affront to her even greater than the annoy- 
 ance he would have caused by insisting on 
 it. Grenville hardly dared to look at her, 
 he felt the situation so painful. He did, how- 
 ever, catch her eyes for a moment, and he 
 
96 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 saw they were moist with many conflicting 
 feelings. 
 
 Paul/' she said, rising, I am going up 
 to the children. As you don t seem to want 
 me really, I will sit with them somewhere in 
 the gardens ; but if you do, I am quite ready 
 to go.'' 
 
 '^No,'' he replied, with a sneer which 
 ensconced itself in the corners of a smile ; 
 
 I think, my dear, I can get on without you. 
 Mr. Grenville and I w^ill finish our co9*ee 
 here." 
 
 As she went out, Grenville opened the 
 door for her. ''Bobby," she murmured to 
 him sadly, " come to us this afternoon in the 
 gardens." 
 
 He and Mr. Schilizzi sat together for a 
 little longer ; and he was pleased to find that, 
 without giving any off*ence, he was able to 
 make impossible even the first beginnings of 
 intimacy. He was indeed pleased to detect, 
 or at least to imagine, a certain contempt for 
 him in his companion's tone, who said as 
 they separated, '' I fancy, Mr. Grenville, that 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 97 
 
 you care for racing almost as little as my wife 
 does.'^ 
 
 Mr. Schilizzi was absent till nearly dinner- 
 time. For a couple of tranquil hours Gren- 
 ville sat in the garden with Mrs. Schilizzi and 
 her children. He and she hardly exchanged 
 a sentence which would, if written down, 
 have hinted to any one that they were lovers ; 
 but a sympathy saddened and deepened by 
 the consciousness of many unexpressed cir- 
 cumstances breathed in every tone and every 
 look that passed between them ; and no event 
 attested by a hundred subpoenaed witnesses 
 could have indicated a union closer and more 
 complete than this which would have baffled 
 the eyes of the most censorious. 
 
 Mr. Schilizzi, when they all met again at 
 dinner, had wholly forgotten the temper he 
 had betrayed at breakfast. He was full of 
 prospects, associated mysteriously with horse- 
 flesh, which had blossomed in the course of 
 his afternoon experiences ; and his spirits 
 showed themselves in the appreciation he 
 expressed of his dinner, and in the quickness 
 
 VOL. III. H 
 
98 
 
 A HUMAN" DOCUMENT. 
 
 with which, he praised and despatched many 
 glasses of champagne. Perhaps/' he said, 
 as the banquet drew to an end, ''you will 
 take my wife, Mr. Grenville, to listen a little 
 to the band. I have one or two matters to 
 settle with a couple of friends, which could 
 not interest either of you." And putting 
 down a handful of money on the table, 
 '' Irma,'' he said, you and Mr. Grenville 
 must settle the bill together." 
 
 Sticking his hat well on one side of his 
 head, and tucking his cane under his arm, he 
 hurried away and left them. Under the same 
 trees where before they had sat together, they 
 sat together once more, silently listening to 
 the music ; and they parted hardly knowing 
 how the day had impressed them — whether by 
 its strangeness, its union, or its estrangement. 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 Several days passed like this. Mr. Schilizzi 
 in his normal state was smiling and talkative, 
 with a sort of fawning ho7ihomie ; but at 
 intervals, for a moment, some invisible provo- 
 cation from his wife would turn his smile into 
 a lurking vindictive sneer, and, to Grenville's 
 ears, sharpened his .words like needles. But 
 these occasions were rare. The billiard-table 
 and the gay ladies of the cafe, his sporting 
 friends and their various sporting projects, 
 occupied most of his time, and titillated him 
 into complete satisfaction. As for his wife 
 and Grenville, they daily spent hours together ; 
 but they were rarely alone, and they were 
 rarely in any spot where they felt sufficiently 
 at ease for unreserved conversation. Once or 
 
100 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 twice in some secluded path, forgetting herself 
 for an instant, she laid her hand on his arm, 
 but as instantly she withdrew it, shrinking to 
 a distance from him. He too once or twice 
 for an instant had been betrayed into some 
 like familiarity ; and she had not only shrunk 
 from this, but reproved him for it in an indig- 
 nant whisper. She seemed to Grenville to be 
 like a moon still shining for him ; but a moon 
 that was gradually eclipsing itself behind hazy 
 gathering clouds. Apart, however, from the 
 constraint for which they themselves were 
 responsible, none was due to the action of Mr. 
 Schilizzi. As to what his wife did, he seemed 
 wholly indifferent, except when some incalcul- 
 able trifle evoked his resentful grin at her. 
 
 At last, however, a curious change came 
 over him. Sunday arrived, and though there 
 were few English visitors, a stray English 
 clergyman had organized a service in the 
 reading-room. To this Mr. Schilizzi, for some 
 reason or other, thought it incumbent on him 
 to go ; and having discovered that his wife 
 had a new dress with her that pleased him, he 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 101 
 
 insisted that she should array herself in this, 
 and come with him to astonish the congrega- 
 tion. In the afternoon, when, having discarded 
 his tall hat and his prayer-book, he descended 
 from his bed-room, where he had been napping, 
 to sun himself in front of the caf^, he saw his 
 wife strolling across the place with Grenville. 
 He had often, with perfect apathy, seen her 
 do this before ; but now a curve of vindictive- 
 ness at once showed itself on his nostril, and 
 hurrying up to her, he said in a tone that was 
 like a bite, My dear, the sun is a great deal 
 too warm for you. If you can postpone till 
 dinner your conversation with Mr. Grenville, 
 ril see myself that you have a walk as soon 
 as it gets cooler.'' 
 
 ''It is hot/' said Grenville with ready tact. 
 ''Mrs. Schilizzi herself was saying so, just as 
 you came up.'' 
 
 " It's not often," he replied, " that her 
 judgment agrees with mine. Come, Irma, come 
 back to your sitting-room. Mr. Grenville, we 
 shall meet at dinner." 
 
 At dinner the unpleasantness had completely 
 
102 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 passed away; and Grenville was again left 
 afterwards to listen with Mrs. Schilizzi to the 
 music. 
 
 Paul/' she said, has been in a dreadful 
 temper. He's been asking me what I mean by 
 making myself so conspicuous with you ; and 
 my arm — do you know, at first I resolved that 
 I wouldn't tell you — is above the elbow black 
 and blue from his pinching it.*' 
 
 What," asked Grenville, after an expression 
 of sympathy, what is it that has put him out 
 so suddenly ? " 
 
 I think I can tell," she said. This dress 
 I have on to-day — it's a great deal too smart 
 for the place — but it struck him how pretty I 
 look in it; and he heard, in the hall or some- 
 where, a Eussian Grand Duke admiring me. 
 I knew exactly what passed in his mind ; I 
 have noticed in him the same thing so often. 
 I became at once, for the time, a valuable 
 possession in his eyes, and he was determined 
 to show me off as his own exclusive property. 
 He doesn't want me himself ; and as long as 
 nobody else does, he never would care if I 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 103 
 
 lived and died alone ; but the moment he is 
 reminded that other people may admire me, 
 he likes to take me about in order that they 
 all may stare at me, but is perfectly furious if 
 I give even a smile to them. This afternoon/' 
 she went on, he waited till the gardens were 
 full, and then he walked me about wherever 
 the crowd was greatest, as if he were a pea- 
 cock, and as if I were his tail. I was so 
 nervous, for whenever I turned my head, I felt 
 his eyes were on me ; and he said * Who are 
 you looking at ? ' However, as you see, he 
 is perfectly quiet now ; he was angry with 
 me on your account for no reason personal to 
 yourself ; and if joU will not be out of reach 
 to-morrow morning, before you hear from 
 me, we may perhaps have a pleasanter day 
 than those we have been passing lately. If 
 this is so, you shall have a note by ten 
 o'clock." 
 
 She was as good as her word. The note 
 arrived punctually, and the news and the 
 proposal conveyed in it were far beyond Gren- 
 ville's hopes. Mr. Schilizzi and his boon 
 
104 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 companions would be absent the whole day, at 
 a town some thirty miles distant, attending 
 a sale of horses. They had, in fact, started 
 already ; and she proposed that Grenville 
 should take her and the children to visit once 
 again the hotel and the hunting-lodge in the 
 forest. They went. They picnic'd in the 
 lodge. The children were wild with happiness, 
 and were allowed, under Fritz's care, to disport 
 themselves for an hour or so in the forest. 
 Grenville and Mrs. Schilizzi were left alone. 
 They had not been alone there since those 
 far-off enchanted days, when the very walls 
 around them had become part of their lives. 
 A sense of those days was filling the room 
 now, like incense from some smouldering 
 censer ; the silence was musical with memories ; 
 a chasm full of pain and discord suddenly dis- 
 appeared and closed, and the present made its 
 peace with the past. 
 
 ''Irma,"he said to her, shortly before the 
 return of the others, " do you believe now that 
 I can ever — ever go away from you ? " 
 
 I don t know,'' she answered, looking with 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 105 
 
 a sad smile at him. Fm afraid that very 
 often you will be obliged to do so." 
 
 Perhaps if separation can be produced by 
 intervals of miles and days ; but I shall never 
 be really parted from you until you desire to 
 part from me." 
 
 Nor I, Bobby, from you. I don't know if 
 I am glad or sorry for it. Tell me this — is 
 there nothing that you feel sorry for ? Don't 
 look pained, dear. Is it odd of me to ask 
 you that question ? Is not this the best of 
 times to ask it, when I know you can never 
 be angry with me, and when my soul is bare 
 to yours ? '' 
 
 I wish," he said, ''to be honest with you. 
 I will, then, confess this. There is something 
 within me which is always, always asking that 
 I, alone and personally, for all the happiness 
 you give me, may make, by some secret pain, 
 a constant atonement to something." 
 
 ''Bobby," she said, "my own one — I am 
 doing that already." 
 
 " Irma," he exclaimed, " you spoke just now 
 of my being angry with you. Have I been 
 
106 
 
 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 angry often ? I know I have been sharp and 
 hard to you, and my thoughts have been even 
 harder than my words. I wonder if you can 
 guess why ? Sometimes you seem to take 
 yourself so very far away from me, and I 
 wonder if you were ever near. I know there 
 are reasons for your behaving thus ; but I 
 can't always feel them, and you sometimes 
 take me by surprise. Listen — let me give 
 you this — these few lines, which I wrote one 
 night when I was thinking about you. I 
 see the children outside — read it before they 
 come in." 
 
 She took the paper from him and read — 
 
 " Does there seem anger in my voice and glance, 
 Ever ? Or worse — mistrust 1 If this should be, 
 Forgive me, for the dust of circumstance 
 
 Blows in my eyes, and makes them not to see. 
 
 Forgive me, you who every day are dearer ! 
 
 I see the breast on which I long to lean. 
 So near, yet every star in heaven is nearer. 
 
 And all the winds of twilight sweep between." 
 
 She gave him the paper back with a gentle 
 responsive smile. The children's voices in 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 107 
 
 the passage prevented any answer ; and the 
 veil of common cheerfulness fell once more 
 over both of them. During the drive home, 
 gradually becoming weary, she for one moment 
 leant her cheek on his shoulder ; and, with 
 one plaintive look at him, she removed it 
 again so quickly that the act would by any 
 observer have been attributed to the jolting 
 of the carriage. 
 
 Mr. Schilizzi returned for dinner that 
 evening. Grenville was struck by his humour, 
 which was curiously sharp and taciturn, and 
 set it down to some annoyance connected 
 probably with horses. But this explanation 
 seemed hardly to account for the fact that 
 when dinner was over he stuck to his wife's 
 side for nearly an hour at the band, and only 
 left her with Grenville just as the performance 
 was ending, and did even this only so as to 
 exchange a word with a friend. 
 
 ''He," said Mrs. Schilizzi, the moment he 
 was out of hearing, ''he is furious again with 
 me. I told him I had been for a drive with 
 you. He stamped, and grinned, and swore 
 
108 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 at me. I thought for the moment he was 
 going to knock me down.'' 
 
 What has made him like this ? Grenville 
 asked hurriedly. Has he lost some money, 
 or has anything else annoyed him ? " 
 
 "No/' she said, "it's jealousy. He's be- 
 ginning to think T like you." 
 
 "Do you think it would really pain him 
 to know you did ? " 
 
 " Pain is the wrong word. It would, I 
 believe, infuriate him. It is odd that it 
 should be so, as he cares nothing for me. 
 Nothing could annoy him more than my 
 affection for him, unless it were my affection 
 for somebody else. See — he is coming. Good- 
 night. How pretty that last waltz was ! " 
 
 He watched her as she left him and walked 
 away with her husband. " What a horrible 
 thing," he thought, "that law, custom, or 
 anything should give this brute the remnant 
 of a right to feel thus." He had seen Mr. 
 Schilizzi before she had — seen him taking his 
 leave of that very lady the charm of whose 
 figure had so commended itself to his taste in 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 109 
 
 the gardens. Grenville had never till now 
 allowed himself, even in thought, to speak 
 violently of Mr. Schilizzi. He had felt it a 
 point of honour to restrain or repress his 
 judgments of him. But now that face which, 
 from the first moment he had seen it, he had 
 never seen without aversion, presented itself 
 to his mind with an importunate and repulsive 
 vividness ; and things which he had hardly 
 noticed began to impress themselves on his 
 mind — the unwholesome tinge of yellow which 
 had come into the dark complexion, the 
 tightening of the skin about the eyes, telling 
 its tale of dissipation, and the animal curves 
 taken by the plausible restless lips. 
 
CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 Grenville went to bed that night hardly 
 knowing what to expect. Early next morning 
 he received the following note — 
 
 Paul and I are going to-day for an 
 expedition — to the place where he went 
 yesterday, and on the same business. The 
 same thing may possibly happen to-morrow. 
 Dine with us as usual. We shall naturally 
 be charmed to see you.'' 
 
 The first thing that struck him on reading 
 this was her use of the word we," identify- 
 ing herself with her husband ; the next was 
 the blankness of the prospect that thus opened 
 up before him. One whole day, and very 
 probably two, had had in an instant every- 
 thing sponged out of them, except the burden 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. Ill 
 
 of SO many intolerable hours. He found this 
 burden greater than even his fears had antici- 
 pated ; and the worst came to the worst ; 
 there actually were two days of it. Even 
 the meeting at dinner, which he longed for 
 from early morning, desiring it like a water- 
 brook in the desert, when it came was an 
 aggravation of his pain. Mr. Schilizzi to him 
 was glib and civil as ever; but as for her, 
 instead of being civilly distant, and softening 
 her distance now and then with a smile — 
 instead of behaving thus, which he was already 
 prepared for — she treated him in a way which 
 struck him as gratuitously repelling. She 
 aflfected complete indifference to any topic he 
 started, and if ever she noticed his opinions, 
 it was either to question or to contradict 
 them. 
 
 For the first night he bore this without 
 even a mental murmur; though when after 
 dinner she refused to listen to the band, 
 declaring that music bored her, and that she 
 was going to rest on her sofa, he felt in his 
 heart the movement of bewildered bitterness. 
 
112 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 But the second night, when all these experi- 
 ences were repeated, when on meeting him 
 at dinner her voice had no tone of welcome, 
 when her eyes never forgot themselves in a 
 single relenting look, and when she not only 
 contradicted any opinion he expressed, but 
 actually seemed to resent it from the very 
 fact of its being his, though he struggled to 
 think that she was still doing violence to her 
 wishes, his powers of belief grew restive under 
 the growing strain that was put upon them, 
 and at last refused any longer to supply him 
 with this difficult comfort. His own manner 
 underwent a complete though subtle change. 
 He did not for a moment become discourteous 
 or even brusque. On the contrary, his con- 
 versation became what a stranger would have 
 thought brighter. But his remarks glittered, 
 and their points took an added sharpness, 
 because by a silent process they froze and 
 crystallized into cynicism. 
 
 This had one result which was entirely 
 unexpected. Mr. Schilizzi, without knowing 
 why, found himself thinking Grenville a really 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 113 
 
 pleasant companion, and began, as he finished 
 his fifth glass of champagne, to show his ap- 
 preciation by a variety of vivacious innuendoes, 
 the meaning of which was generally illum- 
 inated by a wink. At last, as he looked 
 round the restaurant at the end of one of 
 these sallies, Grenville noticed that his eyes 
 suddenly fixed themselves. He noticed also 
 what the object was which had arrested them : 
 it was the lady with the fascinating figure. 
 As for her character, there could be no doubt 
 about it — though it was one which with 
 charitable irony the world would describe as 
 doubtful ; and Grenville felt as certain as if 
 the whole story had been confessed to him, 
 that she and Mr. Schilizzi were already on 
 the best of terms with each other. Presently 
 she swept by, fanning herself, and diffusing 
 zephyrs of patchouli ; and as she went Mr. 
 Schilizzi's travelling eye followed her move- 
 ments between eyelids almost closed. Then 
 for five minutes he seemed unnaturally inter- 
 ested in his dessert. He peeled a pear for 
 his wife, and talked to her with persistent 
 
 VOL. III. I 
 
114 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 attention. Then lie looked at his watch, and 
 exclaimed with a most creditable start, " By 
 Gad, Irma, I wonder if you know what time 
 it is ? T must hurry off instantly to meet 
 Schwabe and Silbersheim. What will you 
 do ? " 
 
 He looked doubtful, and frowned for a 
 moment. 
 
 "Hang it all!" he said. ''You'd better 
 wait at the band for me ; and Mr. Grenville 
 will see that nobody comes and eats you. 
 Suppose we ask him whether he thinks you d 
 be tender.'' 
 
 Grenville and Mrs. Schilizzi once again 
 were alone together ; but a few conventional 
 words about the music and the warmth of 
 the evening were all that for some minutes 
 they found themselves able to utter, and 
 their tone in doing so was one of polite 
 indifference. She was the first to inaugur- 
 ate any change ; and the change, when 
 she did so, was from indifference to actual 
 hardness, 
 
 *' The music/' she said, " interests you as 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMEISTT. 115 
 
 little as it does me. If you meet my husband, 
 will you tell him I have gone in ? " 
 
 As she spoke she half rose to go ; but with 
 an exclamation, violent although under his 
 breath, Grenville stopped her. 
 
 " If you go,'' he said, " I conclude you will 
 go for ever. I myself shall leave Lichtenbourg 
 to-morrow." 
 
 She looked at him, not with kindness, 
 but still with a start of quick involuntary 
 alarm. 
 
 What,'' he went on more gently, what 
 is the use of my remaining here, if all day 
 long I am never to have a sight of you, and 
 when we meet you resent every word I 
 utter ? " 
 
 Have you," she retorted, no sense of 
 my position — none — absolutely none ? " 
 
 " Indeed," he said gently, I have every 
 sense. Surely you might trust me not to 
 distress or embarrass you ? " 
 
 Stop, stop!" she exclaimed. Don't go 
 on talking about it ; if you do I shall scream. 
 Can't you let me alone ? Well — to-morrow 
 
116 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 Tm going no more expeditions ; you may, 
 if you like, meet me in the gardens at eleven. 
 Bobby, you must come. You don't know 
 how all this is killing me. I have to go in 
 now, Tm so tired. Good-bye till to-morrow ; 
 and then, if you can, tell me you don't quite 
 hate me." 
 
 Her strange changes of feeling struck him 
 differently at different times. Sometimes they 
 seemed the result of some deep but troubled 
 principle, trying pathetically to adjust itself 
 to the stress of untried circumstances ; though 
 it was a principle to which as yet he had 
 found no complete clue. Sometimes they 
 seemed the caprices of mere emotional selfish- 
 ness. But to-night he retired to rest con- 
 vinced at least of one thing, that, despite 
 whatever it cost her, she was still true to him. 
 When he came to meet her in the garden, 
 she was there before her time ; but he was 
 conscious of a momentary annoyance at seeing 
 that she had brought her children. As soon, 
 however, as he sat down by her, she told 
 them to go and play ; and then, mindful of 
 
A HUMAN^ DOCUMENT. 117 
 
 her last words at parting, he murmured to 
 her timidly some phrase of afFection. 
 
 Her answer was a new surprise to him. 
 He could hardly believe his ears. Averting her 
 head, with a concentrated repulse in her accent, 
 Don't," she exclaimed, don't say a word 
 of that kind. Don't touch me ; don't come 
 near me ; don't say a syllable that may even 
 suggest that you are fond of me." 
 
 In faltering, bewildered sentences, he asked 
 her what was her meaning. 
 
 Last night I was ill," she said. I 
 hardly could sleep at all ; and I lay awake 
 hating myself more and more, till the morn- 
 ing. If I go on seeing you much, I believe 
 I shall have brain-fever. Why don't you 
 go away ? It's unkind of you staying on 
 here. I wish you'd go, and then perhaps I 
 shall be at peace again." 
 
 Go ? " exclaimed Grenville. " Do you 
 really wish me to go ? " 
 
 He stared at her. She said, Yes." 
 Then I will," he answered quietly. " I 
 will go this afternoon." 
 
118 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 He could hardly believe even now that 
 she would take him at his word ; but in a 
 slow, low voice she said, 
 
 I think it would be better. Of course 
 if it is inconvenient to you, you could put 
 it off till to-morrow. Paul is unwell this 
 morning. He's in bed with a chill or some- 
 thing, so as far as he is concerned, your 
 presence would make no matter." Then after 
 a moment or two, with a little quiver of her 
 lips, I don't want you to go,'' she said. 
 
 I suppose I don't know quite what I do 
 want. And yet, yes — I do know. Go — and 
 go to-day." 
 
 " And for how long ? " he asked. Do 
 you mean for ever ? " 
 
 Oh," she said irritably, don't trouble 
 me with questions. No — not for ever. 
 Surely you can go to the Pasha's, and when 
 I want you again, T can write and tell you. 
 When you come back, we may be able to 
 make things different." 
 
 Very well, Irma. And will you be happy 
 without me ? " 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 119 
 
 I shall have you again by and by/' she 
 said more calmly. And we may be able to 
 put things then on a different plane. You 
 know what I mean. I need not speak more 
 clearly.'' 
 
 ''You speak of that, Irma, as if it were 
 very easy. I didn't know that human nature 
 was so simple." 
 
 "Perhaps," she said, ''women and men are 
 different. T think it would be easy for a 
 woman." 
 
 The words were few, but they sufficed 
 to astound Grenville. Why this should be 
 so he at the time hardly knew ; but he was 
 conscious of a shock that set all his thoughts 
 reeling. He tried to answer her ; but at first 
 he could command no words. He rose 
 abruptly, and in silence held out his hand to 
 her. She merely looked gravely at him. 
 
 " Low as my plane is," he said at last, 
 " will not you stoop to it even to say good- 
 bye ? I am going to make my preparations. 
 I shall not be here to-night." 
 
 " Where are you going ? " she asked. 
 
120 A HUMAT^ DOCUMENT. 
 
 To the Pasha's, if I find he will have me. 
 I shall send Fritz with a note. If he won't 
 have me, I will go back to the Princess. I 
 will keep out of your way till I have gone ; 
 and I shall not return^ or trouble you with 
 letters, till you write to me." 
 
 He raised his hat, turned on his heel, and 
 went. He sent his note ; but whilst waiting 
 for his servant's return, he hardly knew in 
 his distraction what to do with himself. He 
 resolved on a long walk. But what walk 
 should he take ? Every road he knew was 
 haunted with memories of Irma ; and 
 
 sorrow's crown of sorrow ^' would be hang- 
 ing on every tree. He did at last, however, 
 hit on an unknown route — a path that led 
 him away into some ragged tracts of wood ; 
 and sitting on a prostrate trunk, he brooded 
 in restless bitterness. AVhat the pain at his 
 heart was, was still partly a mystery to him. 
 Was this, he asked himself, to be the end of 
 all that love, for the sake of which he had 
 surrendered everything, and in a moral as 
 well as in a material sense, taken his life in 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 121 
 
 his hand ? Was this to be its ignominious 
 end ? A picture confronted him of his 
 possible ghastly folly ; but the pain that was 
 now tormenting him could not be explained 
 by this. There was something else, something 
 worse, below the surface, churning the waters 
 of his misery. At last he realized what it 
 was ; it was the following thought. 
 
 She had said it would be easy to her to alter 
 the character of their relations. What pained 
 him was not the thought that she should wish 
 to alter it, nor even that she would find it 
 easy to do so ; but the thought of the new light 
 which, if to alter it were so easy, would be 
 thrown on her character in having ever yielded 
 to it. Her self-surrender to him had been 
 hitherto in his eyes transfigured, redeemed, 
 and glorified by what he believed to be its 
 intensity and its completeness. It represented 
 to him some overwhelming need of her nature 
 — some profound movement of her soul. But 
 now, even supposing he regarded her conduct 
 as a sin, the ease with which she said she 
 would amend it, instead of making him think 
 
122 A HUMA.N DOCUMENT. 
 
 any better of her future, forced him to think 
 incalculably worse of her past. If she could 
 go back so lightly to the paths of technical 
 virtue, how much more lightly, how con- 
 temptibly, she must have acted in ever leaving 
 them. Terms came into his mind, offering 
 themselves as suitable to such a woman, the 
 very thought of which he winced at, and 
 which his will would not suffer to be applied. 
 Little by little his feelings found an outlet 
 which to many natures no doubt may seem 
 false and artificial, but which to a man of his 
 temperament is absolutely natural and spon- 
 taneous. His wretchedness began to express 
 itself in rhyme and rhythm ; and these brought 
 to him the same sort of relief that a cry or a 
 groan brings to one suffering physical torture. 
 He wrote the verses down in pencil on a torn 
 envelope, and again and again read them. 
 They were these — 
 
 *'Tlie world was bright with many a prize, 
 Of power and pride for me. 
 I looked at thee with dreaming eyes, 
 And left the world for thee. 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 123 
 
 "With wakened eyes, with eyes bereft 
 
 Of dreams, I see thee now. 
 The emptiest prize I spurned and left 
 
 Was not so vain as thou. 
 
 I will go back to power and pride ! 
 
 Ah no ! too late I see 
 That all the world is dross beside 
 
 My broken dream of thee." 
 
 Heavy at heart, and moving like a man 
 wounded, he dragged himself slowly, after an 
 hour or two, back to Lichtenbourg. Even in 
 his wretchedness one thing delighted him. 
 He saw Fritz at the hotel door, with a carriage 
 and with luggage in readiness. He knew, 
 therefore, even before an effusive note was 
 handed to him, that the Pasha would be 
 delighted to welcome him, and without a 
 moment's delay he took his seat and departed. 
 He was a prey during the journey to two 
 alternate impulses — the one, an impulse to 
 complete his accusation and conviction of her, 
 and so far as possible to shake himself free of 
 her memory ; the other the impulse to justify 
 her, and explain her conduct by attributing it 
 
124 
 
 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 to something too high for his comprehension. 
 He struggled to imagine himself living happy 
 without her. He said to himself that the 
 world had other women as charming ; and in 
 especial he bethought him of the eyes and 
 figure of Miss Markham. But he had hardly 
 consented to harbour this last image, when he 
 drove it away in disgust and repentant sorrow ; 
 and mentally abasing himself at the feet of 
 Mrs. Schilizzi, confessed and asked pardon for 
 this act of despairing treachery. This mood 
 was hardly less painful than the other, but it 
 was a mood which braced him with a sense of 
 self-respect. 
 
 " Whatever, Irma," he murmured, " may be 
 thought of my devotion for you, I will shame 
 the most saintly lover that ever lived by its 
 fidelity." 
 
 Gradually his thoughts once again began to 
 shape themselves into verse, which gave him 
 some satisfaction by its sympathetic cadence ; 
 and at last, producing a note-book, he scribbled 
 down these lines — 
 
A HUMAI^ DOCUMENT. 125 
 
 " You may if you will, till I die, leave me friendless ; 
 But I still shall go dreaming aloof and alone. 
 That at last, in the life or the sleep that is endless, 
 I shall breathe on your bosom, for ever your own." 
 
 No verses, however, not a whole volume of 
 them, could have eased his breast of the 
 physical pain oppressing it, or have made 
 him, by the time he reached the Pasha^s castle, 
 able to meet the world with anything but 
 distaste and weariness. 
 
 The guests since he was there last had 
 neither increased nor diminished in number. 
 So far as he had considered the matter, he 
 had secretly hoped they might have increased ; 
 for new faces would 'at any rate be a sort of 
 distraction ; and the more people there were 
 present, the fewer he would have to talk to. 
 But the Pasha, with Lacly Ashford, the 
 Baroness, and Miss Markham, formed just 
 such a party as would compel him to exert 
 himself, or make him, if he failed to do so, 
 seem either rude or peculiar. Lady Ashford 
 indeed, by whom he sat at dinner, did, after 
 asking him many questions about his prospects, 
 
126 A HUMAT^ DOCUMENT. 
 
 and lightly remarking, I suppose you have 
 not yet found your affinity/' actually add, 
 
 Mr. Grenville, tell me what's come to you ? 
 you seem quite to have lost your spirits. Have 
 you found your affinity after all ? '' 
 
 "If I had,'' he said laughing, ''I should 
 have found my spirits, not lost them. I have 
 not been very well," he went on, feeling bound 
 to oflfer some explanation, and the stomach 
 affects the spirits quite as much as the heart 
 does. I'm afraid after this wonderful dinner 
 it will treat me worse than ever, unless you 
 distract me, as you are sure to do, from our 
 host's truffles and foies grasj' 
 
 " His plates interest me," said Lady Ashford, 
 
 so much more than his plats'' And then 
 conversation, to Grenville's relief, flowed into 
 a safe channel. The plates were Sevres, 
 superb in colour and gilding — they formed 
 an excellent subject of small-talk ; so did the 
 fruit dishes and other ornaments of the table, 
 including a gold fountain which sputtered 
 scent in the middle ; so did the collection of 
 huge gilded salvers, which gleamed on a 
 
A HUMA]^ DOCUMENT. 127 
 
 side-board like so many harvest moons. 
 The servants too attracted Grenville's quick 
 social observation — especially the footmen, 
 whose stockings were as red as sealing-wax, 
 and two Oriental attendants, in turbans and 
 loose trousers. 
 
 In the evening they all of them played 
 billiards. The jewelled scimitars made flash- 
 ing fireworks on the walls. The two Oriental 
 figures appeared every ten minutes, with 
 superfluous repetitions of Turkish coff^ee and 
 liqueurs. The aroma of cigarettes went 
 through the air pungently. Every one 
 smoked but Lady Ashford. The Baroness 
 puff*ed like the chimney of a small steam- 
 engine ; and Miss Markham's lips, with a 
 slow and dainty softness, emitted a mist of 
 silver from between their fastidious coral. 
 
 Grenville's part in the scene was little more 
 than mechanical. He was just conscious that 
 now and then Miss Markham seemed bent on 
 showing him, not only the beauty of her play, 
 but that of arms and wrists. He knew that 
 people spoke to him. He knew that he 
 
128 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 answered when he was spoken to, and that 
 he tried to make conversation. But of what 
 he said he was only half conscious ; his own 
 voice made no sound in his ears ; and the 
 voices of the others were merely like faint 
 noises in a dream. The Pasha, when the 
 ladies retired, suggested that he should come 
 to the smoking-room ; but on plea of fatigue 
 he excused himself, longing to be again alone 
 — alone, so as to drop the smothering mask 
 of gaiety, to groan if he pleased instead of 
 forcing laughter ; and, if he could, to lose 
 himself in the peace of sleep, hoping that 
 to-morrow might bring him some note from 
 Lichtenbourg. 
 
 He little knew how strong his hope was, 
 till the post arrived without a line for himself, 
 and killed it. He imagined that he had 
 expected this. He imagined that he was 
 prepared for it ; but when the disappoint- 
 ment came, it struck him like some treacherous 
 blow. " How can a woman be so cruel ? he 
 exclaimed to himself ; and, smarting under 
 this thought, his nature swerved in revolt from 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 129 
 
 her, struggling to recover its independence. 
 This was in the morning, an hour before the 
 mid-day breakfast ; and, during this hour, as 
 he sat alone in his room, he found that his 
 mind, with a kind of defiant longing, was 
 looking forward to again meeting Miss Mark- 
 ham. Even to think of Mrs. Schilizzi had sud- 
 denly become so painful that, as a man whose 
 clothes are on fire might plunge instinctively 
 into water, he felt himself instinctively im- 
 pelled to soothe himself by some distraction. 
 Such being the case, Miss Markham's various 
 fascinations, which he was hitherto hardly 
 aware that he had noticed, or which, if they 
 had occurred to him, he had pushed con- 
 temptuously out of his consciousness, suddenly 
 now came back to him, and he let his imagin- 
 ation dwell on them. How would she be 
 dressed ? — for her dresses were always chang- 
 ing. How would she look at him through 
 her long dark lashes ? How would her 
 lips, like a parted rose-bud, speak to him ? 
 "What hat would she wear ? What would be 
 the colour of her gloves ? With what shoes 
 
 VOL. III. K 
 
130 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 would she emphasize the arch of her dainty 
 instep ? 
 
 He was conscious of a miserable and perverse 
 impatience to see her again ; and he found 
 himself entering the hall — the usual place of 
 meeting — a good ten minutes too early. The 
 masses of furniture bewildered his eyes at 
 first ; and considering what the time was, 
 he concluded the room was empty. But a 
 coloured something moved against a back- 
 ground of screens and cabinets, and he realized 
 that this actually was Miss Markham herself. 
 She was sitting, when he caught sight of her, 
 in a huge Florentine chair. She had appar- 
 ently been out of doors, for a dainty little hat 
 was on her forehead, a jacket clipped her 
 figure, and a delicate gloved hand indolently 
 held a walking-stick. With the other she was 
 pressing a pocket-handkerchief to her nostrils, 
 seeming to find in its folds the subject of pro- 
 found meditation. She did not stir when he 
 entered, but with the magnetism of a quiet 
 good - morning drew him towards her, and 
 holding the handkerchief out to him, said, 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 131 
 
 Do you like this scent ? Just smell it, and 
 tell me/' 
 
 " It's odd/' lie said. What in the world 
 is it?" 
 
 Miss Markham laughed. Goodness knows/' 
 she said, I don't. It's supposed to be worth 
 ten guineas a bottle. Our host gave it me. 
 Have you/' she went on with a mischievous 
 twinkle in her eyes, " have you seen the 
 bottles in his bed-room ? He is well able 
 to spare it." 
 
 I am not sure/' said Grenville, that I 
 like it." 
 
 I/' said Miss Markham, speaking with a sort 
 of velvety dryness,' and employing a word which 
 is hardly elegant in itself, but which came 
 from her lips as if modelled in Dresden china, 
 I think it's beastly. Here, Mr. Grenville, 
 I wish you'd take my handkerchief. Will 
 you ? I'll make you a present of it." 
 
 ''I confess," replied Grenville, "it's hardly 
 a flattering present." 
 
 " I hope," she said, that at any rate you 
 will dislike it less than I do. It makes me 
 
132 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 think of the Pasha. It will make you think 
 of me. We're going to drive afterwards/' she 
 continued, ''so I shall not take off my hat ; 
 but my gloves have so many buttons I may 
 as well begin undoing them. Help me. 
 There's no one coming. Fve been out. I 
 delight in walking.'' 
 
 Whatever Miss Markham was good at, she 
 was not good at prophecy, for at this moment 
 Lady Ashford and the Baroness entered ; and 
 Grenville was struck by the oddly different 
 way in which, as it seemed to him, these two 
 ladies greeted him. Seeing him as they did, 
 standing close to Miss Markham, Lady Ashford, 
 he thought, showed symptoms of marked plea- 
 sure ; whilst every wrinkle latent in the face of 
 the Baroness appeared to twitch with equally 
 marked annoyance. The Pasha, however, 
 entered, rubbing his jewelled hands, and every 
 expression at once naturally changed itself. As 
 if by magic a series of folding doors were 
 flung open and the party went in to breakfast ; 
 but not even the breakfast, beginning with 
 the choicest caviare and ending with bon-bons 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 133 
 
 fresh from the artist's hand, could medicine 
 the face of the Baroness to its usual sinister 
 complacency. 
 
 Struggling as he was for spirits, and half 
 interested as he was in Miss Markham, 
 Grenville still was conscious of a burning- 
 smart within him, and would still have been 
 absent-minded, if his curiosity had not been 
 roused by the bearing of those two elder 
 ladies. In the course of the afternoon it was 
 more or less satisfied. The object of their 
 drive was the identical old castle which he 
 had first heard of at the Princess's, and visited 
 on his first morning at Lichtenbourg, Here, 
 for a certain time, he found himself alone 
 with Lady Ashford ; and he felt convinced 
 from what she said, though she did not speak 
 very plainly, that the Baroness, who was 
 entirely under the influence of the King of 
 Moldavia, was anxious to promote the intimacy 
 between him and Miss Markham ; whilst Lady 
 Ashford believed the King's caprice to be 
 evaporating, but was staying with the Pasha, 
 and probably outstaying her welcome, in 
 
134 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 order to offer her niece any protection that 
 might be necessary. 
 
 Can't you/' asked Grenville, take her 
 back to England ? Has she no mother or 
 father to take care of her or keep her in 
 order ? " 
 
 ''No/' said Lady Ashford, ''that's the worst 
 of it. She's of age — she's just of age ; and 
 is, unfortunately, her own mistress. She has 
 money too, and a most determined will of her 
 own. If her family put her back up by any 
 injudicious handling, she is capable of doing 
 anything, and of snapping her fingers at the 
 consequences. And yet," Lady Ashford con- 
 tinued, changing her tone, " she has the 
 makings in her of really a fine character." 
 Grenville did not believe this : he, however, 
 forbore to say so. " Do you remember," said 
 Lady Ashford, " how much you admired her 
 at the Embassy ? And she, too, was curiously 
 taken with you. Have you forgotten our 
 conversation that night, and some bits of 
 philosophy I told you ? " Grenville replied 
 that he had not forgotten a word. "You 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 135 
 
 may remember then/' she went on, my telling 
 you that the woman who can love most deeply 
 will never love her deepest till first she has 
 loved in vain — that she only learns what she 
 wants to give and get by finding out how much 
 one man can neither understand nor give. Well 
 — I believe, since I said that to you, Juanita 
 Markham has been finding; out the truth of it.'' 
 She added more in something the same 
 strain, till a dim suspicion at last dawned 
 on his mind of its being Lady Ashford's 
 hope that he might, in Miss Markham's 
 affections, be willing to seize on the throne 
 which the monarch was preparing to abdi- 
 cate. To entertain such an idea in any 
 serious sense never for an instant occurred 
 to him ; but the belief that Lady Ashford 
 entertained it, to a certain degree flattered 
 him, and gave a fresh impulse to the bitter 
 recklessness of his mood. A sort of spurious 
 good spirits came to him as they drove back, 
 and without hesitation he complied with his 
 host's proposal that they should enjoy before 
 dinner a private cigarette in the smoking-room. 
 
136 A HUMAN DOCUMENT* 
 
 In doing this Grenville was doing a real 
 work of charity. The Pasha's experiences and 
 opinions were so wide and so comprehensive, 
 that there were only a few of them which, 
 with all his happy audacity, he was able except 
 in confidence to communicate frankly to ladies. 
 He often therefore earnestly desired a man, 
 to whom he might unbosom the exuberant 
 riches of his nature ; and Grenville presently 
 found how sincerely his presence v/as appreci- 
 ated. The Pasha, unlike many meaner con- 
 versationalists, made no effort at anything 
 indecorous. No effort was needed. His 
 conversation flowed easily like a sunny and 
 babbling stream ; nor had he any narrow 
 contempt for jokes or anecdotes that were 
 innocent. He was never bitter ; he w^as 
 constantly humorous ; and although there 
 was nothing on which he shrank from ex- 
 patiating, his language was never coarse, 
 because nothing seemed coarse to him. He 
 touched pitch without the smallest fear of 
 defilement. The generalization at which he 
 arrived finally was this — that no attachment 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 137 
 
 was ever Platonic at its beginning. ''No, 
 no, no/' he laughed. " You English are 
 purists ; and if you only saw things as they 
 are, yoa would be delighted with what I say. 
 What can be better ? Love is an upward 
 progress — an ascent towards the divine, not 
 a descent from it. Your Platonic affection — 
 you can always have that afterwards. Con- 
 sider you now our esteemed friend the Baroness. 
 We may speak of her history freely, for all 
 the world is acquainted with it. With the 
 King of Moldavia now she is absolutely — 
 absolutely Platonic, and — how do you English 
 phrase it ? — unselfishly devoted to his interests. 
 Good ! — but then of course she was au mieux 
 with him to begin with. You understand ? 
 Yoa see my meaning ? " said the Pasha, 
 extending his forefinger, and screwing up his 
 eyes in triumph, like a statesman confiding 
 some astute consideration of policy. 
 
 To Grenville these chance words were a 
 revelation, though hardly a surprise. The 
 history which, according to the Pasha, all 
 the world was acquainted with, he had never 
 
138 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 heard before ; and it turned into a certainty 
 what before was a surmise merely — that the 
 Baroness was the King's accomplice. 
 
 In any other mood the whole situation 
 would have revolted him. He would have 
 been revolted by the sense of being himself 
 connected with it. But just as physical pain 
 of one kind may make a man insensible to 
 others, so the mental pain which still burnt 
 under the surface made Grenville insensible 
 to what otherwise would have caused in him 
 a moral nausea. His aim was not to think. 
 His aim was to escape from thought ; and 
 again he turned at dinner for distraction to 
 Miss Markham. He began to be conscious 
 of a new sort of attraction in her. That she 
 was good, or refined, or elevated, he never 
 for a moment thought. He could not even 
 pity her as the object of the machinations 
 of the Baroness ; but all the same she 
 interested him as being in some ways a riddle. 
 Her manner was refined, though he never 
 believed she was. There was a dainty quiet 
 in it. Her sense of humour was keen, but com- 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 139 
 
 pletely under control ; and when it lit up her 
 face it struck him all the more from her eyes 
 being in general soft and almost sombre with 
 melancholy. '' What/' he asked himself, ''does 
 she think of her king ? Does she feel his 
 desertion ? Is she capable of feeling anything ? 
 And yet, whatever she is, that girl is in one 
 way genuine. She has the courage of her own 
 desires ; and the worhl will never interfere 
 with her. She looks/' he thought presently, 
 as he let his eye rest on her, "preoccupied 
 as to how she can best go to the devil.'' 
 
 After dinner she affected him still more 
 powerfully ; though in yielding to her in- 
 fluence he felt like a man throwing himself 
 into the sea. She sang. He remembered her 
 voice as he had heard it at the Embassy. It 
 penetrated, it thrilled through him now, as 
 it never had done then. Its liquid tones 
 seemed to vibrate with a passion committed 
 to a music which was but another form of 
 itself. Some music suggests a rising in the 
 air. Hers suggested to Grenville a fathom- 
 less sinking in the sea. "Let me live my 
 
140 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 life out ! He instinctively put these words 
 to it as a kind of mental libretto. Let me 
 live my life out, no matter how soon, but 
 completely ; and then, let the mountains fall 
 on me, let the rocks cover me ! " He 
 shuddered as he listened : he felt that the 
 effect on him was horrible ; yet he moved 
 to the piano, and stood by the singer fascin- 
 ated. When she had finished he begged her 
 to sing again ; but looking up to him with a 
 faint provoking smile, "No," she said, I am 
 tired. These windows open on a kind of 
 platform or balcony : I am going out to get 
 my breath in the moonlight." He opened the 
 window for her, and they went out together. 
 He felt as he did so as if his good angel was 
 deserting him. She came close to his side, 
 and leaned with him over the parapet. 
 ''How cool," she said, ''and how restful. 
 These shadows are soft like swan's-down." She 
 turned her eyes to his. They seemed to him 
 now like jewels, now like nocturnal flowers 
 with dew on them. Before many minutes 
 had passed, the girl, quietly mistress of the 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 141 
 
 situation, was holding his hand in hers. He 
 had yielded to the magic of her touch ; and 
 yet, deep in his heart he felt there had been 
 plunged a dagger. But his heart appeared 
 to him hopelessly far away, disappearing out 
 of sight in some dark depth of his being. 
 At this moment, whatever had become of 
 his good angel, a bad one appeared, who 
 performed a good one's function. It was 
 the Baroness, who said they were wanted to 
 play billiards. Grenville at all events had 
 no need to be told twice ; and, by and by, 
 when he found himself alone in his room, 
 his mind was racked by one and one only 
 hope — that the following day a letter might 
 come to him from Lichtenbourg. 
 
 The day came, and the hour of the post's 
 arrival. As he waited for it, yesterday, and 
 Miss Markham, and every interest relating to 
 her, were all forgotten by him in a mental 
 meetino; of extremes — intense and breathless 
 hope, and anticipated despair. Fritz entered 
 his room with a letter. Grenville's heart beat 
 violently. He seized the letter. It was a bill. 
 
142 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 There was nothing else for him. Helpless 
 misery descended on his heart like an avalanche. 
 Then again, as before, his miserable heart 
 rebelled, and its forces mustered themselves 
 like those of the fallen angels. 
 
 Blankly staring from the window at the 
 gardens and woods below, he saw in a 
 winding walk a glimpse of Miss Markham's 
 parasol. It was red. It reminded him of 
 another of the same colour ; and with a 
 bitter ejaculation, for a moment he turned 
 away. Presently he went back to the window. 
 What he looked for still was visible. He 
 seized his hat. He descended to the garden, 
 and met her. Her eyes brightened when she 
 saw him, and the light in them softly trembled 
 under their shadowy lashes. She was not a 
 great talker. She spoke of the air, and of 
 the flowers, of which last she knew really a 
 good deal, but which she seemed to value for 
 their scent rather than for their colour, except 
 in so far as their colour might be suitable to 
 her own complexion. She made him pick 
 her a rose. " Pin it," she said, " in my 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 143 
 
 jacket for me." She fixed her eyes on him as 
 she spoke ; and whilst he obeyed her order, 
 she very patiently dropped them. I wish," 
 she said, we had not to go in to breakfast." 
 
 In the afternoon they rode together, though 
 the Baroness opposed the arrangement, 
 severely condemning its impropriety. But 
 the Pasha informed her that such things were 
 done in England. Lady Ashford confirmed 
 the statement, and so there was no more to 
 be said. In the evening there was aojain 
 music ; and though there was no retirement 
 on the balcony. Miss Markham had the art 
 of producing moments of privacy in a well-lit 
 room where several other people were present. 
 Gradually Grenville felt that her presence 
 w^as acting on him like some narcotic, lulling 
 the pains and doubts that were aching within 
 him secretly. He slept better the next two 
 nights ; and though, when on the arrival of 
 the post, he was wounded afresh each 
 morning by finding that he had no letter, he 
 felt that the p>ersonality of the woman near 
 him was softly shielding his eyes from the 
 
144 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 vision of the woman absent. And yet to 
 the woman near him he yielded himself 
 grudgingly and slowly. He was never con- 
 scious of uttering one genuine thought to 
 her. The thoughts which he did utter were 
 mere guests in his mind, and most of them 
 were not honoured guests. Still she had 
 triumphed so far as to keep him constantly 
 at her side ; and his thoughts, it may perhaps 
 be conjectured, were the last things she cared 
 about. They were for her no part of the 
 intimacy — they were little more than its 
 coverlet. 
 
 The second of these two mornings she con- 
 trived a new stroke of generalship. Amongst 
 other accomplishments she possessed that of 
 drawing ; and, instead of alluring him to meet 
 her before breakfast in the gardens, she told 
 him of a sitting-room, with a view, in one 
 of the towers, and there she informed him 
 she was going to attempt a sketch. He 
 acted on the hint conveyed to him. He went 
 with her to the room indicated ; he helped 
 her with her paints and pencils ; but despite 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT, 145 
 
 his assistance an hour passed away, and a 
 few outlines were all that the paper had to 
 show for it. So far as Grenville was con- 
 cerned, many men would consider that he 
 had done little during that time for which 
 he could reasonably reproach himself ; but at 
 all events there had happened the following 
 incident. By accident or design a miniature 
 diamond brooch which held Miss Markham's 
 dress round her slim throat became un- 
 fastened. " Fasten it for me/' she said, with 
 a little pout of her lips. She stood up before 
 him, her eyes resting unflinchingly upon his ; 
 and the next moment, with a melancholy 
 deliberate languor, her lips had attracted his 
 to them as if they had been some magnet. 
 To Grenville's intense relief, from far with a 
 faint hoarseness, at this juncture sounded the 
 gong for breakfast. 
 
 She suggested that in the afternoon they 
 should again seek their retirement, adroitly 
 letting him know that they could do so with- 
 out being observed. He met her at the foot of 
 a certain winding stair, and by it they reached 
 
 VOL. III. L 
 
146 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 a landing out of which the room opened. 
 The landing, however, was ill lit ; and it 
 happened that in the dusk, out of several 
 dingy doors Miss Markham went to the wrong 
 one. Grenville followed her, and found 
 himself in the very room — the bare room 
 with the antiquated rude furniture — where 
 he and Mrs. Schilizzi had had their meal 
 together. 
 
 He started, and stood absolutely still. Miss 
 Markham had withdrawn instantly, saying, 
 
 Our room is the next one," and had gone to 
 it, expecting that he would follow. But for a 
 minute or so he could not move. That empty 
 room appeared to him like the tomb of all the 
 hopes of his life — of everything that was 
 beautiful or sacred in it. He did not dare to 
 advance beyond the threshold ; but the voice 
 of Irma spoke in the dusty air, and he saw her 
 eyes full of dreams and aspirations. He closed 
 the door reverently ; he pressed his hand to 
 his forehead. When he rejoined Miss Mark- 
 ham she saw him a changed man. He little 
 knew how the change betrayed itself in his 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 147 
 
 face. It could have escaped the attention of 
 no one ; but the cause of it was naturally 
 unsuspected by her. 
 
 Are you ill ? " she said. " Are you 
 suffering ? " 
 
 He caught at the suggestion eagerly. It's 
 nothing/' he said. It's merely a sudden 
 headache. I can hardly see. I must go to 
 my room and be quiet. I shall be all right 
 in an hour or two." 
 
 Miss Markham's face, like his, exhibited 
 genuine feeling ; but hers suggested annoyance 
 far more than sorrow. When he closed the 
 door she sullenly collected her materials. She 
 sat with them lying in her lap, her dainty lips 
 pouting ; and presently, undoing a button, 
 she drew from her breast a locket. There was 
 a man's portrait on one side and on the other 
 a crown in diamonds. She looked long at it 
 with a half-discontented smile. 
 
CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 Grenville meanwhile had secured for 
 himself at least one luxury — solitude. The 
 emotions of men and women show themselves 
 in different ways. A woman suflfering as he 
 did would have cried or broken down some- 
 how. He at first did nothing but sink into a 
 chair by his writing-table, bite his lips, and 
 listen to a sigh which he could not suppress, 
 and which only quivered under his vain 
 attempts to do so. He then took up a copy 
 of an English newspaper, and with apparent 
 interest began to glance over its columns. 
 But in a moment or two he dashed it down, 
 and a frown furrowed itself on his forehead. 
 Lying on his table was his diary. He had 
 written nothing in it for days. He now 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 149 
 
 opened it, and hastily seized a pen ; and the 
 paper was soon creaking under its quick vin- 
 dictive strokes. I feel/' he muttered to 
 himself, ''as if my ink ought to be vitriol.'' 
 
 " I don't know," he began, " if hell is a real 
 place ; but if it is, I know the nature of its 
 torments ; for during the last three days I 
 have suffered them. They have nothing to do 
 with hot tongs, or the fire-place. The fire and 
 the burning iron are supplied by one's own 
 soul. They consist of the sense of sin, to- 
 gether with the constant commission of it — 
 and sin is the act of being separated from one's 
 true self ; and also from that to which one's 
 true self is devoted. If we were separated 
 from this once for all, if one's belief in its 
 value once for all died, then one might be at 
 peace ; but in hell this belief is always coming 
 to life again, only that one may feel the torture 
 of again making oneself unfit for it. Ifc is a 
 never-dying, ever-reviving death. This sounds 
 like a fragment from some book of theology. 
 It is really the literal confession of an ordinary 
 man of the world, whose thoughts are busy 
 
150 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 immediately not with God, but a woman — and 
 a woman whom, according to theologians, he 
 has no business to love. But with an extra- 
 ordinary fidelity this secular experience of 
 mine embodies what theologians say. To me 
 this woman represents everything that is good 
 — everything that is high and beautiful ; and 
 knowingly and deliberately I have estranged 
 myself from her, committing against her daily 
 acts of treachery. And my will has consented. 
 But here is the strange thing: — it has, as it 
 were, consented against my will ; and when- 
 ever this has happened — what monkish speci- 
 alist will lend me an image savage enough ? — 
 a red-hot knife has gone through the tissues of 
 my soul, cutting away from me all that in 
 myself I respected^ and leaving my life dead. 
 Now for the first time in its fulness I know 
 what guilt means. I remember a certain 
 morning when I thought for a time I knew it. 
 I thought I was convicted by my own con- 
 science and abased before it. I know better 
 now. What menaced me on that occasion, as 
 if it were a sense of guilt, was really terror or 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 151 
 
 distrust of an untried situation. For so far 
 as this woman is concerned, I was absolutely 
 true, absolutely single-hearted ; and for the 
 first time in my life I was beginning to realize 
 what absolute devotion to another human 
 being meant. Theologians and moralists may 
 say of me what they like ; but I swear by all 
 that they think sacred, that a new inward 
 light was that morning dawning on me. But 
 now, if that light is darkness, how great the 
 darkness is ! 
 
 ^'Irma," he continued, I know that you 
 have been strange and hard to me. You have 
 tried me. But what of that ? What must 
 I be worth, if I could not bear such trials ? 
 How often have I said to you that I longed to 
 suffer for you ; and here at the first acute 
 
 sufi*ering I fall away ! And yet Why 
 
 have you left me without a single word ? Are 
 you going to take your own way to heaven, 
 without so much as saying one good-bye to 
 me ? " 
 
 Here his pen arrested itself. Seizing a piece 
 of blotting-paper, he placed it on the page. 
 
152 A HUMAN^ DOCUMENT. 
 
 and abruptly shut up the book ; and having 
 reflected for a few moments, he set himself to 
 write a letter. It had no formal beginning. 
 It ran thus — 
 
 I want your opinion on a certain piece of 
 writing, and I hope you will be good enough 
 to read it through patiently. It is a communi- 
 cation from a man to a woman, made under 
 circumstances which are sufficiently explained 
 by what he says ; and I want you to tell me, 
 if you will, how you think it would affect a 
 woman receiving it. Is there anything in it 
 that would touch her, or appeal to her, or 
 soften her heart towards the writer, if, having 
 cared for him, she had subsequently driven 
 him away from her ? It runs as follows ; I 
 copy it out at length : — 
 
 If you feel that your relationship with me 
 sets you at variance with yourself, or lowers 
 you in your own eyes, or destroys your peace, 
 I will not ask you to let me again come near 
 you. But I will ask you one thing, both for 
 your sake and mine. In cutting yourself 
 off from the past that we have shared 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 153 
 
 together, even while you condemn it, be just 
 to it. 
 
 As for your own heart you can speak 
 better than I can. What I want to do is to 
 tell you about mine ; for I can tell you about 
 it some things which perhaps you hardly 
 realize, and which will not only make you (so 
 I venture to hope) think more kindly of me, 
 but w^ill also prevent your thinking too hardly 
 of yourself. I want to lay bare to you all 
 that I have become, and been, and am, so far 
 as my life has relation to your own ; and if in 
 this you see anything that is good and true, I 
 ask you not only to relent a little towards 
 myself, but to remember that this truth and 
 goodness is due to your influence, and is a 
 reflection of your own nature. 
 
 Well — as to truth, is not a man's truth 
 to a woman shown by what he sacrifices in 
 order to live true to her ? Listen to this 
 then. For your sake I have sacrificed every- 
 thing. As to worldly advantages, I have 
 retained only enough of them to keep me in 
 such circumstances as admit of my being your 
 
154 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 companion. Forgive me for alluding to this. 
 You know it. But I doubt if you do know 
 how completely, in other matters, I have 
 made a parallel sacrifice. I have made myself, 
 for your sake, friendless except for you. I 
 don't say that I did this voluntarily, but it 
 has been the natural result of the affection 
 with which you have filled me. Every one 
 else has grown to me strange and distant. 
 No — not every one. There are a few old 
 friends, to whom still I could naturally have 
 talked with confidence ; but since I have 
 known you, I have never done so. I have 
 been filled with a sense that any intimate 
 thought of mine should be revealed to you 
 only, and shared with you only. I have made 
 myself for your sake, except for you, alto- 
 gether alone. Whilst you remained with me, 
 you more than made up to me for everything ; 
 but now that you have left me, I know how 
 complete my loneliness is. Believe me, I am 
 not exaggerating. Over every throb of my pulse, 
 over every thought, over every look, I have 
 kept watch, so that everything which is worthy 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 155 
 
 in me might belong entirely to you ; and all 
 that was unworthy shrivelled away and dis- 
 appeared. For your sake all my sense of 
 aspiration revived ; njy intellectual interests 
 became keen again. Why do I talk? You 
 know it. Ask your memory. 
 
 And now comes my question. Answer it. 
 Am I so degraded and vile, that I am not fit 
 to be near you ? If you knew all, perhaps 
 you would say that I am so ; for I have not 
 told, you all yet. I am going to tell you now. 
 I am going to confess to you. Do you know 
 what I have done ? As you drove me away, 
 as you told me to rid you of my presence, I 
 have tried — can I confess it ? — I have tried to 
 be unfaithful to you. Don't attach to that its 
 extremest and worst meaning — what it means 
 really is bad enough. The memory of you as 
 you drove me away — how hard and cold you 
 looked ! — was intolerable ; and I have been 
 trying to obliterate your image by that of 
 another woman. I have laid myself open 
 with a deliberate recklessness to all the 
 charms that beauty — that mere beauty — 
 
156 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 possesses, longing to be charmed by them 
 into some desperate forgetfulness of you, as 
 an opium-smoker longs to dream. 
 
 What will you say to me now — me who 
 boasted of my faith to you ? Do not be too 
 hasty. I have something left still to tell you 
 — in fact I have two things left. Which shall 
 I tell you first ? I will tell you first — for I 
 can do that in a moment — that all the time 
 I was doing this I hated myself, and I never 
 was so conscious of my duty to you as 1 was 
 during this first, this only violation of it. 
 You must believe me. What I say is abso- 
 lutely true. So much for that ; and now let 
 me tell you the other thing. Though I tried 
 to be charmed by this woman, she has not 
 been able to charm me. My effort was all 
 in vain. The pleasure that I felt in her 
 company was torture more than pleasure. 
 Your image would not be obliterated. It is 
 part of me. I cannot get rid of it. I am 
 yours, and yours always. Why do you drive 
 me away from you ? If you do not scorn me 
 for this degrading test to which I have put 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 157 
 
 myself, you will see how it at least proves the 
 strength of my love for you. And perhaps 
 the very strength of my love will make you 
 despise me yet farther. If it does, I have 
 but one thing to ask of you. Grant me one 
 final kindness. Let me see you once again ; 
 and when you are saying good-bye to me, 
 disguise your contempt in pity. Is that a 
 great deal to ask, considering our past ? Does 
 all our past mean nothing ? Was it the idle 
 dream of two wicked and faithless children, 
 who get each other into trouble and then 
 hate each other ? This is not so I know, 
 so far as regards me. I cannot believe that 
 it is so, so far as regards you, when I 
 remember the words your lips have whis- 
 pered in my ears, your eyes with all your 
 soul in them as they married themselves to 
 mine, and the love that shone and revealed 
 itself in all the transfigurations of your 
 face. 
 
 ''Do you know these verses? They are 
 not mine, except that they speak my 
 meaning — 
 
158 
 
 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 * Ah, dear, but come thou back to me ! 
 
 Whatever change the days have wrought, 
 I find not yet one lonely thought 
 
 That cries against my wish for thee/ " 
 
 This letter he sealed up in an envelope, on 
 which he put no address, merely the word 
 Private''; but which, having written the 
 following few lines to accompany it, he 
 enclosed in another, directed in all due form. 
 
 Dear Mrs. Schilizzi, forgive me for troubling 
 you ; but you wdll find, I think, that the 
 enclosed belongs to you. It is evidently 
 strictly private ; so I enclose it in a sealed 
 envelope, in order that, if by accident, it fell 
 into other hands, there should be no chance of 
 its being read inadvertently. Pray examine 
 it, and let me know of its receipt by the bearer. 
 
 Sincerely yours, R. Grenville." 
 
 Summoning his servant, he asked him to 
 procure a horse, ride to Lichtenbourg, and 
 deliver the packet personally. It contains," 
 he said, important papers, and must be put 
 into the lady's own hands. You must learn 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 159 
 
 from her maid when she is disengaged, as it 
 wants an immediate answer ; and unless you 
 can find her alone, and able to attend to the 
 matter, don't leave the papers at all, but 
 bring them back to me. Fritz ! he said, 
 recalling him, should she happen to be 
 out for the day, you had better remain the 
 night, and come back to-morrow morning/' 
 
 The rest of the afternoon passed anxiously. 
 At five o'clock he presented himself in the 
 drawing-room, silencing the inquiries of the 
 others by declaring himself much better, but 
 securing an indulgence for a certain abstrac- 
 tion and listlessness by letting the impression 
 prevail that he still was suff^ering. And, 
 indeed, as the hours wore on, he began to 
 suffer in reality. All through dinner, when- 
 ever the door opened, he turned round ner- 
 vously in expectation of a letter for himself, 
 and the tension of his nerves increased at 
 every fresh disappointment. Afterwards they 
 went to the billiard-table, and he was asked if 
 he were well enough to play. He began to 
 fear that they might suspect his malady to be 
 
160 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 mental, and even — fear is so unreasonable — 
 that they might actually suspect the cause of 
 it. He accordingly made an effort, and laugh- 
 ingly took a cue. He surprised himself also 
 by playing extremely well — only the smallest 
 noise outside distracted him so completely that 
 several of his best strokes he made with the 
 wrong ball. At last the folding doors were 
 opened with a crash. He dropped his cue. 
 A servant with a tray came straight and 
 quickly towards him, and on the tray was a 
 letter. He felt that the others were observing 
 him. Truthful as he usually was, he hid his 
 confusion by saying, ''It is a letter from the 
 doctor in Lichtenbourg. It will keep. I sent 
 my servant to him to get some directions 
 about some medicine." He resumed his play, 
 and though his spirits had really risen, he did 
 his best to repress all signs of recovery. 
 
 The moment he was alone he tore the 
 envelope open. It contained but these few 
 lines : You don t know what I have suffered 
 since you left me. Are you coming back ? 
 Does your letter mean that? Will it be — 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 161 
 
 could it be — to-morrow ? As to your en- 
 closure, my opinion of it is this — that a woman 
 would have a heart of stone who was not 
 touched by if 
 
 Fritz next morning again had his work cut 
 out for him. He was sent at eight o'clock to 
 a town about three miles distant for a carriage. 
 Grenville meanwhile wrote a note to his host, 
 who was not an early riser, saying — and here 
 most casuists would have acquitted him of 
 untruth — that, although in his state of health 
 there was nothing at all alarming, the news 
 he had received last night made him wish to 
 return to Lichtenbourg. This note, which was 
 garnished with every necessary civility, he did 
 not send till he learnt that the carriage had 
 arrived ; and having waited to receive a 
 polite message from the Pasha, he drove away 
 from the castle as fast as the horses could take 
 him, without the embarrassment of an adieu 
 either to Miss Markham or to anybody. 
 
 At first his spirits were lifted beyond his 
 
 own control. The air blew freedom in his 
 
 face, and his only discontent was that he 
 VOL. III. 
 
162 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 could not outstrip the carriage. But then 
 presently, for some cause which he could not 
 explain, his state of mind changed like a day 
 rapidly overclouding. ''Why should this be? " 
 he asked himself almost angrily. " What is it 
 that thus changes our moods so incalculably ? 
 Are we masters of ourselves ? Or are we 
 nothing — nothing more than an efiervescence 
 of succeeding thoughts, of which consciousness 
 is the mere specta,tor ? 
 
 An unbidden change, at all events, did 
 take place in him ; and instead of looking 
 forward to the meeting now so near, he began 
 to look at himself, and examine himself from 
 a new stand-point. He was conscious of the 
 keenness of the pains he had lately gone 
 through ; but seeing that now they had dis- 
 appeared so suddenly, he began to ask himself 
 whether there was not something unreal in 
 them, and something contemptible in the fact 
 of his having made so much of them. 
 
 Perhaps,'' he reflected, " when I am no 
 longer divided from her, I shall find out that 
 I no longer care for her. A fine condition I 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 163 
 
 shall see myself in then. Nothing can redeem' 
 my conduct except the genuineness, the endur- 
 ing quality, of my main motive. If I find that 
 my motive fails me — if my afi*ection, which I 
 have fancied so serious, proves to have been a 
 mere caprice, or a piece of sentimental self- 
 indulgence, I shall hardly know which to do 
 first — to fall on myself as a brute who has 
 deliberately trifled with her life, or laugh at 
 myself as the self-made pauper who has 
 deliberately ruined his own. I sometimes 
 doubt,'' he continued, " whether, after all, our 
 conventional moralists may not be right, and 
 whether a man who .acts as I have done is 
 ever sincerely unselfish — whether he will ever 
 attest the love, of which he makes so much, 
 by any serious sacrifice. For as to giving up 
 fame and fortune — I can t tell ; but it is just 
 beginning to dawn on me that this may 
 resemble recklessness more than heroism.'' 
 
 When he reached the hotel, however, these 
 new and formidable misgivings were for the 
 time, at all events, dissipated by an unlooked- 
 for piece of intelligence. As he entered the 
 
164 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 hall the first person he encountered was Mrs. 
 Schilizzi's maid, who was just coming out of 
 the office. She started and smiled at the 
 sight of him, and hastened up to him to say, 
 that she had just been sent down by Madame 
 to find if he had yet arrived ; and that if 
 he had, Madame hoped he would come and 
 breakfast with her. Where ? asked Gren- 
 ville. There was somethino^ in the messao-e 
 that surprised him. In her own salon," said 
 the maid. This surprised him further, as, 
 since the departure of the Princess, she had 
 had all her meals in the restaurant. But he 
 had no time to reflect. It was nearly twelve 
 already, and, following the maid with a 
 beating heart, the door of the salon was being 
 presently opened for him, and Mrs. Schilizzi 
 was rising from a sofa to meet him. There 
 was a smile in her eyes, half reproachful and 
 half deprecating, and in the drooping poise of 
 her head there was something that pleaded 
 timidly. They looked at each other for a 
 moment or two without speaking. Then 
 everything else gave way to gladness. They 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 165 
 
 moved towards each other, she was close to 
 him ; but suddenly some influence seemed to 
 arrest her gently. She took his hand meekly. 
 There was no passionate embrace, but, hanging 
 her head, she ofi^ered her soft cheek to his 
 lips. 
 
 Bobby,'' she began, with her eyes looking 
 on the ground. She faltered. She naively 
 showed how little she could command her 
 words. Bobby — I want to tell you some- 
 thing. Here — come — sit down.'' 
 
 They sat together on the sofa, and still she 
 said nothing. He, with the tide of returning 
 tenderness overwhelming him^ put his arm 
 about her and tried to draw her towards him. 
 At first she yielded. Her eyes went out to 
 meet his ; and then, sharply but not roughly 
 withdrawing herself, " Don't," she exclaimed, 
 
 don't — I can't bear it. Oh, Bobby, why do 
 you distress me ? Why do you tempt me to 
 be so wicked ? " 
 
 He was startled. Her reproach, which was 
 one he had never heard before, coincided 
 strangely with his late accusation of himself ; 
 
166 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 but lie was conscious of one thing which 
 he had lately been induced to doubt — the 
 reality of his own pain at the mere thought of 
 having wounded her. All he could say was, 
 I don't know how to answer you. Forgive 
 me." 
 
 " I suppose/' she said, "you must think me 
 very odd and capricious. When Paul is well 
 and able to take care of himself, I don't so 
 much m.ind what I do ; but when he is ill I 
 can't take advantage of that." 
 
 111," he exclaimed, quietly moving away 
 from her. Irma, I quite agree with you. 
 But you never told me he was ill." 
 
 Didn't I ? No, I suppose not. But he 
 is ; and both the children — they are poorly 
 too. The doctor doesn t know yet what the 
 illness is, but I have been very anxious, and 
 busy too — nursing all of them. As for Paul, 
 I annoy him if I am much in his room ; but 
 he likes me from time to time to go and take 
 his orders. He finds I attend to them better 
 than any one else ; and if anything goes 
 wrong, he has more pleasure in abusing me. 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 167 
 
 But as for the children, I am with them nearly 
 all day. If it hadn't been for this, I should 
 have written to you sooner ; and then/' she 
 added^ looking at him with an odd smile, in 
 spite of everything I was expecting that you 
 would write to me. Dear, sit away, please, 
 a little farther still. I hear them. They are 
 coming with the luncheon." 
 
 He asked her during the meal about the 
 several symptoms of the invalids. The 
 children, she said, seemed merely to have 
 caught some chill — they were suffering from 
 stiff necks, and had been ordered to keep their 
 beds. Mr. Schilizzi had nothing so definite to 
 complain of. " I fancy," she said, ''it may be 
 his liver, for he constantly feels drowsy, some- 
 times he is sick ; and altogether he has no 
 strength for anything, except to read novels 
 as he lies in bed, to drink champagne, and to 
 eat any delicacies he fancies ; and this oddly 
 enough the doctor lets him do. You see, 
 Bobby, I have brought you back from your 
 castle to meet nobody except a poor sick 
 nurse — and even of her you will only see a 
 
168 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 little. And oh ! she exclaimed, suddenly 
 changino; her tone, tell me this — I was so 
 glad to see you, I had forgotten all about it. 
 That other woman — tell me that you don't 
 love her. You do ! I believe you do ! If 
 you desert me now, you will kill me." 
 
 A waiter at this moment entered, and 
 asked her if she could receive the doctor. 
 ''Of course,'' she replied, ''instantly.'' And 
 then, turning to Grenville, " I must ask you," 
 she said, "to go. I shall be busy for I don't 
 know how long. But if you will come back 
 at five, I could see you for half an hour and 
 give you some tea, and we could then speak 
 about dinner. Good-bye. Don't wait a 
 moment longer." 
 
 He went. He got rid of the hours as best 
 he could. He was touched and troubled by 
 her anxieties, but he could not feel unhappy. 
 In the first place, the doubts which had 
 tormented him during the drive, as to the 
 reality of his own attachment to her, had been 
 dispelled by his experiences in her presence. 
 " Whenever I am near you," he said to him- 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 169 
 
 self, ''all my doubts vanish. My life is 
 absorbed in yours/' 
 
 But these reflections were not his sole 
 satisfaction. He had another and even deeper 
 one, welling up from another source, and lifting 
 him to a level of peace to which he had been 
 long a stranger. The source was his sight of 
 her in the middle of her trying duties. The 
 mere fact of her performing them was hardly 
 in itself remarkable ; but the complete self- 
 forgetfulness, the almost religious devotion, 
 with which, from his knowledge of her, he 
 saw she was giving herself to their performance, 
 elated him with a consciousness of her depth 
 of truth and goodness. She was vindicating 
 his own judgment of her, when she had felt 
 doubtful of herself. She was showing him 
 that he had not been soothing his anxieties 
 with sophisms when he told her that, whatever 
 the world might think of her, whatever at 
 moments she might be tempted to think of 
 herself, her faith to him had not divided her 
 from her duty to others, and that everything 
 in woman which is true, and tender, and noble 
 
170 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 had been kindled and developed, not ex- 
 tinguished, by her loving him. He thought 
 of that first expedition he made with her — of 
 that drive to the Pasha s castle, and of the 
 way she had impressed him by her sensitive- 
 ness to the beauty of nature — by her solemn 
 and hushed delight in it. The suffering of 
 those belonging to her seemed to touch her in 
 a corresponding way. Just as beauty roused 
 in her a craving prayer to appreciate it, so 
 suffering roused in her an impulse of the same 
 kind, to spend herself in the service of reliev- 
 ing it. As he left her room after luncheon he 
 had met her maid in the corridor, who told 
 him that for three nights Madame had hardly 
 slept. 
 
 Eeturning at the time she mentioned, he 
 found her awaiting him at the tea-table. She 
 was flushed and agitated, and there was a 
 trouble in her lips and eyes, exactly like that 
 of a child lost in the crowd. Oh, Bobby,'' 
 she said, I'm so glad you've come ; and yet 
 I don't know if I ought to allow you near me. 
 Paul's illness has declared itself. It's the 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 171 
 
 worst form of diphtheria. If you re not afraid 
 of me, sit down, and advise me. Tm half 
 distracted." 
 
 ''Afraid!'' said Grenville with a laugh, 
 w^hich he saw was a spark of comfort to her. 
 She smiled faintly but gratefully. She poured 
 him out some tea, and then went on more 
 slowly. 
 
 " The doctor suspected what was the matter, 
 but he could not be quite sure, and he did 
 not wish to alarm me. IVe so much to tell 
 you. Let me speak about Paul first. You 
 remember a woman — don't you ? — that he ad- 
 mired here. Well, even although my con- 
 tinued presence annoyed him, I should have 
 been with him more than I have been, if the 
 doctor had not informed me that this woman 
 was his constant companion. Of course, 
 neither Paul nor she had a notion of what 
 was the matter with him ; and he used to 
 make her presents to induce her to sit and 
 talk with him. Weak as he was, he used to 
 laugh and chatter with her. But now, as the 
 doctor says, of course she will not return — 
 
172 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 not only because of the danger, but because 
 the symptoms are not agreeable. Poor crea- 
 ture ! she went on, I was sorry to see him 
 coughing. I've been Aviping his lips and 
 doing all sorts of things for him, but the 
 worst of it is that the fact of my doing them 
 seems in itself to irritate him. I don t mind 
 for myself, but I could see it was so bad for 
 him. He struggled to raise his voice in order 
 to find fault with me — especially when for a 
 second or two I think I must have closed 
 my eyes, for I am very tired — and that did 
 something to his larynx, and his cough got 
 worse than ever." 
 
 How is he now ? " asked Grenville, hardly 
 knowing what to say. 
 
 The nurse is with him now. With her, 
 I fancy, he will be quieter. When she came 
 into the room he smiled at her ; and to me, 
 without looking at me, but as if he were 
 speaking to his pillow, ' My dear,' he said, 
 ' you can go.' I went. There was nothing 
 else to do ; and anyhow soon I should have 
 had to go to the children. But now about 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 173 
 
 them — do you know what the doctor says ? 
 What they have had has been just the same 
 thing — diphtheria. It has, however, been a 
 very mild attack ; and now they are fast 
 recovering. He knew about it before, and 
 he told me not to kiss them, because, he said, 
 they might give me a cold. He thought they 
 would soon be well, and he didn t wish to 
 frighten me. He's a kind man. But — oh, 
 Bobby, tell me, do I bore you ? " 
 
 She looked into his eyes searchingly. He 
 tried to shape an answer, but his lips only 
 trembled. She understood him. Her eyes 
 told him so. She leaned towards him and 
 continued. All this," she said, is only the 
 preface to my troubles. The children, though 
 they are supposed to be recovered, are still, 
 according to the doctor, in a very delicate 
 state ; and the great thing for them soon — 
 not to-morrow, perhaps, but next day — will 
 be change of air. They will want most careful 
 watching for weeks and weeks. The doctor 
 has lent me a book. For the last ten minutes 
 I've been reading it ; so far as I can see, it 
 
174 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 may be two months before we can be sure 
 that they are strong again. Tell me — what 
 am I to do ? Where am I to send them ? 
 And must I go with them too? It would 
 kill me to leave them ; but then — Bobby — 
 can you tell what I am thinking of? If I 
 don t leave my children, I shall have to desert 
 Paul. Give me your advice. Help me. 
 Think for me. I am bewildered." 
 
 I should like/' said Grenville, to share 
 all your troubles, except your bewilderment. 
 It is lucky I don't share that. I think your 
 course is clear. Your children require you 
 far more than your husband does. At all 
 costs you ought to remain with them.'' 
 
 She walked to the window, turning her face 
 away from him. He watched her. He heard 
 a slight sob, and a slight movement show^ed 
 that she was gulping down some emotion. 
 Eeturning to him with swimming eyes, " Ah," 
 she said, ''but I feel this." She came close 
 to him. She laid her face on his shoulder. 
 ''I feel this," she went on with difficulty. 
 " I have never wronged my children, but I 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 175 
 
 have wronged Paul ; so I want to repay him 
 over and over again.'' She looked up at him 
 with a sudden momentary smile. I shall 
 make myself in that way more worthy of you. 
 Don't be shocked at what I say. I dare say 
 you don't agree with me ; and so far as my 
 thoughts go, I can't think I have wronged 
 him. But from habit, from the way one's 
 been brought up, from the way even conven- 
 tional opinion has somehow got into one's 
 blood, I feel that I have wronged him, 
 though I dare say the feeling is irrational ; 
 and I want to cauterize this feeling by 
 suffering for him — by wearing myself out for 
 him." 
 
 Trma," he said, whatever my thoughts 
 may be, I too at times have a feeling re- 
 sembling yours. Till now I have been shy 
 of telling you of it ; but I can never again 
 have a secret from you. Little Irma, I under- 
 stand you entirely. But come, whatever we 
 feel, our business is to be practical. Let us 
 just consider first what it is possible to do 
 about the children. The most obvious course 
 
176 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 would, I think, be to send them to the 
 Princess." 
 
 No/' she said, no. They are never 
 well at the castle. They were poorly when 
 last they went there.'' 
 
 ''Well,'' he said, ''then let the Princess 
 take them somewhere. I have it. I happened 
 to hear at the Pasha's that the Count's hotel 
 in the forest is now formally opened, and that 
 he has secured an excellent doctor, who is to 
 live there during the season. One would not 
 wish to bring a chance of infection to the 
 
 hotel, but I could get Count T to put 
 
 the lodge at your disposal. You could send 
 the children with the Princess, or, if you liked, 
 you could take them yourself there ; and 
 whether you would stay there or come back 
 to your husband, you would be able to settle 
 afterwards." 
 
 A nurse here entered, asking Mrs. Schilizzi 
 if there were any further questions which she 
 wished to ask the doctor. " I wish to ask 
 him one," Grenville answered quickly ; and, 
 springing up, he hastened out into the passage. 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 177 
 
 He came back in a minute or two. I am 
 glad," lie said, that 1 spoke to him, for he 
 told me something, which to you he could 
 not have put so strongly. He has seen 
 Mr. Schilizzi again, and he feels particularly 
 anxious that you should leave him for the 
 next twelve hours to the care of the two 
 nurses. If you are there — as you have told 
 me — from time to time he excites himself. 
 Nothing is so bad for him as this, and 
 therefore, for his sake, just at this juncture 
 it will be kindest not to go to him. Will 
 you promise me not to do so ? 
 
 She looked at him doubtfully, as if she 
 thought he was trying to deceive her. He's 
 not worse, is he ? 
 
 " No,'' said Grenville, no. You may 
 keep away from him with a perfectly clear 
 conscience.'' 
 
 '^Well," she said, ''ii it's for his good, I 
 will." 
 
 That's right," exclaimed Grenville with an 
 accent of great relief. And now about the 
 children ; what I propose to do is this. If 
 
 VOL. III. N 
 
178 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 you approve I will at once go to Count T 
 
 (he's at home, I happen to know) and will 
 ask him about the lodge. Then by the 
 evening train I will go on to the Princess. 
 I shall reach the castle before she has gone 
 to bed, and I will be back here in the early 
 morning, having arranged everything." 
 
 Will you really," she said, ''do all this 
 for me ? " 
 
 Her wondering incredulity, which melted as 
 she spoke into gratitude, profoundly touched 
 him. " Do me one little kindness," he said. 
 ''Lend me the doctor's book — I should like 
 to look at it during my journey." 
 
 She gave it him and he was gone. He 
 found the Count at home, who received him 
 with the greatest courtesy, and at once placed 
 the lodge at the disposal of himself or of his 
 friends. He then hurried on to the train, 
 which was to take him to the Princess. On 
 the way he studied the book. He fancied 
 that with more or less accuracy he could make 
 out the general course which this disease, 
 varying so in various cases, was taking with 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 179 
 
 Paul Schilizzi. Whatever the mother had 
 done and suffered for her children would not 
 have surprised Grenville, though it might 
 have moved him afresh to some uew act of 
 reverence for the beauty of her passionate 
 maternity; but with regard to her husband, 
 towards whom, as he knew well, patience was 
 the highest feeling, and indiflference the kindest, 
 which his conduct and character made it 
 possible for her to entertain or cultivate — 
 with regard to her husband the case was quite 
 different. That she should see him properly 
 cared for and supplied with the best attend- 
 ance, that whatever he wished her to do she 
 should do and do willingly, this was natural 
 enough. But what she had been doing, still 
 more what she wished to do, went far beyond 
 this. So far as his wishes went, his illness 
 made few claims upon her. To him a nurse's 
 care would have been just as welcome as hers ; 
 and the only thanks she received were either 
 neglect or anger. And yet, in spite of this, 
 she longed to do for him whatever was hardest 
 — whatever to herself was naturally most 
 
180 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 repugnant ; and what it was to which she 
 was thus devoting herself, Grenville realized 
 now, for the first time, as he read the account 
 of the disease, and the attentions which were 
 required by the patient. She had mentioned 
 to him lightly that the symptoms were not 
 agreeable. He now saw, from something else 
 which had been told him by the doctor, and 
 which fixed his attention on certain special 
 paragraphs, that these not agreeable symp- 
 toms " really comprised everything which 
 could try and nauseate constitutions far 
 stronger than hers. The infected air alone 
 would for her be physical martyrdom ; aud 
 there was nothing to sustain her, not even 
 the sense that she was wanted — nothing but 
 the passionate wish to be true to an ideal of 
 duty. And for the sake of this she had not 
 only watched and suffered, but had done so, 
 despite all provocation, with a tender and 
 unfailing patience. These thoughts possessed 
 him during the whole journey. Quia multum 
 amavit ! he several times exclaimed to him- 
 self ; and once he said, Let me only be 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 181 
 
 worthy of her, let her only love me, till I die 
 — and I shall not be afraid of death." 
 
 The Princess had been forewarned by tele- 
 graph, both of his coming and of the cause 
 of it. The children were her idols. She was 
 awaiting Grenville impatiently. He told her 
 of the scheme he had proposed for sending 
 them to the Count's hunting-lodge, together 
 with all details as to the neighbouring doctor. 
 She approved highly, praising his readiness of 
 resource ; and when he asked her if she herself 
 were coming, she answered petulantly — 
 
 Of course I am/' as if she resented its 
 being doubted. " My maid will see about 
 packing my things to-night ; and if the chil- 
 dren can be moved to-morrow, I shall be 
 ready to go with them. But the lodge — will 
 that be ready?" 
 
 Yes, it will," said Grenville. There is 
 a train which passes your station at three 
 o'clock in the morning. I return by that. 
 I shall reach Lichtenbourg by seven. I will 
 ride over to the lodge. I can get there by 
 half-past ten ; and Til engage that by to- 
 
182 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 morrow afternoon the whole place is fit for 
 
 you." 
 
 ''My poor friend/' said the Princess with 
 motherly pity, " you're almost dropping with 
 sleep. You look yourself as if you'd been ill 
 enough for all three of them." Grenville 
 laughed and roused himself, for he was indeed 
 nearly exhausted. " I tell you," said the 
 Princess, " who causes me most anxiety. 
 That's Irma herself. Of course in remaining 
 with her husband she incurs the very gravest 
 danger ; and from what you tell me, her 
 husband does not require her." 
 
 can't be sure," said Grenville, ''how far 
 she realizes the risk ; indeed I myself till this 
 afternoon knew very little about it ; but I 
 made her promise me that, at all events till 
 I returned, she would stick to her children, 
 and leave him to the doctor and the nurse." 
 
 "I," said the Princess, "will write her a 
 note for you to give her. Any scrap of paper 
 will do. I have one here. Will you lend me 
 a pencil ? Read it,'^ she went on when she 
 had finished. 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 183 
 
 I shall be with you/' the note ran, ''by 
 the middle of the day to-morrow. You know 
 Fm an expert nurse ; and you know also that 
 Fm a very determined old woman ; so I may 
 as well tell you exactly what I mean to do. 
 I am coming myself to take charge of your 
 husband, and leave you free to do what is 
 your only and obvious duty, and that is to 
 be off at once with the children. For their 
 sakes you have no business to run the smallest 
 risk of becoming ill yourself, and consequently 
 unable to look after them. Every time you 
 go into Paul's room — at all events after you 
 get this letter — I shall consider that you are 
 doing by them a cruel and unjustifiable act, 
 I must speak strongly, because what I know 
 I have to overcome in you is a temptation 
 supplied by your goodness ; but you must 
 please resist it. If you don't, you will show 
 yourself unpardonably selfish. There — I have 
 done. Take that for a parting dig, which 
 your old aunt gives you too soon, that she 
 may not have to give it to you too late." 
 
 Will that do ? " said the Princess, screwing 
 
184 A HUMAN DOCUMEKT. 
 
 her eyes up, and a little pleased, through her 
 anxiety, with the kind causticity of the 
 ending. 
 
 Grenville said it was excellent. 
 By the way," said the Princess, you too 
 had better be careful. Nothing makes a 
 person so liable to take the infection as this 
 exhaustion from which you are now suffering/' 
 
 She looked at her watch, and advised him 
 to take some rest on a sofa in an ante-room 
 near the door, and gave orders that the porter 
 should sit up to awake him. 
 
 When he found himself again in the train 
 day was already breaking, and the damp grey 
 morning was scented with leaves and grass. 
 He told the guard to wake him at the proper 
 place, and, lulled by the freshness of the air, 
 lost his trouble in sleep. A carriage was 
 awaiting him at his station. He slept again 
 during the drive ; and it was not yet seven 
 by the time he was back at the hotel. Maids 
 and waiters were scrubbing the floors and 
 door-steps ; last night's tobacco-smoke was 
 floating about the premises, and a smell of 
 
A HUMAK DOCUMENT. 185 
 
 soap was mixed with it. To his great relief 
 Fritz appeared in a moment, whom he begged 
 to go instantly to Mrs. Schilizzi's maid, and 
 inquire if her mistress were np, or if, at any 
 rate, she were awake. An instant message 
 w^as returned to him, asking him to go into 
 her salon. He had not to wait long before 
 the door of her bedroom opened ; and with 
 grave, floating eyes, and a diaphanous flush 
 in her cheeks, which a rose-coloured dressing- 
 gown turned to a spectral pallor, she softly 
 came towards him. 
 
 ''I have,'' he said, '^settled everything." 
 He spoke eagerly, and, as he hoped, re- 
 assuringly. The lodge is at your disposal 
 for the children, and your aunt will be here 
 by mid-day. She sees how to settle every- 
 thing. Here is a letter she has written you. 
 All is explained in that." 
 
 She read it through. As she did so her 
 colour deepened. She sank on the sofa. 
 
 " Sit down here," she said to him. I 
 have something to tell you. I wonder w^hat 
 you will say to me." As she spoke she was 
 
186 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 close to him, but suddenly starting back, 
 What am I doing ? " she exclaimed. I 
 may give you this horrible illness.^' 
 
 Nonsense/' he said, suddenly drawing on 
 his invention. The infection can only be 
 taken from a person in whom the illness is 
 developed.'' 
 
 She moved again towards him and took 
 his hand. 
 
 ''Listen!" she gasped. ^'Do you know 
 what it is I've done ? I've broken my word 
 to you, and I've been again with Paul. He 
 didn't know I was there, so I didn't excite 
 or irritate him. His bed has curtains. I sat 
 in a chair behind them. It was at night, and 
 the room was dark, and I let the nurse sleep 
 for an hour or two ; and without his recog- 
 nizing me, I did whatever there was to do. 
 In some w^ays it's dreadful ; only in seeing 
 another suffering so, one forgets what one 
 feels oneself. I suppose, however, one's body 
 doesn't ; for after two hours I fainted, and I 
 was carried back to my room. But I couldn't 
 keep away ; and oh, Bobby, I can't now." 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 187 
 
 Irma/' he said, were you only concerned, 
 I would not try to dissuade you. But you 
 know that I plead not for yourself, but for 
 your children. I understand the reasons 
 which commend to your own mind the other 
 duty in preference to this. To do that duty 
 seems to you a form of self-sacrifice. It is 
 a form of self-sacrifice also to give it up. 
 You will do most good to yourself by choosing 
 what does most good to others." 
 
 To be with the children,'' she said, that 
 in itself is heaven ; and it seems to me now 
 like running away from pain ; and yet, when 
 you speak of them, you disarm me. I have 
 not the resolution to leave them ; though — 
 don't you think this ? — for a week or so they 
 could do without me." 
 
 ''You quite forget one thing," he urged. 
 *' You might by remaining here make yourself 
 unable to go to them for many a week, or, 
 Irma, perhaps for ever. Have you any right 
 to run that risk ? Have you the heart to 
 do it ? You wouldn't run the risk of leaving 
 them alone in the street. Can you bear the 
 
183 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 thought of leaving them alone in the world ? 
 As for your husband, you may safely commit 
 him to the Princess ; and I will remain here 
 also, to do whatever I can do/' 
 
 " I yield," she said. " I see that you must 
 be right. To be away from that sick-room 
 costs me far more than to remain in it. Go, 
 dear friend, and arrange things as you please 
 for me." 
 
 A horse was ordered for Grenville, whilst 
 he ate a hasty breakfast ; and soon once more 
 he was at the familiar hunting-lodge, making 
 all necessary arrangements for Mrs. Schilizzi's 
 arrival. Nothing escaped his forethought. 
 Various provisions he ordered over from the 
 hotel, and some articles of furniture which 
 the manager kindly lent him. He had also 
 a long; interview with the doctor. Returning; 
 to Lichtenbourg, he found that the Princess 
 had arrived, who was delighted — so far as 
 the circumstances permitted of such an emotion 
 — at finding her advice had been taken, not 
 dreaming that it had needed seconding. 
 Carriages were ordered by the ever-useful 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 189 
 
 Fritz ; and almost before Mrs. Schilizzi knew 
 what had been done, her boxes had been 
 packed and sent on with a couple of servants ; 
 whilst a capacious landau, specially constructed 
 for invalids, was waiting at the door in the 
 warm afternoon sunshine, ready for herself, a 
 nurse, and the two children. The briskness of 
 the Princess's manner was of great service on 
 the occasion. She told her niece she was silly 
 and wrong and selfish for having any re- 
 luctance to do what so clearly was pointed 
 out to her, not only by duty, but by ordinary 
 common-sense ; and with a semblance of 
 anger, which acted like a moral tonic, and 
 Avas sweetened at the same time by an under- 
 current of deep kindness, she almost drove 
 the little party out of the house into the 
 carriage, where she carefully packed the chil- 
 dren, kissing them whilst she did so. As 
 they all drove off she stood waving her 
 wrinkled hand at them, and forcing a cheerful 
 smile, till a turn in the road hid them ; and 
 then her wrinkled hand found sudden occu- 
 pation with her eyes. 
 
190 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 Schilizzi/' she said to Grenville, as they 
 turned indoors together, is going on much 
 the same. I have not yet seen him. I 
 refrained from doing so till my niece was out 
 of the way. I give you fair warning that 
 in another hour I may be infectious ; and so 
 if you are wise you will avoid me as a 
 dangerous character.'' 
 
 My dear Princess/' said Grenville, " I 
 am not going to leave Lichtenbourg till you 
 and all belonging to you are completely free 
 from your anxieties. I only wish I could 
 help you more than I can." 
 
CHAPTER XXXL 
 
 Certainly at that moment he was incapable 
 of doing anything. He had had no sleep, 
 except in unrefreshing snatches, since he left 
 the Pasha's castle ; and now that the chief 
 object of his exertions was secured, physical 
 weariness, long held at bay, asserted its rights 
 at last, and he slept soundly till the evening. 
 His first care on waking was to ascertain 
 where the Princess would dine, in order that 
 he might keep her company, and not seem to 
 desert her. He was told that she would dine 
 in her sitting-room, where he was at liberty 
 to dine also, and she would be glad of his 
 company, though she advised him not to give 
 it her. They met. The Princess retained 
 her spirits wonderfully. She said that the 
 
192 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 invalid had every comfort possible, and that the 
 badness of his temper gave her great confidence 
 in his strength. She then turned the conver- 
 sation to general matters, and sat down oppo- 
 site to him, slightly smelling of disinfectants. 
 The moment the meal was over she left him 
 to his own devices, and he wandered out into 
 the gardens restless and discontented. 
 
 With the departure of Mrs. Schilizzi, the 
 whole place had become different. The band 
 was sending music into the air, lamps were 
 glittering, windows were shining through the 
 leaves. Love-making and coffee-drinking were 
 in progress at the scattered tables. But for 
 him there was vacancy everywhere ; every- 
 thing had lost its interest. Nor was this the 
 case with regard to the place only. He felt 
 it to be the case also with the state of his 
 own mind. His sublime ideas of the duty 
 of pain relaxed themselves ; and resolutions 
 that had soared high in the morning, now 
 came fluttering down with nerveless wing. 
 
 He sat down at a table, and ordered some 
 coffee and a liqueur. As he was lighting a 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 193 
 
 cigarette, he caught sight of the doctor moving 
 across the gravel towards the hotel entrance. 
 He called him. The doctor seemed glad of 
 a little society, and seating himself at the 
 table called for some coffee also. Grenville 
 asked after the invalid. I shall see him 
 again/' the doctor said, in an hour or so ; 
 and if you could come to the reading-room, 
 I would meet you there and report to you. 
 Ah ! " he went on, I am almost worn out 
 by this time. It is reviving to sit here like 
 this, and inhale the good clean air/' 
 
 Grenville now talked to him about various 
 indifferent subjects, and then ventured to say to 
 him, And how are you getting on yourself? 
 
 If,'' said the doctor, I had only myself 
 to think of, I should be getting on well — 
 quite well ; and even if I were not — what 
 matter ? I could bear it. But I have to 
 think of others ; and suppose I were to die 
 now, my wife and my little children would 
 be left in the world destitute." 
 
 Grenville tried to encourage him, and 
 asked him about his practice. ''Affections of 
 
 VOL. TIL 0 
 
194 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 the throat/' he said, I believe are your 
 special study?" 
 
 Yes/' said the doctor, I have studied 
 them in Paris and in London both ; but here 
 Herr Schilizzi's has been my first serious case." 
 And so the conversation came back to the 
 point from which it had started. 
 
 I was reading/' said Grenville, the book 
 which you lent his wife. There is a mention 
 in it of your improved tracheotomy tube." 
 
 ''Mein Gott ! " murmured the doctor, as if 
 talking to himself, " supposing an operation 
 in Herr Schilizzi's case should be necessary, 
 nobody without such a tube could perform it 
 on a man like him. You never knew him, 
 Herr Grenville, before you met him in the 
 train, did you ? " 
 
 " Never," said Grenville, drily. " His 
 wife's family are my friends ; and I only 
 found out who he was by seeing his photo- 
 graph afterwards." 
 
 " Bah ! " murmured the doctor, it is a bad, 
 sad business ! " 
 
 Grenville looked at him inquiringly. 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 195 
 
 " Herr Grenville/' he continued, dropping • 
 his voice somewhat, " Frau Schilizzi is a noble 
 lady — she is an angel. He— you must know 
 it as well as I do — is not fit to be her 
 husband. I shocked you in the train — do you 
 remember ? — by my views about marriage. 
 Herr Schilizzi is not fit, and never will be, to 
 be the husband of anybody. Your English 
 law, regarding him in that capacity, would 
 pronounce his very existence to be a cruelty. 
 I violate in telling you this no professional 
 confidence. Herr Schilizzi does not realize 
 the full gravity of his situation ; but the fact 
 which I tell you he makes no secret of. He 
 was proclaiming it openly to two friends in my 
 hearing. Bah ! It's a bad business. I have for- 
 gotten my own troubles in thinking about it.'' 
 
 The doctor went, having some other patients 
 to visit. G-renville rose also, and presently 
 moved away to a remote quarter of the gardens, 
 losing himself in shadow and solitude. 
 
 Whether the devil is a real person or no, 
 it is easy to see how, without any external 
 evidence, a belief in his reality may have 
 
196 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 arisen ; for there are certain trials or adven- 
 tures in the history of most minds which, 
 though no doubt they may be accounted for 
 in a more scientific way, are hardly capable 
 of being described vividly, except by repre- 
 senting some alien spirit as an actor in them. 
 
 Through such a crisis Grenville was now 
 passing ; and it cannot be described except in 
 the way just indicated. The devil spoke to 
 him in a tone of insidious languor, which 
 seemed to be common-sense taking rest after 
 exercise, telling him that now he might leave 
 events to themselves ; arguing that he had 
 already done far more than was needed of 
 him ; and that to hang about the sick man s 
 room, and live habitually with his nurse, was a 
 mere Quixotic madness, endangering himself 
 and benefiting no one else. You had much 
 better," the devil said, " remain quiet and not 
 trouble yourself. The sick man is almost 
 certain to die. At any rate you cannot save 
 him. When he dies you will have nothing 
 with which to reproach yourself. You will 
 not have to think that you have caused him 
 
A HCJMAISr DOCUMENT. 197 
 
 a moment's pain ; and then your life will be 
 plain for you, and Irma will be yours for ever. 
 Ah, my friend, I can see/' the voice con- 
 tinued, that you still are moved by the 
 example of an emotional woman ; and you 
 still fancy that by emulating this example you 
 will be achieving some higher and closer 
 union with her. You say you will be worthier 
 of her. My friend, you will be simply a fool. 
 The best service you can render her is to keep 
 yourself in good health, so that whatever 
 happens you may be able to cheer and protect 
 her." The thrust of each fresh suggestion 
 Grenville resisted passively ; but he felt 
 that they weakened, even if they did not 
 wound him. Then at last the devil, with the 
 adroitness of a conjuror, seemed to slip into 
 his very self, speaking with his own voice, and 
 attempting to drive him from his duty by a 
 quite new series of arguments. The devil 
 told him that he was a self-deceiving dreamer 
 — that all his passion was nothing but a wicked 
 weakness, that all the duties which seemed to 
 arise from it were fantastic, and that if he 
 
198 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 were a man he would once for all break free 
 from it, and lay his heart open to some other 
 and healthier love. Then the devil, with a 
 low whispering laugh, noiselessly left him, not 
 dissatisfied with his work. 
 
 There are probably moments in the lives of 
 the best of men when every efficient force in 
 them is corrupted, except the will. Grenville's 
 will in this case had not been conquered ; but 
 as he wandered on listlessly, he felt that it was 
 weak and faint. Still it had force sufficient, 
 after no very long interval, to turn him back 
 to the hotel, and prompt him to inquire for 
 the doctor. Before he could see him he had a 
 considerable time to wait. He was hardly 
 conscious what he should say to him when he 
 did so ; and, going into the reading-room, he 
 began to study the papers. At last the doctor 
 came. Grenville, on beginning to talk, heard 
 his own voice like that of another person. He 
 had a sense of curiosity as to what he should 
 say next. He learnt, in answer to his inquiries, 
 that Mr. Schilizzi was worse. Then he said, 
 " Is there no way in which I can help ? Can 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 199 
 
 I be of any help to the Princess, and take 
 anything off her hands ? " 
 
 No/' said the doctor, I honestly don t 
 think so, unless you will go to a house about 
 half a mile distant, and see if it is possible to 
 engage another nurse. I am sorry to tell you 
 that, in coming up the stairs in the dark, the 
 Princess has sprained her ankle, and it has 
 been necessary to put her to bed."' 
 
 Grenville suddenly laid his hand on the 
 doctor s arm. " Is a man,'' he said, no use ? 
 Can I not act as a nurse ? The Princess is my 
 oldest friend. I am nearly connected with the 
 family. If you can, for God's sake make 
 use of me." 
 
 The doctor looked at him. Are you at all 
 aware," he said, ''of the duties you would 
 have to perform, or the conditions you would 
 have to perform them in ? I doubt if physi- 
 cally you could endure it. Have you had any 
 experience of illness ? " 
 
 Listen," said Grenville; ''V]\ tell you 
 what the conditions are — I'll tell you what I 
 should have to do." And he rapidly ran 
 
200 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 through the various details with which the book 
 he had studied had now made him familiar. 
 
 As for my nerves/' he said, don t trouble 
 yourself about them. When a man is as 
 anxious as I am, he's no time to be sick." 
 
 The doctor considered for a moment. 
 ''Well/' he said, till a second nurse could be 
 got, your help would, no doubt, be valuable. 
 You could at least relieve for an hour or two 
 the woman who is with him now. She'll tell 
 you what to do, and she can then get some 
 sleep in a chair. But stay — the patient is 
 often extremely irritable, and a face that he 
 knows — one can't tell why — might excite 
 him." 
 
 " Listen," said Grenville, I know what I 
 will do. I happen to have with me a false 
 beard and whiskers, which were got for me 
 under very different circumstances. They 
 will quite disguise me, and I can pass myself 
 off as your assistant." 
 
 '' Well," said the doctor, ''in that case talk 
 German. He understands it perfectly, and 
 he will never detect your accent." 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 201 
 
 The disguise was not one that required long 
 for adjustment, and Grenville presently, under 
 the doctor's guidance, was crossing the garden 
 to the annexe where the sick man lay. His 
 will by this time was vigorous and wide 
 awake ; and though his imagination menaced 
 him with disgust, and though every nerve 
 was shrinking, his resolution never wavered. 
 
 When, however, he entered the bedroom, 
 the doctor, who watched his face, saw an 
 involuntary change in it ; and snatching up 
 a bottle of salts made him smell them, 
 whispering, 
 
 " You won't be able to stand it." 
 Nonsense," said Grrenville, with an effort. 
 
 I'm perfectly right already. Tell the nurse 
 who I am, and let me be shown my duties." 
 
 They were not difficult, though not a few 
 of them were repulsive ; and made doubly 
 repulsive from the inherent character of their 
 object. But he felt himself urged onwards by 
 a species of spiritual lever, working on some 
 undefined fulcrum ; and the more physical 
 disgust pressed against one extremity, he 
 
202 A HUMAK DOCUMENT. 
 
 was impelled in a direction precisely oppo- 
 site by the other. Sharply awake as he 
 was to the various offices required of him, 
 of the rest of his physical circumstances 
 he became but half conscious. The dim 
 light falling across the bed-clothes ; the col- 
 lection of bottles, glasses, handkerchiefs, and 
 basins by the bedside, and the discoloured 
 face of the sufferer, on which suffering had 
 but emphasized a leer, together with the 
 oppression of the atmospheric conditions — all 
 this became for him like some frightful dream, 
 merely oppressing his senses, but leaving his 
 mind untouched. As the hours wore on, he 
 felt that he hardly knew himself. An in- 
 stinctive and tender adroitness was actuating 
 his arms and hands ; his eyes and ears were 
 unremittingly watchful ; he shrank from no 
 office, no matter how disgusting. Who the 
 sufferer was, or how the sufferer was con- 
 nected with him, almost escaped his mind. 
 He saw merely a man who, antipathetic to 
 him in health, was even more antipathetic 
 now— who did not touch him with any sense 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 203 
 
 of compunction, or, except as a human being, 
 with any sense of compassion. And yet over 
 this man no mother could have watched more 
 carefully, as he listened to his breathing, which 
 seemed gradually growing more difficult, and 
 raising him with an arm, when a sudden 
 spasm woke him. 
 
 It was long past midnight, when the door 
 softly opened, and the doctor again appeared. 
 Grenville was watching. The nurse was still 
 sleeping. 
 
 Not another nurse to be had,'' the doctor 
 said in a whisper. If he ever thanks 
 anybody, he ought to thank you.'' 
 
 Struggling with a fit of suffocation the 
 sufferer started up in his bed. Instinctively in 
 an instant Grenville's arm was supporting him. 
 
 ''Let me," said the doctor, ''take your 
 place for a moment." 
 
 He sat close by the bedside, and made his 
 various observations. He put some medicine 
 to Mr. Schilizzi's lips, and applied some ice 
 to his throat. Then drawing Grenville aside, 
 he shook his head. 
 
204 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 It's a grave case," he whispered. It 
 takes its course slowly ; but the false mem- 
 brane continues to increase in the throat. 
 Stay — let us wake the nurse. You have 
 relieved her long enough ; and I will finish 
 what I have to tell you outside." 
 
 He touched the sleeping woman, who 
 opened her eyes instantly, and resumed with 
 a mechanical readiness her former station by 
 the bed. He gave her a few instructions, 
 then went out with Grenville. 
 
 I am aware, Herr Grenville," he said, 
 that I may speak to you quite freely. In 
 fact you can hardly have mistaken my mean- 
 ing, when I said to you not long since, that 
 Herr Schilizzi was not in good health when 
 this disease attacked him. Did I tell you 
 that in the hearing of others, as well as of 
 myself, he voluntarily admitted the fact, 
 making a joke of it as he did so ? He'll find 
 that it's no joke now. His body is at this 
 moment a mass of complicated corruption. 
 He may pull through this attack. I shall 
 judge better to-morrow; but I think it 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 205 
 
 probable that within a very short time from 
 now we may be driven to an operation on 
 the trachea. If that is so, it will give us one 
 hope more, and our only hope, though one 
 which is too frequently disappointed." 
 
 They were by this time in the garden ; and 
 touching Grenville's arm, the doctor said 
 kindly, And now let me prescribe for you. 
 Go to bed at once. It's a prescription which 
 I shall follow myself." 
 
 For a time, however, tired as he was, 
 Grenville had no wish to do so. One delight 
 in the middle of trouble was overwhelming 
 him : and this was the delight of tasting the 
 pure night air. There was dew on the trees 
 and on the beds of sleeping flowers. He 
 approached his face to a rose-bush, and the 
 drops of the night baptized him. He was 
 conscious of a scent of jasmine. Suddenly 
 exhilarated, he walked away rapidly to the 
 remoter parts of the garden. There was 
 more light than the stars, though the sky 
 was full of them, would account for. He 
 thought there must be a moon somewhere ; 
 
206 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 but having looked for its disc in vain, he 
 recognized the pallor of the morning stealing 
 up already over the heights of the stirred 
 foliage. 
 
 Thanks to the faithful Fritz, who had slept 
 in the hall to wait for him, he easily gained 
 his room, where his rest was profound and 
 dreamless. 
 
 His first care next morning was to inquire 
 about the condition of the Princess. He 
 learnt that she could not move, but would 
 shortly be carried to her sofa. He sent word 
 to her that he would come to her as soon as 
 she could receive him, and bring the doctor 
 with him, who would tell her all the news. 
 He wrote at the same time a note to the 
 doctor himself, so as to decide, before making 
 the visit, how the new^s might be most 
 judiciously told. 
 
 I find," said the doctor, who came to 
 Grenville's bedroom, that the patient is 
 going on precisely as I predicted; and in 
 the course of to-day I think it is quite 
 possible that nothing will be left for us but 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 207 
 
 the operation of which I spoke to you. 
 Everything will be in readiness ; and it 
 happens that only last week I had my 
 apparatus for removing the particles of false 
 membrane sent me back from Vienna, with a 
 slight but important improvement/' 
 
 Has not something of the same kind/' 
 said Grenville, been done by the mouth of 
 the operator ? " 
 
 Under certain circumstances/' replied the 
 doctor, yes. But the risk is always great, 
 and is one which no doctor, in my judgment, 
 could ever be called upon to run. But in 
 this case it would be simple madness. The 
 operator who ran it might as prudently 
 swallow poison. His danger would be in- 
 finitely greater than that of which he relieved 
 the patient." 
 
 ''Well," said Grenville, '' we need not sicken 
 ourselves with discussing the question. Let 
 us go to the Princess ; and this is what I 
 wish you to tell her — that Mr. Schilizzi, 
 though dangerously ill, has developed no 
 unexpected symptoms. The disease is run- 
 
208 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 ning its course, say — anything to keep her 
 quiet. And above all, tell her — not that 
 she is not wanted, but that all her own 
 instructions are being carried out to the 
 letter." 
 
 The doctor was an excellent diplomatist ; 
 he even bettered the suggestions made to 
 him ; and the Princess, though she looked 
 worn, smiled when he had finished his com- 
 munication. 
 
 And now,'' said Grenville, appealing to 
 her, do you think you could do this — write 
 a note to your niece, which I will send by 
 my servant, begging her not to worry her- 
 self, and enclosing a note from our friend 
 here — I am sure he will kindly write it — 
 saying again what he has just said to you, 
 and telling her that even were she here, 
 there would be nothing whatever for her 
 to do/' 
 
 The two notes were written, and Grenville 
 added one of his own. 
 
 " And now," said the doctor, as soon as 
 they had left the sitting-room, Tm sure, 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 209 
 
 Herr Grenville, you had better to-day take 
 a drive or ride into the country. Later in 
 the day, no doubt I shall be glad to see you 
 again, but if you wish to take care of others 
 you must first take care of yourself" 
 
 Many people who are subject to sea-sick- 
 ness feel the touches of the malady before 
 they have set foot on their vessel. The 
 thought of the sick-room, and all its un- 
 wonted incidents, affected Grenville now in 
 a very similar way. He was brave enough 
 in enduring it for the first time, because 
 past experience had supplied him with no 
 terrors of anticipation ; but now the case was 
 diff^erent. Still, without knowing why, he 
 stood his ground, and declared that at all 
 events, before walking or riding, he would, 
 in his former disguise, personate the doctor s 
 assistant, and visit the patient in his 
 com23any. 
 
 Stop ! " he exclaimed. Is not that 
 your servant looking for you ? " 
 
 " It is," said the doctor. I see by his 
 face he wants me. Come, Herr Grenville, 
 
 VOL. III. p 
 
210 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 if you mean to come you must be quick 
 about it." 
 
 At the top of the stairs, outside Mr, 
 Schilizzi's bedroom door, was a man who 
 said in a whisper, I have here the case of 
 instruments. You have the key yourself. It 
 seems to me they will be needed.'' 
 
 Through the thin door came the sound of a 
 violent paroxysm of coughing, followed by a 
 straining for breath, that was like a prolonged 
 groan ; and a moment or two later the sufferer 
 had sunk back exhausted, and, as Grenville 
 thought, dead. The doctor, however, knew 
 otherwise. 
 
 Herr Grenville,'' he said, moving presently 
 from the bed, ^^I am glad that you insisted on 
 coming with me. It relieves me of a certain 
 responsibility. The disease has surprised me 
 by the exceptional rapidity of its development. 
 I wished, as I explained to the Princess, to 
 have had a consultation this morning, but for 
 that now there is absolutely no time. If I do 
 not act instantly, Herr Schilizzi may be dead 
 iu half an hour. His only chance lies in my 
 
A HUMA^^" DOCUMENT. 211 
 
 operating at this moment. You can be of no 
 assistance ; you will be only trying your 
 nerves. You will therefore forgive me if I 
 recommend you to leave the room." 
 
 Very slowly Grenville was preparing to do 
 so, when a low exclamation from the doctor's 
 assistant startled him. The box had been 
 opened, and though the requisite tube was 
 there, the suction apparatus of which the 
 doctor had spoken was missing. 
 
 Mein Gott ! the assistant exclaimed. 
 
 It was taken out in order to have one of the 
 screws adjusted. I will hasten and fetch it 
 instantly.'' 
 
 Instantly repeated the doctor. Twenty 
 minutes at the shortest. Listen — he is choking 
 again. He'll be dead by the time you're 
 back." 
 
 Before more could be said, Grenville unex- 
 pectedly interfered. Seizing the attendant 
 by the arm, "Go to the patient," he said, 
 and then addressed himself to the doctor : 
 ''Don't discompose yourself. The apparatus 
 shall be my mouth. Not a word — I insist. 
 
212 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 I know precisely what I am doing. Have no 
 scruple in using me. You have a family 
 dependent on you ; no one depends on me. 
 Quick — quick ! — out with your tools, and begin 
 about it.'^ 
 
 ''I tell you/' said the doctor, ''you might 
 just as well drink poison. At best the chance 
 of saving the patient is small ; but it is large 
 as compared with the chance against your 
 saving yourself. Besides, it is an operation of 
 considerable delicacy and difficulty." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " exclaimed Grenville. I 
 order you to let me have my way. Delicacy! 
 — difficulty ! By God ! man, do you take me 
 for an idiot ? I can spit through a tube — I 
 can blow peas through a tube. Do you mean 
 to tell me that sucking is less easy than 
 spitting ? " 
 
 ''You/' said the doctor, overcome by his 
 determination, '' are able to answer for your- 
 self ; that man on the bed is not. I should 
 not be justified in refusing this last chance 
 you offer him ; though, bear me witness, I 
 declare you are not justified in offering it. 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 213 
 
 The consequences will be on your own 
 head/' 
 
 " God be my judge." Grenville murmured 
 inaudibly. And yet what do I mean by 
 that ? If I owe a debt to any invisible 
 creditor, he will understand. I offer him all I 
 have." Whilst these reflections were rapidly 
 passing through his mind, the horror of the 
 duty w^hich he was about to perform for a 
 moment overcame his nerves. There was a 
 sudden spasm of his muscles ; he barely avoided 
 vomiting. Meanwhile the room was full of 
 subdued sounds. A moment more, and he 
 was conscious of a metal something in his 
 mouth. The assistant presently was exclaim- 
 ing, See, he is breathing freely ! " and the 
 doctor was pressing a glass to Grenville's lips, 
 saying, '^Take this — take it, and wash your 
 mouth out thoroughly." 
 
 Grenville was docile. He did exactly as he 
 was bidden ; but before he retired, as he did 
 almost directly, Promise me," he said to the 
 doctor, " to say nothing to the Princess of 
 what I did, nor write anything about it to 
 
214 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 Mrs. Schilizzi either ; at all events, not till we 
 see that I am none the worse for it. I am not 
 anxious myself, but it might add to their 
 anxieties if they knew. You're a good fellow, 
 so promise me to be faithful in this.'' The 
 doctor promised. ^^And noAV," Grenville 
 continued, as soon as I have changed my 
 clothes, and done all the little things that 
 you advise, I shall tell the Princess that the 
 patient is much easier, and ride over to the 
 hunting-lodge, and give the same news to his 
 wife." 
 
 ''You couldn't do better," said the doctor. 
 
 Tell your news while it is true." 
 
 The second relief from the tainted atmo- 
 sphere, the conviction, which he could not 
 distrust, that he had himself done his utmost, 
 the hurry of his toilet, and the bracing luxury 
 of his bath, the bearing of his news to the 
 Princess, and his preparation for his ride, left 
 him at first little time for thought ; and he 
 was hardly calm enough for anything that 
 could be called reflection, till he found himself 
 alone, rapidly riding through the forest, with 
 
A HUMA^T DOCUMENT. 215 
 
 the smell of the pines blowing softly against 
 his nostrils, and the rapid motion filling 
 him with the joy of living. And now at 
 last the question began assailing him — Am 
 I, as I ride, carrying with me the seeds of 
 death ? Is not this my last week of the 
 air, the forests, and the sunshine ? And will 
 not my world be soon a sick-room like the 
 one I have just left ? Sunshine and shadow 
 lay upon the road interlacing ; brooks which 
 he passed were laughing and leaping like 
 playing children, and the air moved every- 
 where as if it were a vagrant joy. He 
 took it into his lungs, feeling that he was 
 inhaling nature, and then, as he did so, asked 
 himself, Is it not for the last time ? 
 
 It was a question which he could not answer, 
 and which indeed he could only half realize ; 
 so before long he managed to elbow it aside, 
 or rather, against his will it was elbowed aside 
 by another — a question relating to the proba- 
 bility not of his own death, but that of Mr. 
 Schilizzi. This had occurred to him again and 
 again before, but he had resolutely refused to 
 
216 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 dwell on it, or the prospects which lay beyond 
 it ; and absorbed as he had been in practical 
 and painful effort, he had repelled it easily. 
 
 But now it presented itself to him more 
 importunately and vividly ; and he felt he had 
 earned a right to speculate on the consequences 
 of a death, which he had risked, and perhaps 
 forfeited, his own life to avert. This mood, 
 however, did but last for a moment or two. 
 He had hardly yielded to it before it shocked 
 and disgusted him ; and he presently exorcised 
 it by sending his thoughts forward to the 
 relief, if not to the pleasure, which he would 
 be bringing to Mrs. Schilizzi by news pointing 
 to the recovery, not the death, of her husband. 
 He soon forgot everything else in this. The 
 pleasure to himself even of being once more in 
 her presence, and of reading the secret in her 
 eyes, which swam in them through all her 
 trouble, was a prospect which gave place in his 
 mind to the pleasure of seeing the relief which, 
 unconnected with himself, would come to her 
 from the news he brought her. 
 
 As he approached the lodge, the first thing 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 217 
 
 that caught his eye was her red dress and her 
 parasol, motionless by the border of the lake. 
 At the sound of hoofs she suddenly turned 
 round, staring at him, as if doubtful as to who 
 he was or what was his errand. As he drew 
 near, however, and as she recognized his face 
 and his expression, she eagerly came forward 
 with a smile of hope and of inquiry. 
 
 I have come," he said, to relieve you of 
 the anxiety which I know must have been 
 wearing you out here. You got the note 
 which I sent over this morning ? 
 
 " Yes," she said. " How good of you ! It 
 arrived two hours ago." 
 
 ''Well," he continued, ''I have a later 
 bulletin for you. He was far easier when I 
 left him than he has been for the last twelve 
 hours. You need not fret yourself because of 
 your being here. There is nothing you could 
 do for him that is not done by his attendants ; 
 and your presence might excite him, whilst 
 with them he is quite quiet." 
 
 ''And has he," she said, "not asked for 
 me ? " 
 
218 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 He has asked for no one/' said Grenville. 
 ''He has not mentioned your name." 
 
 He wondered as he told her this whether 
 she would be hurt by hearing it. A sound 
 came from her that seemed to be a sigh of 
 relief; and yet a faint meaning of sadness 
 was given to it, when she said — 
 
 Of course he didn t know how I sat up 
 half the night with him, and how, had 
 nothing prevented me, I would be at his 
 bedside still.'' Then her face brightened and 
 softened into a smile, as, laying her hand on 
 his arm, she said, Come in and see the 
 children. Have your horse put up, and Til 
 tell them to make some coffee for you." 
 
 She went with him to the stables; but on 
 turning back to the lodge — 
 
 I think," he said to her, I had better not 
 see the children. I have been in his room ; 
 and though I have changed my clothes, one 
 never knows if there may not be some chance 
 of infection. I hardly know, indeed, if I 
 ought to remain with you." 
 
 "Bobby," she exclaimed, 'Mon't go, I im- 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 219 
 
 pi ore you. You won t hurt me ; and even 
 suppose you would — if I had to consider no 
 one except myself, I would say to you now, 
 give me death with your lips. Bobby, do 
 you think that I am very wicked and incon- 
 sistent ? And you went to see him, did you ? 
 And you sat by his bedside? Darling, wait 
 a little w^ith me. We won't go in to the 
 children. We will have our coffee outside, 
 under the beech-tree, as we have done before. 
 Do you remember ? Do you remember our 
 old times here ? 
 
 When he said good-bye he gently held her 
 at a distance from him. He kissed her hand. 
 Such was their sole endearment. In spite of 
 this interview, however, or, to speak more 
 truly, because of it, he rode back enveloped 
 in a deepening gloom. He had just been 
 seeing a vision of all that life held for 
 him ; what it might give him fully if Paul 
 Schilizzi died ; what it might give him par- 
 tially if Paul Schilizzi lived : and the terrible 
 thought settled down on him like a cloud, 
 that at this moment he was probably a 
 
220 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 dying man himself ; or that, worse still, if 
 he was not doomed to death, his life would 
 be blighted by some revolting and nameless 
 taint — that perhaps even he might become 
 an offence to look upon, and that at all 
 events he would bear the burden of a hopeless 
 and secret isolation. 
 
 But even now he was not conquered ; nor, 
 in spite of all these thoughts, was he dis- 
 possessed of the spirit which had brought 
 him into his present straits. Once or twice 
 mentally he cursed Paul Schilizzi ; but he 
 sharply checked the temper which prompted 
 the passing outburst, and never for a moment 
 allowed himself to complete the wish that 
 anything which he had done during the past 
 day and night had been not done. He even 
 prepared his mind, should he find this to 
 be required of him, for another vigil at the 
 suffocating and odious bedside. 
 
 With a view to giving himself no time for 
 flinching, the moment he reached Lichtenbourg 
 he sent to inquire of the doctor if he could 
 be of any further assistance ; and, whilst 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 221 
 
 waiting for an answer, he hastened to the 
 sitting-room of the Princess, in order to give 
 her a good account of her niece. She received 
 the news with a smile, but it struck him as 
 a rather indifferent one ; and setting it down 
 to the pain of her sprained ankle, he asked 
 her how it was, saying at the same time, " I 
 suppose you have not been able to see Mr. 
 Schilizzi?" 
 
 You haven't heard, then ? " she said, 
 with a certain severity of accent. And 
 yet how should you ? I suppose you have 
 seen nobody. Paul Schilizzi died about an 
 hour ago. There was another doctor present 
 during the last moments ; and it seems, at 
 all events, that the best that could have been 
 done was done. Had it not been for the 
 operation performed on him, they tell me he 
 must have died this morning. Pm sorry," 
 she went on, as if anxious to relieve herself 
 by finding fault with something, I'm sorry 
 that you should have troubled yourself to 
 raise poor Irma's spirits, merely to make 
 this heavy shock the heavier. Hark ! " she 
 
222 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 said, " that is the doctor s voice in the 
 passage." 
 
 I sent to him to inquire/' said Grenville. 
 ''I suppose he has come to ask for me.'' 
 
 His voice as he spoke had a curious tremor 
 in it. The Princess looked sharply up at him. 
 He was standing near the open window, and 
 she saw that he was shivering as if with cold. 
 
 Don t/' she said, stand in the draught 
 having made yourself hot with riding. Call 
 in the doctor, and let us speak to him here.'' 
 
 The doctor entered, and answered Grenville's 
 questions, giving him an assurance which he 
 had already given the Princess, but which she, 
 nevertheless, was pleased at hearing repeated, 
 that Mr. Schilizzi at the end had had little 
 conscious suffering, that he had expressed no 
 > wish to see any friends or relations, that he 
 had missed the presence and had noticed the 
 absence of nobody. 
 
 I hope," said Grenville, that you will 
 assure Mrs. Schilizzi of that. Her natural 
 impulse will be to reproach herself bitterly 
 for having left him." 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 223 
 
 If she had not left him," said the doctor, 
 " I promise you I will assure her of this — 
 that she might easily have had one of her 
 children leaving her. Herr Grenville, what's 
 the matter with you ? It seems that you 
 have taken a chill." 
 
 That's what I tell him/' said the Princess. 
 
 Herr doctor, you must make him take care 
 of himself. Send him off to his room, and 
 give him a hot bath." 
 
 This, indeed, the doctor presently did, tell- 
 ing Grenville that, after the danger he had 
 incurred, it was impossible to be too careful. 
 
 A common cold with you," he said, might 
 develop into something serious. As for this," 
 he went on, anxious to be reassuring, ''it is 
 nothing ; but don't neglect it. Dine in your 
 own room. I'll send you a draught which 
 will give you a sound sleep ; and to-morrow 
 morning we shall find that you're quite your- 
 self again." 
 
 " One word," said Grenville. ''As to Mrs. 
 Schilizzi, she will have, of course, to be told. 
 Will you go to the Princess and advise her 
 
224 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 as to writing a letter, and, if necessary, add 
 a line of your own, emphasizing tlie points I 
 mentioned ? " 
 
 Grenville, for his own part, followed the 
 doctor's advice, though, when the morning 
 came, he hardly fulfilled his prophecy. He 
 had, indeed, the comfort of a dreamless sleep, 
 so escaped the ferment of thoughts consequent 
 on the new situation ; but as to his physical 
 condition, though he no longer shivered, he 
 felt languid and unwilling to rise, and he 
 realized gradually that he had a certain 
 soreness in his throat. He did his best to 
 convince himself that this was only fancy ; 
 and, though it cost him an effort, he at last 
 got up and dressed. He had just finished his 
 toilet, when the doctor made his appearance, 
 partly to bring some news to him, and partly 
 to visit him professionally. Having questioned 
 and examined him as to his symptoms : " Ah,'' 
 he said, " I don't think this will be much. 
 You need not alarm yourself, but you ought 
 to be very careful. I should have preferred 
 that you had stayed in bed to-day, and, in- 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 225 
 
 deed, I should advise that presently you went 
 back to it again. But as you are up, you will 
 be doing no great harm to yourself if you will 
 come down with me for a minute or two to 
 the Princess. She wants to see you before 
 Frau Schilizzi's arrival.'' 
 
 The Princess was better. With the aid of 
 a stick she could walk a little, and she sat up 
 instead of lying down on the sofa. The alert- 
 ness, however, which was visible in her whole 
 expression, Grenville saw at a glance was 
 largely due to nervousness, and the questions 
 she began to put to him showed him the same 
 thing. 
 
 I w^ant you," she said^ to tell me once 
 again exactly what you told Irma yesterday 
 about her husband. It seems to me you must 
 have spoken to her much too hopefully ; and 
 if you did the shock will be all the worse. 
 When she comes I shall want both of you to 
 be present — you, Herr doctor, especially — in 
 order to assure her that she could have 
 done no good by being here." 
 
 Grenville was proceeding to explain for a 
 
 VOL. III. Q 
 
226 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 second time what it was he had said — and he 
 felt himself, as he did so, that he had perhaps 
 erred in the way the Princess declared he had. 
 
 But it was," he continued, precisely because 
 I knew how much her sensitive nature was 
 suffering under her enforced absence, that I 
 wished, since there w^as no question of bring- 
 ing her back here, to relieve her from the 
 tension of an anxiety that could do no good 
 to any one.'^ 
 
 The Princess had no time to reply to this ; 
 for he was still speaking when the door of 
 the room opened, and Mrs. Schilizzi herself 
 entered. Haste and some overwhelming 
 emotion were visible in her eyes and cheeks, 
 and in her lips, which w^ere at first com- 
 pressed, and then opened as if gasping. 
 
 " And is it true ? she said, as they all 
 looked in silence at her. Is there really 
 no hope ? 
 
 Doctor," said the Princess, you explain 
 it all to her." 
 
 The doctor, without mentioning the oper- 
 ation, quietly explained to her that the course 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. '127 
 
 the disease had taken, though not unusual, 
 had been in this case unexpected, and again 
 assured her that her presence would not only 
 have been no help to her husband, but would 
 have been unperceived by him. The words 
 seemed, however, to make but little impression 
 upon her. 
 
 If,'' she said, speaking to the Princess, " I 
 had only been with him when he died — if I 
 were only at this moment tired and ill with 
 having watched by him — it would be different. 
 But now — you have all of you kept me away. 
 You have made me guilty of a desertion for 
 which T can never forgive myself, and for 
 which I can never atone.'' Her voice suggested 
 pain rather than ordinary grief. There was 
 silence for a moment, then the Princess pre- 
 pared to speak ; but before she had delivered 
 herself of more than a premonitory cough, 
 Mrs. Schilizzi sharply turned to Grenville, 
 and, with a hardening voice, said to him, 
 And you — you completely took me in. You 
 told me he was better. You told me not to 
 be anxious. If it hadn't been for you, I might 
 
228 A HUMAJ^ DOCUMENT. 
 
 have reached him in time. He was dying 
 when you came to me ; and with a lie you 
 kept me away from him." 
 
 " Perhaps/' said Grenville to the doctor, 
 speaking with obvious difficulty, " you had 
 better explain all to her — nothing, you under- 
 stand, that respects myself : I merely refer to 
 Mr. Schilizzi's illness. I told her that when I 
 left the condition of the patient was easier." 
 
 Frau Schilizzi," said the doctor, turning to 
 her with great gravity, Herr Grenville told 
 you nothing but the truth. He forbore, by 
 my advice, to go into needless details ; but if 
 you wish it, I may as well explain them to 
 you. Yesterday morning, your husband's 
 condition became such, that the only hope left 
 us was to perform an operation on his throat, 
 commonly resorted to in such circumstances. 
 But for this, he must have died live hours 
 earlier. The operation was successful, and had 
 his health been good otherwise " 
 
 But Mrs. Schilizzi would not suffer him to 
 continue. An operation ! " she exclaimed. 
 " He had suffered an operation — and you, Mr. 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 229 
 
 Grenville, told me nothing at all about it ! 
 He was leaning against the wall. She rose 
 up, and she went over to him. ''Do you 
 know/' she exclaimed, " what you have done ? 
 You have taken my last chance from me. 
 You have forced me to neglect him ; you have 
 allowed him to be neglected by others. You 
 have killed him yourself, and the reproach of 
 his death is mine. Speak to me, can't you ! 
 I advise you to do so now, for never again 
 shall I give you an opportunity." 
 
 She seemed hardly to know what she was 
 saying. One stinging sentence seemed to 
 beget another. He looked at her fixedly with 
 an expression of painful wonder. He tried to 
 speak, but at first he had no voice ; then a 
 word or two came, hoarse and accompanied by 
 a cough. 
 
 Oh," she exclaimed ironically, '' and so 
 you have a cough now, have you ! Much good 
 that will do ! You may at least muster voice 
 to answer me." 
 
 Here, however, there was a movement made 
 by the doctor. He had been watching Gren- 
 
230 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 ville intently, and listening to the sounds 
 emitted by him ; and now going up to him, 
 and taking him forcibly by the arm, he led 
 him out of the room with a promptitude that 
 ensured compliance. Go,'' he said, " and 
 get back to bed directly. In a few minutes 
 I will be with you. Your life may depend 
 upon your prudence." 
 
 Almost stupefied by the scene he had just 
 gone through, Grenville went to his room with 
 a dull mechanical resignation, and the doctor 
 returned to the other two before either of 
 them had uttered another syllable. He shut 
 the door with a bang. In his cheeks was a 
 flush of anger. He strode up to Mrs. Schilizzi, 
 and confronted her with a look that terrified 
 her. ''Madame," he said, ''that gentleman 
 who has just left us has indeed done what 
 you taxed him with, and kept back from you 
 — and begged me to do so also — the most 
 remarkable incident connected with your 
 husband's illness. Seeing, however, the 
 manner in which you treat him, it will be 
 best for you — it will be best for every one — 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 231 
 
 that I tell you the whole truth. I cannot 
 allow you to be ignorant of it. Herr Grenville, 
 madame, whom you charge with having killed 
 your husband, and to whom you say you will 
 never again speak, when your aunt, the 
 Princess was disabled, and one of the nurses 
 failed me, attended your husband himself 
 during the most trying night of his illness, 
 with a nerve and a care which few trained 
 nurses could have equalled ; and when, 
 madame, that operation took place, which you 
 blame him for having concealed from you, it 
 was solely his heroism which enabled it to 
 take place at all. With his own mouth," said 
 the doctor, his voice rising, he performed the 
 desperate function of removing through the 
 tracheotomy tube the membrane that was 
 suffocating your husband. No man walking 
 up to a cannon's mouth took his life in his 
 hand more surely than did Herr Grenville 
 then ; he did it knowing that the danger was 
 worse even than I dare explain to you ; and 
 events will have treated him with a favour 
 which he had no right to reckon upon, if he is 
 
232 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 not now laying himself down in his bed to 
 await the death from which he struggled to 
 save your husband." 
 
 Doctor," cried the Princess shrilly, ''stop 
 — I order you to stop. Look at my niece. 
 Can t you see what you are doing to her ? " 
 
 Mrs. Schilizzi's face had indeed undergone a 
 change. Its expression had softened into one 
 of helpless sorrow. Her eyes were wide and 
 appealing, then they became vacant. Don't 
 let him die ! " she gasped as her strength 
 failed her ; and the doctor in another moment 
 had placed her, unconscious, on a sofa. 
 
 You need not be alarmed," he said quietly, 
 turning to the Princess. She wdll come to 
 herself presently." 
 
 The Princess showed by a look that she was 
 sufficiently aware of this, and said with an 
 anxious sharpness, " Is it really true that you 
 are alarmed about Mr. Grenville ? " 
 
 ''He has," said the doctor, "taken a slight 
 chill which, as I have seen during the last ten 
 minutes, has already affected his throat ; for 
 seven days he will probably be a prisoner in 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 233 
 
 his own room ; but I hope, as we have certainly 
 taken the disorder in time, that he may escape 
 any serious consecpences, though the escape 
 will be very narrow, and is, I am bound to 
 tell you, very far from certain. As for 
 Frau Schilizzi, if you will permit me, I will 
 summon her maid, and I will go myself to 
 a patient who needs my attention more.'' 
 
CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 Some ten days later, sitting up in his bed, 
 and bearino; traces at once of weakness and 
 returning strength, Grenville was listening to 
 the doctor's welcome announcement, that he 
 might leave his room for an hour or two, and 
 enjoy the luxury of a drive ; whilst very soon, 
 if he wished it, he could probably leave 
 Lichtenbourg. 
 
 The doctor, whilst giving his patient this 
 welcome news, found his eyes arrested by some- 
 thing that was lying on the table beside the 
 bed. It was a roll of paper-money, tied with 
 a coloured tape. The doctor started, remained 
 for a moment motionless, and then turning 
 nervously towards G-renville, tried to say some- 
 thing, but could not get out a word. Gren- 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 235 
 
 ville presently perceived the subject of the 
 doctor's observation. A look of guilty embar- 
 rassment made its way into his face, and his 
 pale cheeks became pink with a faint blush. 
 
 " Herr Grenville/' exclaimed the doctor at 
 last, a light has suddenly broken on me. 
 Forgive me — let me speak plainly. I recog- 
 nize something on your table. I gave it to 
 the manager of the hotel. He lent me some 
 time since 2,400 florins, and has lately pressed 
 for the repayment of them. But the day you 
 were taken ill, he told me that if I paid a 
 quarter, the rest, should it be more convenient 
 to me, might be paid in a year's time. I gave 
 him the quarter— and I see it lying there. 
 Herr Grenville, it is you, and not he, that have 
 done me all this kindness. You have saved 
 me from ruin. Mein Gott — how shall I thank 
 you ! " And the doctor s big round eyes were 
 like two saucers with slops in them. 
 
 Grenville s last effort before taking to his 
 bed had been to beg the manager not to 
 press the doctor, but to ask only for a quarter 
 of the total owed — a sum which to Grenville 
 
236 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 at the moment was little short of necessary. 
 
 Give me the balance/' he now said, " when it 
 suits you. You needn't thank me except for 
 a common piece of friendliness. Pay me five 
 per cent, if you like, and my money will 
 have been well invested.'' Irma,'' he said to 
 himself, when the doctor had gone, Irma,'' 
 he said, doing himself considerable injustice, 
 ''if it wasnt for you, should I ever be kind 
 to any one ? '' 
 
 Then he turned to a little pile of letters, 
 which were lying by the doctor s bundle. It 
 was evident they had been read already. He 
 began re-reading them. 
 
 The first consisted only of these few words. 
 Forgive me — forgive me. They will not 
 let me come near you. They tell me you 
 will soan be well. I wish I could kneel to 
 you, and once more say, ' Forgive me.' — 
 Irma." 
 
 The second, which was dated the following 
 day, was longer. '' Your servant gave me 
 your message. It was only ' Thank you. 
 Write again.' I believe you meant to show 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 237 
 
 me that you are at all events not implacable. 
 I must have been mad — mad — when I spoke to 
 you as I did. This morning Paul was buried. 
 All the world seems suddenly so hushed and 
 strange to me that, just as in a church one 
 is afraid to speak or laugh, I am afraid to let 
 myself think or feel. But at least I may tell 
 you I hope you are not suffering. I may 
 comfort myself with the confidence — the doctor 
 gives me this — that your recovery will be 
 rapid ; and — once more — oh, forgive me." 
 
 Then came these, of which every day had 
 brought one. 
 
 " The Princess goes home this afternoon. 
 Her ankle is almost well. I too must leave. 
 I am obliged to rejoin my little ones. Thank 
 you for your few words, which I could see 
 you wrote with difficulty, telling me that my 
 letters soothed and did not disturb you. I 
 shall drive over to-morrow, perhaps taking 
 the children with me, to inquire after you. 
 And now shall I tell you one thing ? Dare 
 I ? "Will you think ill of me for it, con- 
 sidering what took place yesterday ? Will 
 
238 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 you think — ? Oh, Bobby, I don't know 
 quite what I mean ; but I will tell you 
 what it was I did. Last ' niHit I was told 
 
 o 
 
 you were sound asleep. My maid had just 
 heard this from your servant, when I asked 
 about you. She was in the passage outside 
 your room. I asked her to look in. Yes — 
 you were sleeping. I came in myself on tip- 
 toe, just to have one look at you ; and then 
 I stooped down and gave you one kiss on 
 the forehead. I saw my little scribbles lying 
 on the table, amongst your medicine glasses. 
 It made me cry to think that such little 
 things could please you.'' 
 
 I am,'' ran the next note, writing this 
 in your hotel. I have driven over, with my 
 two children, to ask for you, as I said I would. 
 Send me a line — a word or two ; or else a 
 mere message. I hear you are much better. 
 Oh, if I could only see you ! But it would 
 not be allowed me ; and under the circum- 
 stances I ought not to ask it. Oh, to be 
 with you again, and to hear your lips . say, 
 and to see your eyes look, the forgiveness that 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 239 
 
 you have written to me ! When I see you 
 again will you be quite the same ? Are you 
 sure you will ? I shall not be. I shall be 
 changed ; but if you still can care about what 
 happens to me, it is not a change that will 
 displease you.'' 
 
 Weak though he was, he had written her 
 a short answer, as hers of the next day 
 showed. 
 
 You tell me/' she said, that the doctor 
 thinks you may move soon. But oh, what 
 do you mean by this — ? You write, ' If I 
 die, I leave my diary to you. It is full of you. 
 It is full of nothing else. It is in a packet 
 sealed up and directed to you.' Why do you 
 frighten me ? And yet what you say touches 
 me so. I am sending you something. Oj)en 
 it. It is an acknowledgment. It will show 
 you how completely I am in your hands. 
 Oh, Bobby — you are getting better ; I see it 
 in your handwriting. Yes — you will move 
 soon. Where will you go ? You will think 
 I am very selfish ; for the first thought in 
 my mind when I ask that question is whether 
 
240 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 you mean to go without seeing me or saying 
 a word to me. Don't do that, Bobby. Tell 
 me all your plans. Need you go far away ? 
 I hardly know what I write. This air agrees 
 with the children w^onderfully. They are 
 getting quite strong again. The loss they 
 have suffered made them curiously quiet at 
 first ; but the return of health makes a kind 
 of spring in their minds, and they are begin- 
 ning to play in the forest, as in the days 
 which you remember. Send me a line — one 
 line even is better than nothing ; and tell me 
 that you are getting stronger." 
 
 Along with this letter had come a packet, 
 which was lying on the table, partly but not 
 quite undone. It was her own diary. He 
 saw it was that. He had reverently raised it 
 to his lips, and laid it down unopened, like 
 some sanctuary which he hesitated to profane. 
 
 Her next day's note, and the last of the 
 collection, was this. Grenville had just re- 
 ceived it, and it was dated the previous night. 
 ''Fritz arrived with yours, only an hour ago. 
 Yes. Come here. How can I say no ? I 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 241 
 
 could not have ventured to make the sugges- 
 tion myself, but I was hoping and dreaming 
 that you might be moved to make it. Come 
 to the hotel. I will order the best rooms for 
 you. Would you like to have those that once 
 upon a time were mine ? Oh, Bobby, when 
 I think of all that you have gone through, 
 and when I now know that each day you 
 are growing stronger, a duplicate of your 
 health seems to be springing up in me ; only 
 the name of the plant in my soil is not health 
 but happiness. Any day now I will expect 
 you ; but if you can, give me a few hours' 
 notice. I still am nervous and shaken ; and 
 even a pleasure that took me by surprise 
 would be a shock to me.'' 
 
 As Grenville was finishing his reading, Fritz 
 entered the room, with towels and hot water, 
 and, opening the window a little, admitted a 
 whisper of leaves, and a breath of sunny air 
 scented with early summer. Grenville felt 
 like a soul entering Paradise, as the freshness 
 reached his nostrils ; for what stole into his 
 mind was not the summer only, but the pre- 
 
 VOL. III. K 
 
242 
 
 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 science also of an unbelievable something into 
 which his own life was expanding. By midday 
 he was breakfasting in the sitting-room lately 
 vacated by the Princess. Then followed his 
 drive. His last excursion in the environs of 
 Lichtenbourg had been the walk he took on 
 the morning when Mrs. Schilizzi had explained 
 to him that she wished he would rid her of 
 his company, and banish himself to the Pasha's 
 castle. That morning he had hardly known 
 where to wander, for every road held some 
 happy memory of her which would then have 
 taunted him in his misery. But now to these 
 roads he was again licensed to return — the 
 happy memories again were becoming part of 
 his own life. His only difficulty now was, 
 what road to choose. It was a choice between 
 pleasures, and^he lingered over it throughout 
 his meal. When at last he found himself in 
 the carriage, the whole world seemed bright 
 with blossoms. High laburnums bosomed 
 themselves on clouds of leafage. Thorn trees 
 had broken out into masses of white and pink, 
 and their faint but penetrating scent was 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 243 
 
 straying in wayward courses ; and his own 
 memories were blossoming and floating every- 
 where, like the blossoms and like their scents. 
 
 The doctor that evening gave him the un- 
 expected information that, if he chose to do 
 so, if he would take proper precautions, and 
 if he would not travel too far continuously, he 
 might leave Lichtenbourg next day. And 
 where,'' he asked presently, would you think 
 of going ? '' 
 
 The question caused in Grenville a certain 
 amount of embarrassment, but without any 
 actual untruth, he managed to get out of it 
 creditably. ''The Princess," he said, ''will 
 have me whenever I wish to go to her ; but, 
 before doing that, I must see Mrs. Schilizzi ; 
 so I thought of going first for a day or two 
 to the hotel in the forest.'' 
 
 The doctor declared that nothing could be 
 better than this, as the air there was healthy 
 and bracing to an extraordinary degree. " In 
 fact," he said, " I should advise you to remain 
 there till you are quite strong again." 
 
 "And now," said Grenville, "I must ask 
 
244 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 you aD important question, and I trust you 
 to answer candidly. Do you think that my 
 health in any way has suffered, or is likely 
 to suffer, from what I have gone through ? 
 I say in any way! and you will not mis- 
 understand my meaning." 
 
 " Herr Grenville," said the doctor, " had 
 your health been less sound than it was some 
 ten days ago, my answer might have been 
 either a doubtful or a painful one. I cannot 
 say that what you have suffered has left 
 absolutely no effect on you ; but the effect, 
 I can tell you confidently, will be no more 
 than this : your throat may be more delicate 
 than it was before — more liable to the attack, 
 say, of some form or other of laryngitis. I 
 must advise you then to take great, though 
 not excessive, care of yourself, and not to 
 neglect precautions at which otherwise you 
 might have safely laughed." 
 
 The first thing next morning a messenger 
 was sent to the hunting-lodge, with the 
 announcement that Grenville would follow in 
 the course of the afternoon. He did so ; but 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 245 
 
 the carriage being heavy, the journey was 
 slower than he had anticipated, and it was 
 five o'clock before the manager of the hotel 
 was showing him into the sitting-room, with 
 which he was so vividly familiar. Lying on 
 the table was a note. It said — 
 
 " I will wait in for you. Will you come 
 over and see me ? I wonder if you would be 
 able to dine with us ? 
 
 He sat down, fatigued a little with the 
 drive, and looked about him for a minute or 
 two. Every vase or jar which would hold 
 flowers was filled with them. Some were 
 wild-flowers, but there were others — especially 
 some roses ; and he divined that these must 
 have come from a certain neighbouring garden, 
 which he himself, wading amongst grey dew, 
 had once rifled in the hush of a dim dawn. 
 
 He longed to hasten to the hunting-lodge. 
 He longed to say that he would dine there. 
 But not only prudence, but an actual sense 
 of weakness, prompted him to write and 
 despatch the following note instead : — 
 
 I must not come this evening. I am not 
 
246 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 very strong yet. You must dine here, and 
 must bring the children with you.'' 
 
 An answer was brought back to him on a 
 folded scrap of paper. 
 
 Yes," it said, we will come." 
 
 An hour or so later, as he was still resting 
 in his chair, he heard in the passage a patter- 
 ing of light feet. There was a light knock 
 at the door, and in came the two children. 
 They came close to him, and gave him their 
 faces to be kissed. He looked for their 
 mother. They had left the door open. He 
 knew she must be coming. She stood pre- 
 sently in the doorway. Above her soft black 
 dress, her face once more to Grenville sug- 
 gested the petal of a pale geranium. There 
 was in her attitude as she stood there a 
 moment's gentle hesitation, and what her eyes 
 suggested to him was the clear shining after 
 rain. Their meeting was made easy by the 
 children's presence. There was no passion 
 perceptible in it — nothing but a gentle and 
 profound quiet. 
 
 Rest," she said, rest. I am not going 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 247 
 
 to have you standing. Go back to your chair, 
 and I will bring mine beside you." Softly, 
 tenderly, for a moment she laid her finger-tips 
 on his forehead, and murmured, half smiling, 
 two lines of Shelley's — 
 
 My hand is on thy brow, 
 And my spirit on thy brain." 
 
 She asked him how he was. She told him 
 about the health of the children. Then in a 
 low tone she said a word or two about the 
 funeral, and added, — 
 
 I know now that I could really have been 
 of no service. The doctor told me that I had 
 nearly been very ill myself. That was the 
 thing which really at last quieted me. It 
 was a witness borne by my body that I really 
 had done my best. I wouldn't believe my 
 soul, though that said the same thing. I 
 fancied it was deceiving me. I couldn't bring 
 myself to believe it. "Why should the witness 
 of our body be so much the more convincing?" 
 
 In their voices, as they spoke together, 
 there was no note of sorrow, but there was 
 
248 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 something subdued and hushed — a tribute of 
 reverence to the solemnity of a recent human 
 catastrophe. Then came dinner and the ripple 
 of the children's talk, in which not even the 
 knowledge of death could silence the laugh 
 of childhood. Their mother and Grenville 
 had to speak to them about their food. One 
 child had an absurd struggle with a chicken- 
 bone ; the other, by and by, a miniature 
 tragedy with her gravy ; and the conversa- 
 tion, as it flitted from one such trifle to 
 another, though still subdued, gradually be- 
 came more natural. The two small mouths 
 were busy and getting sugary with sweet- 
 meats, when the nurse arrived to summon 
 them back to bed. 
 
 Let them,'' said Mrs. Schilizzi, have a 
 little run on the way, and I will watch them 
 from the balcony. Go, children — go. Mother 
 will come soon ; and if you can, catch a fairy 
 to show her. Only mind, it must be a good 
 fairy." 
 
 She and Grenville went into the balcony, 
 and watched the two small forms flitting 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 249 
 
 about below them. Presently from a clump 
 of bog-myrtle rose a large pale-winged moth, 
 to which the children instantly gave chase, 
 jumping into the air, and reaching their 
 hands towards it. As she watched this in- 
 cident, Mrs. Schilizzi laughed. The sound 
 was that unconscious ripple which Grenville 
 knew so well. He turned to her. Her face 
 was bright with a happy smile. It was a 
 smile like the year's first snowdrop, 
 
 ''Bobby," she said, ''you mustn't stay out 
 too long. You look so worn and tired. You 
 had better come in now. Take my arm ; you 
 are not too proud to lean on me." 
 
 She closed the window so as to keep the 
 draught from him. She seated herself beside 
 him on a sofa, and looked at him gravely and 
 in silence. At last her form made a slight 
 movement towards him. In an instant, 
 gently and closely, like the tendrils of a 
 noiseless plant, his arms were about her neck, 
 and his lips were w^hispering in her ear, 
 " Irma, from this day I will never, I will 
 never leave you." 
 
250 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 Hush, oh, hush ! she exclaimed, softly 
 disengaging herself. I will never leave you 
 either, if you will let me remain with you. 
 But for a little while you must let me watch 
 over you like a mother. You are very weak 
 still, and I must treat you like my little child. 
 You are not strong enough yet even to catch 
 a fairy." 
 
CHAPTER XXXIIL 
 
 They had arranged before separating that, 
 if the weather was warm enough, they would 
 go next morning once again into the forest, 
 and sit again at the foot of a certain beech- 
 tree, whose smooth stem still shone in their 
 memories. The morning brought with it all 
 the warmth they could have wished for. The 
 scented air touched them like tepid water ; 
 and they drove with the children along the 
 remembered track, above which the squirrels 
 still leapt in the branches. They found the 
 glade they sought ; they found the very beech- 
 tree. They seated themselves under its shade, 
 which now was a darker green. 
 
 They could hardly realize the peace of their 
 present situation — a peace which trembled 
 
252 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 with happiness as a breeze-touched sea with 
 sunlight ; and it was almost a relief to them, 
 as showing them that they were not dreaming, 
 to find that, like a sun-lit sea, it had also a 
 passing cloud or two. 
 
 Irma," he said, ''we still have some 
 difficult things to settle.'' 
 
 ''Tell me,'' she murmured, "what things. 
 I too know of many ; but I want you to speak 
 first." Grenville hesitating, she presently 
 went on. " After all, we have still something 
 to settle with our consciences." 
 
 " Have we ? " he answered. " I think so 
 sometimes, and sometimes I don't think so. 
 What I feel now is this — that if we owed our 
 consciences anything — no matter how much — 
 we have at least off'ered them the utmost 
 payment we could make." 
 
 " You," she said, " have indeed done so. I 
 too wanted to pay my debt as you did. Do 
 you think that my mere wish was payment 
 complete enough ? " 
 
 "Don't," said Grenville, "let us trouble 
 about this now. Fate, or the course of events, 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 253 
 
 or what I should like to describe as God, has 
 gently given us back what we both gave it 
 to take. If to God, or to law, or to our 
 own souls, there is still a payment due, since 
 we could not make it with our deaths, let 
 us think how we may make it with our 
 lives. Do you know," he went on, it often 
 seems to me that we may go just as far 
 wrong, and show just as little moral courage, 
 in accusing ourselves, as we do in excusing 
 ourselves. Do you remember the verses 
 I wrote ? — I have often thought of them 
 since — 
 
 * And we will turn the dark to daylight by 
 That one sole lamp — our own fidelity/ 
 
 Don't fret yourself, Irma. We will together 
 learn what to think of things.'^ 
 
 She looked down on him softly. I couldn't 
 fret now" she said, '^if I wished to." 
 
 " When," Grenville resumed, I spoke 
 about things to be settled, T was thinking not 
 about all this. I was thinking not about 
 our past, but about our immediate future." 
 
254 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 Yes/' she said nervously. What is it ? 
 Don't say you re going to leave me ! " 
 
 If I did/' he answered, I should trust 
 you not to believe it. No — but before we are 
 able, without offending the world, to establish 
 a relationship between ourselves which the 
 world can recognize, some time must elapse. 
 If we alone were concerned such a question 
 need not trouble us. I can never be yours 
 more truly than I am at the present ; but just 
 as one dresses oneself in order to go into the 
 street^ so, if our relationship is to be shown to 
 the world eventually, it would be an outrage 
 not to dress it in the world's prescribed 
 formalities. With me, then, the practical 
 question is this. How, till this is done, can 
 we best remain together ? Shall I tell you 
 what I have thought of ? " 
 
 Tell me." 
 
 " Do you remember how often I have talked 
 to you about Italy ? If we find it suits the 
 children, shall we travel for some months there 
 — say till the winter? This could be done 
 without causing the least remark. Whenever it 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 255 
 
 was desirable, we might stay at diflferent hotels. 
 There need be no division between us, except 
 to the outer eye ; and if we are only wise in 
 chosinof our times and seasons, we need en- 
 counter no eye that would have any interest 
 in observing us. What do you say, Irma ? 
 Speak to me. Tell me your opinion.'' 
 
 Oh," she said at last, it is all too de- 
 lightful. Only, Bobby, — I wonder if you will 
 understand me, — I don't feel that just yet it is 
 right even to think of it." 
 
 Never mind," he answered. " Think of it 
 when you like. I dare say we are none of us 
 in a condition to travel yet ; and meanwhile, 
 whilst we rest here, I will remember I am your 
 child, and afterwards, as long as you wish it, 
 you must remember that I am your brother.'^ 
 
 She laid her hand on his, and her eyes were 
 like skies unclouding. Suddenly both grew 
 aware again of what had been escaping their 
 senses — the rustle of the leaves, the sharp 
 singing of birds, and all the life of a summer 
 not yet out of its childhood. The happiness 
 which they had known before on that very 
 
256 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 spot, rose out of the mosses, tingling in the air 
 around them. The past began, like a slowly 
 swinging censer, to scent up into the present 
 its clouds of perfumed memory. 
 
 The same evening after dinner, as they sat 
 together in the twilight, the charm of the 
 future began to operate on their fancies, and 
 the scenes glimmered before them which they 
 hoped soon to visit. 
 
 " Have you forgotten," she said — I have 
 not forgotten it — the momentary picture of 
 Italy with which once you stirred and dazzled 
 me ? I remember your very words — boats 
 gliding on lakes with sails like the breasts of 
 swans, the marble peaks of the pure Carrara 
 mountains, rising out of violet mists, and 
 glittering in a sky of primrose colour, the 
 notes of the Angelus trembling from craggy 
 villages amongst the Apennines/' 
 
 Yes,'' said Grenville ; we will see them 
 all. We will sit together above Como, in an 
 arbour of which I know, whilst the banksia 
 roses round us are fretting the purple twilight." 
 
 ''And I," she said, ''will not trouble you 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 257 
 
 with questions about our past. Whatever we 
 ouo-ht to think of it we shall learn to think. 
 Our united lives will teach us." 
 
 This programme began to be realized sooner 
 than they had dared to anticipate. The whole 
 party, Grenville especially, recovered strength 
 rapidly ; and matters connected with the 
 estate of her late husband made it desirable 
 for Mrs. Schilizzi to go for a few days to 
 Vienna. Grenville accompanied her, now with- 
 out anxiety. One morning wheu, as usual, he 
 came to her apartment, to breakfast with her, 
 she met him with a look of excitement, holding 
 in her hand a letter. 
 
 What do you think ? " she exclaimed. " I 
 have only now learnt it. Paul never told me. 
 I have just heard it from our lawyer. It was 
 Paul who bought your house, that he might 
 
 sell it to Prince of . The Prince, 
 
 or the Queen, or the nation — I don t under- 
 stand these things — will give twenty thousand 
 pounds for it more than Paul gave you.'' 
 
 In blank surprise, Grenville sank down on a 
 sofa, saying nothing for a moment, but staring 
 
 VOL. III. s 
 
258 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 at Mrs. Schilizzi. Then the recollection came 
 back to him of Mr. Schilizzi in the train, and 
 his glowing account of his operations in country 
 properties. '^Tell me," he said, presently, 
 ''all about it. With regard to that and to 
 other things, let us try and understand the 
 situation." 
 
 ''So far as I can gather," he wrote that 
 night in his diary, ^' we could if we liked return 
 to my old home and live there. Unless it is 
 resold — and there is no obligation to sell it 
 — it will entirely go to Irma, my little step- 
 daughter ; but it seems that, for her life, it 
 would belong to Irma — my own Irma. I am 
 glad of this, and she is glad also. We are glad 
 we might live there, for this reason — because 
 thus we are enabled to refuse to do so. We will 
 touch nothing of Paul Schilizzi's money, except 
 in so far as we touch it for the distinct benefit 
 of his children. My old home shall never be 
 my home again through him. We both agree 
 about this point. Our feelings are perhaps 
 fantastic. Never mind. This is our deter- 
 mination. We can neither of us really believe 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 259 
 
 that we have done that man a wrong ; but w^e 
 do feel that we never could receive from him 
 any benefits. Irma's business here is done, 
 and we start to-morrow. We start for Italy. 
 It seems to me an unbelievable dream. We 
 go to Vicenza first, and I think then to Siena. 
 We shall see. The world is all before us. 
 
 This evening Irma asked me if I had read 
 her diary. I said I had not. I said that I 
 felt as if to do so w^ould seem like implying 
 a doubt of her. She said, * No — no. I am 
 pleased that you should feel that ; but indeed 
 you need not. * I know that you don t doubt 
 me ; but I have been thinking over the past, 
 and I am horrified to see how capricious and 
 cruel I must have appeared to you. You have 
 thought me capricious and cruel. Don't deny 
 it. I know you have. Hush — don t answer 
 me yet. Let me go on speaking. You don't 
 think me so now — you don't any longer 
 doubt me ; but as to the past, I am certain 
 you do not understand me. You will if you 
 read my diary. That was why I sent it to 
 you, and therefore, for my sake, read it. 
 
260 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 Nothing will divide us then, I think — not 
 even one jarring memory.' 
 
 I told her I would read it ; and we talked 
 of other matters, but just as I was going to 
 leave her, she came back to the subject. 
 She spoke half shyly. ' AVhen you read it,' 
 she said, ' don t speak about it to me. I want 
 to know that you have read it through as a 
 whole ; but I don't think I could bear — you 
 see you have all my inmost thoughts there — 
 I don't think I could bear to speak about 
 them in detail, even to you. Do you under- 
 stand me ? ' I said I did ; and I did. I shall 
 open her volume for the first time to-night ; 
 and each night during our travels, when I am 
 alone in my own room, I shall read a little." 
 
 The day following, as had been arranged, 
 they all started for Italy ; and he studied the 
 diary night by night as he had proposed to 
 himself. With regard to one point, however, 
 he found himself deviating from the course 
 he had anticipated. Instead of reading the 
 volume straio^ht throuo;h, he found himself 
 instinctively turning to the records of those 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 261 
 
 days when her conduct had so wounded and 
 troubled him, when the ideal he had formed of 
 her had become so distorted, and almost lost, 
 and when his heart had been seared with a 
 pain, the smart of which he remembered still. 
 And here in her diary he at last found 
 complete healing. 
 
 During all that time in London, when he 
 had felt her to be treating him so ill, he 
 discovered that in reality all her hours had 
 been full of him. He compared carefully his 
 own diary with hers, for those days when her 
 notes to him had been shortest, or her words 
 hardest ; and all the anger which he had then 
 felt against her, with a sensation of rapture he 
 now turned against himself, taxing himself 
 with selfishness, with want of patience, with 
 a stupid want of understanding, and by the 
 shadow which he cast upon himself, making 
 her image brighter. 
 
 The following was her diary for her first 
 day at her mother-in-law's. It was addressed 
 to himself, as it was on so many other 
 occasions. 
 
262 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 What weariness all these hours have been 
 without you ! Now you are no longer with 
 me, the sun seems extinguished, and all the 
 air is winter. I have been to-day with my 
 lawyer. How hateful and perplexing all my 
 business seemed ! Had you been with me to 
 help me, everything would have been different. 
 And how am I to see you ? My mother-in- 
 law is preparing to map out every minute for 
 me. She is making engagements for me ; she 
 is going to drive me out in her brougham, 
 with both the windows closed, whilst she sits 
 wrapped up in a rug, her feet on a hot bottle, 
 a tract in one hand, and what she calls her 
 vinaigrette in the other. I can't help laugh- 
 ing a little. I must do my best to be patient. 
 But I feel this — that she is spinning round me 
 a spiders web of circumstances, which will 
 entangle me like a fly, and keep me away 
 from you. I wonder if you care as much as 
 I do ? I have written to you to-night, for 
 there is one hour when I may be able to see 
 you to-morrow ; and yet even about that I 
 cannot feel quite certain. I may have to put 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 263 
 
 you off at the last moment ; and I shall 
 hardly sleep to-night owing to this wretched 
 uncertainty. But still I mean to be patient. 
 For your sake I wish to be as good as I can 
 be ; and you must help me. I trust you.'' 
 
 In the next day's diary Grenville read this. 
 It was her account of his visit to her in Mrs. 
 Budden s drawing-room. How different from 
 his own impression of it ! 
 
 I saw you this afternoon — but rather it 
 was not seeing you — or rather it was only 
 seeing you. It was like seeing water, and only 
 seeing it, when one is thirsty. I don't know 
 what I talked about ; I have quite forgotten ; 
 but I know that I said nothing, and could say 
 nothing, that I wanted to say. And you thought 
 me so stupid, and you will soon cease to care 
 for me. I know you will — how can you help 
 it when I am so stupid ? You will leave me ; 
 and then what will happen to me ? And every 
 day now it will be harder for me to meet you." 
 
 Then during the next few days came 
 entries such as this — 
 
 ''Without you I am like a child lost in the 
 
264 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 streets. The people round me bewilder me 
 as if they were ghosts ; and when 1 do see 
 you for a few troubled minutes, you are some- 
 times displeased and rough with me — at least 
 I think so. And then in answer I think I 
 sometimes speak sharply. But I hardly know 
 w^hat I have said. To speak to you as I want 
 to speak seems hopeless now — impossible. 
 ' The people round me seem to have claws 
 clutching at me. I can hardly get away from 
 them. My mother-in-law, or a sister of hers, 
 or somebody, always wants to come with me 
 wherever I go. And somehow I can't even 
 write to you. All day long things are collect- 
 ing in my mind which I want to pour out to 
 you ; but when the time comes to write them, 
 I find that I can't put them on paper. I 
 have sat this evening with a sheet before me, 
 and with a pen in my hand, thinking pages 
 and pages to you ; and then it has ended in my 
 writing only these miserable lines in my diary.'' 
 Then came this. It was dated on one of 
 the days when she had seemed to him most 
 heartless and frivolous. 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 265 
 
 ''1 was looking this morning at some of 
 the jewels Paul gave me. If I could, I would 
 sell them, and give the money to a charity, 
 or else give it to him. But to do neither is 
 possible. I wish to render Paul whatever 
 service I can, but to accept nothing from him. 
 What I must do is this — whenever he desires 
 me to wear any of these things, I will wear 
 them ; but only then : and I shall regard 
 them then merely as his livery, which I 
 humiliate myself by wearing to please him. 
 Bobby, I once took pleasure in all these pretty 
 things. For your sake now I hate them. 
 
 " This morning I had two hours to myself. 
 I couldn't write to you, and arrange to meet 
 you ; so I went instead and saw some poor 
 people near here. I sat with them, and 
 talked to their children, and arranged to do 
 whatever I could to help them. You would 
 wish me to do things like these, wouldn't 
 you? I know how kind you yourself are; I 
 know how much you feel for the unhappiness 
 and pain of others. I felt all the while that 
 I was doing what you would wish. Is it not 
 
266 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 strange how things out of the New Testament 
 come home to one sometimes with a quite 
 new application ? This morning I said several 
 times, ' Insomuch as I am doing it to the 
 least of these, I am doing it to you/ For you 
 do wish me to be good, don't you ? 
 
 Then came her record of his visit to her 
 own house at Hampstead ; and then of their 
 excursion to his house in the country ; and 
 then of their days at the little Suffolk water- 
 ing-place. During this period he had felt that 
 he understood her. There was no apparent 
 alienation to be explained away ; but he came 
 across one passage which struck him for this 
 reason — that it showed how closely, in some 
 particulars, her experiences had resembled his 
 own. 
 
 I can never," she wrote, ^'be sure of the 
 continuity of my own mood. Generally I feel 
 secure of a sense that I am right in belonging 
 to you ; and all through these days in London 
 I have felt, night and morning, that could 
 you only be always with me, my heart would 
 have perfect peace. But now, at this quiet 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 267 
 
 little place by the sea, where nothiug disturbs 
 our intercourse, I have been troubled and 
 shaken. I have been troubled to-day — but 
 at this moment I am calm again. When you 
 talk to me my misgivings go. They go when 
 I think of all that you have sacrificed for me, 
 and of all the high thoughts in me, which 
 you have done your best to encourage. And 
 yet — oh, Bobby — what a strange thing is the 
 conscience ! It often seems to me like the 
 ghost of Hamlet's father, its voice coming now 
 from one place, now from another quite oppo- 
 site, as if it were urging on me two diflferent 
 sets of arguments. What a lot of books — 
 scientific books — I' have read about it, long 
 before I thought that, for my own peace of 
 mind, I should ever have to consider how 
 far they were true. I believe, however, that 
 I am really learning one thing which I had 
 often heard before, but never realized ; and 
 that is not what conscience is, but what a 
 woman is. A woman can appreciate reason- 
 ing as well as a man can ; but it is not 
 by reasoning that she sees her own way in 
 
268 
 
 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 perplexity. I can reason, and say that I am 
 breaking some ties which, if everybody broke, 
 all society would be ruined. But then, again, 
 comes an answer — an answer I learnt from 
 you — that what we do depends upon what 
 we are ; and that if all society were as true 
 as you and I are, and if all couples loved as 
 well, society would not be ruined, but would 
 be saved. Again, I can say that I am making 
 Paul miserable by giving to you what is due 
 to him alone. But again comes the answer, 
 that this misery is merely imaginary — merely 
 the creation of some conventional formula ; 
 for I am merely giving to you what to him 
 is wholly valueless. So too I can apply to 
 myself — and I have applied them as if 1 were 
 flagellating myself — all those names such as 
 * impure ^ ' degraded ' ' faithless ' ' shameless,' 
 and so on, which are always the first stones 
 cast at women like me. But against names 
 like these I hardly care to defend m5^self. I 
 know them to be so inapplicable that they 
 hardly cause me uneasiness. All they can do 
 is to turn me away from argument, and drive 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 269 
 
 me back to my own consciousness of myself ; 
 and in spite of every argument this still re- 
 mains the same, like a flame inside a lantern 
 which no wind can agitate. And then I know 
 with a woman's absolute certainty — with a 
 certainty which I would die for — that my 
 heart is not impure, that I am not shameless 
 or degraded, that my one aspiration is not 
 to be faithless, but to be faithful, and that 
 in spite of the many selfishnesses which sully 
 one's daily life, I long to consecrate my whole 
 being to you. I feel, as I write this, as if I 
 were being lifted off* my feet by some wind 
 of the spirit, and as if the voice of the spirit 
 were inspiring me. ' What nonsense that would 
 sound to any one else reading it ; but to me 
 it is full of meaning. Words — words ! where 
 are you ? Come and help me. Make me 
 intelligible. I don't know what to say. If 
 a rose has blossomed I can see it. If an aloe 
 has blossomed I can see it. Well — here's 
 another thing I can see — •! can see that under 
 your influence, Bobby, I myself have blos- 
 somed. It's a fact. I know it to be one. 
 
270 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 Why should I vex myself by insisting on it 
 any farther ? As for arguments, they must 
 play at see-saw if they will. They will some- 
 times make me feel that there is nothing to 
 be said for us ; sometimes that there is nothing 
 to be said against us. But whatever is proved, 
 oh, you who have chosen me, and whom I 
 have chosen, I know that I am devoted to 
 you ; and when I trust to my consciousness 
 and my instincts, I feel that loving you was 
 the first right thing I ever did, and that all 
 hope and all elevation is contained in it/' 
 
 From this he turned to her record of the 
 subsequent days at Lichtenbourg, during which 
 she had sometimes seemed to him to be so 
 cruel a mystery. 
 
 *'You are coming to-morrow," she had 
 written on the night before his arrival. 1 
 long for you ; but my aunt is here, and I feel 
 she is watching me, just as I felt about my 
 mother-in-law. It is only a fancy, I know ; 
 but it constantly takes possession of me and 
 tortures me. Oh, come, come quickly ! And 
 yet I hardly know whether I most long for 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 271 
 
 your coming or dread it. I can^t write any 
 more. Yes — come ! I long for you.'' 
 
 A day or two later she changed her form 
 of expression. She no longer addressed him, 
 but spoke of him in the third person. My 
 aunt/' she wrote, " gets on so well with him. 
 If there were nothing to conceal, how happy we 
 might all of us be together ! Suppose he and 
 I were nothing but friends, mere affectionate 
 friends, I should not feel the perverse shrinking 
 from him that I experience now sometimes." 
 
 Next day she continued, " What nonsense I 
 wrote yesterday ! If he were merely a friend, 
 he wouldn't be mine, and mine only ; and 
 that is what I want him to be. If I were 
 merely one of his friends — even the most 
 valued of them — would he, as he has done, 
 have given his life to me ? No — no, Bobby ! 
 I want your whole sole love — your complete 
 self— and I want to give you mine. And yet 
 — sometimes you make me hate you, because 
 you have made me love you so. I wonder if 
 you can guess at all that is going on within 
 me — how sometimes my nerves are strained 
 
272 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 and tortured ! It is all for your sake, and 
 because I can't be false to you." 
 
 Then, a little later, came her mention of the 
 arrival of her husband. " I didn't know/' she 
 wrote, " how his presence would affect me. I 
 had a fantastic fear that it might fill me with 
 some horrible compunction — that I might see 
 myself suddenly as a criminal. The result 
 w^as quite different. To my surprise my self- 
 reproaches were all set at rest. Paul seemed 
 further from me when I was face to face with 
 him, than he had seemed when he was away 
 at Smyrna." 
 
 Next day she continued, I have been 
 rather uneasy. That Paul is a person capable 
 of being wronged by any bestowal I may be 
 pleased to make of my affections, I cannot 
 believe — I cannot realize. All facts are 
 against it. I know it is not the case. But 
 this knowledge of mine is traversed and 
 troubled by what I suppose is some inherited 
 instinct, or some echoes of opinions and judg- 
 ments which I have heard ever since my 
 childhood ; and these opinions and judgments 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 273 
 
 go hammering away in my mind, stupidly 
 condemning me, and condemning me unheard. 
 For hours together they sometimes make me 
 unhappy ; but then when I turn from them to 
 myself, whom they are condemning, I see how 
 absurdly false they are — how they are con- 
 demning what they do not know. I attributed 
 them just now to an inherited instinct. I 
 have another inherited instinct, and it is of a 
 much deeper kind. It is the instinct to pray. 
 I don't say prayers in so many words, exactly. 
 I can't use the phrases of ecclesiastical Christi- 
 anity, for I am not living according to its 
 laws ; but I kneel down for a minute or two, 
 each night and morning, and, with an odd 
 inconsistency, I cross myself. I do it as a 
 sign that I long for and love goodness — that I 
 want my soul to grow upwards. How many 
 good people would say that for a woman in 
 my situation this must be hypocrisy ! But 
 it is not. I can say no more than that. It 
 is not.'' 
 
 Then came a day or two with entries like 
 
 the following. 
 
 VOL. III. T 
 
274 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 Paul has taken to eying me in a possessive 
 manner. I know the reason. He wants to 
 make me feel that I am his absolute property, 
 and to let others see that I am. He even 
 seems to think that he has some property in 
 my affection, and that at any moment he can 
 call on me to exhibit this, so as to let him see, 
 or let others see, that I am still keeping it for 
 him. Oh, fool, fool ! What does he think a 
 woman is made of ? Is a wife a husband's 
 plaything ? Has she no life of her own ? If 1 
 gave way to my own natural impulses, how I 
 should burn with indignation and rebellion ! 
 But I want to restrain myself. For the sake 
 of that love of which I long to make myself 
 worthy, I will be humble to Paul, and patient 
 with him. I will fetch and carry for him. I 
 will not lose my temper. I will go with him 
 to these odious races. 
 
 Bobby — I do all this, I leave you, I seem 
 to neglect you, really because I am so devoted 
 to you. Will you understand ? I don't think 
 you • do. And how should you ? I am so 
 perverse. When I meet you just now, it is 
 
A HUMAK DOCUMENT. 275 
 
 impossible for me to say much to you ; and I 
 feel angry for that very reason, and vent my 
 anger on you. 
 
 Last night you were cold and distant. I 
 was, I know ; but I didn't want you to be. If 
 you could only have a little more penetration, 
 you would see that when in speaking to you I 
 have seemed most hard and odious, I have 
 really been longing to cling to you, and tell 
 you I was your own.'' 
 
 Presently came this passage, which, as 
 Grenville read it, sent the blood to his cheeks. 
 
 I have driven you away ; I have told you 
 to go. I couldn't help it. I should have gone 
 mad if you had stayed — at least I thought so. 
 And now you are gone. Till I see you again 
 I can write no more diary. Already I want 
 you back." 
 
 Then followed this, written during his visit 
 to the Pasha. 
 
 " I said I would write no more till I saw 
 you, till I had you with me again. But I 
 must write. I must ease my mind somehow. 
 When are you coming back ? Everything is 
 
276 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 blank without you. Paul is rather poorly. I 
 have been nursing him as much as he would 
 let me. That at all events was a duty. But 
 he would let me do little. He preferred the 
 company of — what shall I call her ? — my rival 
 — one of my twenty rivals : and most of my 
 time I am alone. Oh, Bobby — what can I do 
 without you ? You will come back soon, won't 
 you ? I don't know how to write to you." . 
 
 Next day she wrote, ''The children are 
 both ill, as well as Paul ; so I could hardly 
 see you now, dear, even if you were here. 
 All day I have been by their little beds ; but 
 all through my care my heart is aching for 
 want of you. I believe you w^ill come soon ; 
 for cruelly as I must seem to have treated 
 you, I believe in you so entirely. I am weary 
 in body, and sick in mind. Come to me." 
 
 Having studied these passages, and others 
 relating to the same period, Grenville felt 
 that his principal right to the secrets of the 
 volume was gone. All of her conduct that 
 had pained and troubled him was explained. 
 He had felt, whilst reading her account even 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 277 
 
 of this, as if he were treading on sacred 
 ground ; and he shrank from prying into 
 these earlier parts which referred to the period 
 before his perplexities had begun. Her whole 
 life lay before him defenceless upon the pages, 
 which she had put into his hands so guile- 
 lessly. But still, that he might not seem to 
 be undervaluing her confidence, or missing 
 anything which she might really wish him 
 to know, there was no part which finally he 
 did not glance at ; whilst one passage — it 
 caught his eye and he lingered over it — dwelt in 
 his mind, deepening the meaning of the whole. 
 
 The more I think of it, the more terrible 
 does marriage, as conventionally regarded, 
 seem to me for some women. I see this at 
 times with such a ghastly clearness, that I 
 wonder at it's escaping any one. For the 
 women I am thinking of, there ought to be a 
 new marriage service written ; and the words 
 of it, which need be very few, should say 
 what it really means for them. So far as all 
 their highest sympathies are concerned, and all 
 their capacities for affection other than that 
 
278 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 which is maternal, their marriage service might 
 be comprised in Christ's curse on the fig-tree 
 — ' Let no fruit henceforward grow on thee for 
 ever ! ' And of many such women it indeed 
 might be truly said, ' How soon is the fig-tree, 
 which was cursed, withered away ! ' 
 
 He was closing the volume, intending next 
 day to return it to her, when he noticed 
 something more scribbled on the fly-leaf. The 
 writing was in pencil, and very faint. It was 
 written in haste evidently, as if under some 
 sudden impulse. With a little trouble he 
 deciphered it. 
 
 Let my thoughts mix with yours, till they 
 are like a single tissue of interlacing nerves, 
 quivering with a single and yet a two-fold 
 consciousness — only divided so far that we 
 each may know ourselves united. 
 
 I am not an angel — I am a woman — with 
 a woman's passions, with a woman's weakness, 
 and with a woman's strength — and all these 
 are yours. Every corpuscle of my blood 
 is yours, to throb for your sake, or to be shed 
 for it. 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 279 
 
 Sometimes troubles, sometimes temper, 
 may have clouded my feeling for you ; but 
 I have loved you all the same. The rich 
 miser, when he thinks that he does not care 
 for money, is like me when I have thought 
 that I did not care for you." 
 
CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 Grenville finished his reading on the night 
 of their arrival at Vicenza. They had travelled 
 leisurely, stopping three times on the road ; 
 and each night before he composed himself 
 to sleep, he had studied her pages by the light 
 of two opaque hotel candles. 
 
 Every doubt with regard to her that had 
 ever troubled him was now not only dispelled, 
 but had given place to a confidence even 
 deeper than anything he had known before. 
 Faith was lost in vision. As he put the 
 volume down, he was lying in a great gaunt 
 bed, above which was an ultramarine ceiling. 
 The walls of the room were festooned with 
 flowers in rough distemper ; the floor was tiled, 
 and dingy from want of washing. Musty 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 281 
 
 smells, like ghosts, haunted the curtains. But 
 as he closed his eyes the whole place was like 
 paradise. He was here in that very town 
 where he had renounced one hope, and he 
 was to awake to the realization of another, for 
 which, almost unconsciously, that renunciation 
 had been made. 
 
 They were staying at different hotels. In 
 the morning he went to hers. Sunshine and 
 happiness impregnated all the air. Her break- 
 fast-table was bright with flowers, which she 
 had just bought herself from some brown girls 
 on the pavement. To her Vicenza was a 
 world of w^onders. It was a dream come true. 
 They wandered through the streets ; they 
 explored the old-world palaces. Love was the 
 w^arp of life for her, and these new experiences 
 were the woof, and together they produced a 
 surface prismatic with shifting colour. Long 
 excursions were made by them, from which 
 they returned by moonlight. The voices of 
 singing peasants melted into the warm air. 
 Grenville thought of the villa which, on a 
 damp, well-remembered morning, he had visited 
 
282 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 alone. He learnt by accident that it was to 
 be let for a certain period. They went together 
 and saw it. Both for a moment forgot that 
 they were not yet married, and almost in 
 the same breath proposed taking it till the 
 autumn. They smiled presently at their for- 
 getfulness. At a little distance there was a 
 small white house, on whose red tiles the air 
 could be seen shimmering. It was evidently 
 unoccupied. Grenville spoke to the servant 
 who was in attendance on them ; and then 
 turning to Mrs. Schilizzi, said — 
 
 " I have solved the difficulty. That shall 
 be my home. You and the children shall be 
 here." 
 
 The project was carried out, like the fulfil- 
 ment of yet another dream. No situation 
 could have suited the children better. The 
 air was fresh for them even during the heat 
 of summer, and the Alps in the background 
 sharpened their spears of snow. The halls of 
 the villa, with their gorgeous hollow ceilings, 
 and walls over every inch of which the brush 
 of Paul Veronese had left its wake of colour, 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 283 
 
 were tenanted by, perpetual coolness ; and seen 
 through a vista of pillars and arched door- 
 ways, Neptunes and Tritons, grouped against 
 a garden wall, were pouring out fans of water, 
 whose outlines dissolved in spray. 
 
 The life which the little party led in this 
 enchanted abode was simplicity itself. Their 
 dishes and their wines were all redolent of 
 the country ; and excepting for the absence of 
 one national flavour, and for a care and clean- 
 liness in the cooking, were such as would 
 have been grateful and familiar to any Italian 
 farmer. Grenville, who was a good linguist, 
 became easily acquainted with the peasantry ; 
 and Mrs. Schilizzi was soon active amongst 
 them in many a work of kindness. Grenville, 
 to his great delight, was again made conscious 
 of this — that she was as sensitive to the sight 
 of suffering as she was to the sight of beauty, 
 and that compassion as well as passion could 
 hang in shadow under her eyelashes. Within- 
 doors they resumed their former studies and 
 discussions, whilst he began himself to take 
 part in the education of the children. The 
 
284 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 only shadow on their lives — and indeed it was 
 not menacing — was the fact that he, although 
 no longer an invalid, had but partly recovered 
 the strength which he had lost so suddenly 
 by his illness. This had, however, one im- 
 portant result on his conduct. It compelled 
 him, whatever might have been his own in- 
 clinations in the matter, to definitely give up, 
 for the present at all events, all prospects of 
 that career which had promised to be so useful 
 and so brilliant. But as the weeks went on, 
 he and Mrs. Schilizzi both began to feel a 
 need for him, not indeed of a career, which 
 is action regarded as throwing lustre on the 
 actor, but of action regarded as a duty — as a 
 debt owing to others. 
 
 " I think," he said one day to her, that 
 there must be a mass of facts, and also a few 
 suggestions, relative to the work at Constanti- 
 nople, which I could put into a clearer form 
 than they are likely to be in at present, and 
 
 so smooth the way for X , who will take 
 
 my place. 1 will write to Downing Street, 
 and propose that I do this here." 
 
A HUMA^^ DOCUMENT. 285 
 
 And me/' she said — ''you must let me 
 help you — unless perhaps I should be a 
 hindrance/' 
 
 ''You shall help me/' he answered; "but 
 you will find it hard, dry work." 
 
 "For that very reason/' she exclaimed, 
 earnestly, " I shall like it all the better. Do 
 you remember that sense we both had of a 
 debt owing to Paul ? I believe now that it 
 was a debt not so much owing to him, as to 
 something represented by him, to which I can 
 give no name ; and that same something is 
 represented now for us by the world — by the 
 children first, and by every one we can benefit 
 afterwards." 
 
 " You remind me," said Grenville, "of what 
 our friend the doctor said to me during that 
 journey on which I first met your husband. 
 You say that the something to which we owe 
 ourselves is a something to which you can 
 give no name. The doctor said — I remember 
 his very words — ' In the present state of our 
 knowledge, religion cannot express itself in 
 any definite form which knowledge will allow 
 
286 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 US to tolerate/ And then, Irma, he went on, 
 ' All the same I maintain that man is only 
 human because of his longing for what is 
 more than human/ You and I have this 
 longing in common, and we must try to satisfy 
 it not by love alone, but by work." 
 
 " I like this," she said, when the documents 
 for which he wrote had arrived from Downing 
 Street, and after several weeks of diligence 
 she had helped him in bringing his dry labour 
 to a completion. 
 
 ''Here," he said, ''is a letter I have had 
 from the Chancellor of the Exchequer. Eead 
 it, and you will see that our efforts have not 
 been vain/' 
 
 It was, however, well that they had not 
 been longer or harder ; for it was evident that 
 for the present he could bear no farther 
 strain. "You must now," she said to him, 
 "rest yourself by a change of duty. You 
 must go on educating me, and I shall help 
 you better afterwards." 
 
 An eminent doctor, who had come to see 
 him from Venice, like Mrs. Schilizzi, also 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 287 
 
 prescribed rest, by which he explained him- 
 self to mean change of air and scene, and the 
 excitement of any interest involving no mental 
 exertion. Their tenancy of the villa was by 
 this time nearly expired ; and they removed 
 shortly to a beautiful spot on the lake of 
 Como, spending their lives together, though 
 lodging under different roofs. Having re- 
 mained here for some time, they proceeded 
 south to Siena, doing most of the journey not 
 by rail, but by road, in two old-fashioned 
 travelling carriages, which they were able to 
 buy at Milan. 
 
 Grenville knew Italy fairly well. Its general 
 aspect, at all events, could not be said to be 
 new to him ; but in Mrs. Schilizzi's company 
 everything was a fresh surprise. Everything 
 seemed to be yielding to him some unex- 
 pected incredible music, like an instrument 
 touched suddenly by the hands of some 
 inspired master. The golden and purple 
 pencillings of light and shade on the moun- 
 tains had a colour and keenness he had never 
 known before. The pilgrimage chapels, shining 
 
288 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 high on their rocky perches, stirred his mind 
 and hers like the mysterious smell of incense ; 
 the heart of the twilights deepened like purple 
 flowers unfolding ; and all the passion and 
 romance of the storied ages seemed to be 
 floating on the transfigured waters of Como. 
 Siena even more than Vicenza astonished Mrs. 
 Schilizzi, with its mellow girdle of walls, and 
 its narrow climbing streets, where the shops 
 lurked under the shadow of arches brown with 
 history. Day by day they took long drives 
 into the country — that country of hills and 
 valleys, which is bounded by the undulating 
 curves of far-off* lilac-coloured mountains. 
 They visited strange walled villages, where 
 the towers of ruined castles stood like hollow 
 trees, with ivy on their broken outlines. They 
 climbed the hills crowned by the towers of 
 San Gimigniano. They found their way to 
 villas built by Cardinals of the Renaissance, 
 which hid their fountains and statues in 
 forests of dark-green ilex. Constantly too 
 they would betake themselves to the great 
 Sienese cathedral, moving softly over its pave- 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 289 
 
 ments of pictured marble, breathing an atmo- 
 sphere which was charged with prayer and 
 silence, and in which marble at the spell of 
 prayer seemed everywhere to have flowered into 
 life. Mrs. Schilizzi, actuated by some impulse 
 which she could not analyze, would often seat 
 herself on one of the countless chairs, and then 
 sink upon her knees. In that cathedral, I 
 feel,'' she said once to Grenville, ^'as if all 
 human emotions were passing through it, on 
 the way to heaven." One thing that struck 
 both of them was this — that the children, who 
 often begged to be taken there with them, 
 seemed to be sensible of some kindred feeling. 
 
 Thus occupied,' the days and the months 
 wore on. Autumn gradually died into early 
 winter ; and at last the time arrived when, 
 considering all the circumstances, it appeared 
 to both of them that, without indecorum, 
 they might be married. The ceremony was 
 performed at Nice, where they went and settled 
 themselves for the purpose ; and meanwhile 
 they had bought, for a sum absurdly small, 
 a villa above the Mediterranean, situated on 
 
 VOL. III. U 
 
290 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 a well-known promontory, where land lias 
 come since to be sold by the square yard, 
 but where then there was complete seclusion, 
 and where a foreign purchaser was a wonder. 
 Compared with the villa of which they had 
 been tenants in the summer, their present 
 abode was humble and even rude ; but the 
 paintings on some of the ceilings were not 
 devoid of beauty ; the rooms were well-pro- 
 portioned ; and by the time it was ready to 
 receive its new possessors, though the stucco 
 outside was scaling off the walls with age, the 
 interior had an air of refined and even digni- 
 fied luxury. The children and the nurses had 
 been sent there a few days before them ; so 
 they felt that the place had become a home 
 alread)' , when they started for it from Nice, 
 the moment the marriage was completed. 
 On the Nice platform, as they were waiting 
 for the arrival of their train, Grenville heard 
 his name pronounced in a sonorous voice ; and 
 he suddenly saw before him the face of Sir 
 Septimus Wilkinson, shining and swelling 
 with the wish to be intimate and congratu- 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 291 
 
 latory. At a little distance was his daughter, 
 whom* also Grenville recognized. 
 
 How are you ! exclaimed Sir Septimus, 
 seizing Grenville's hand. My daughter and 
 I were sayiog we were sure it was you. We 
 of course had heard of your engagement, but 
 we weren't aware you were married. I was 
 telling my daughter that that must be Lady 
 Evelyn. God bless my soul, I was saying — 
 What are the French mademoiselles compared 
 with the young ladies of our own English 
 nobility ? " 
 
 Allow me,'' said Grenville with ready 
 presence of mind, allow me to introduce 
 you to my wife. But I fear you have been 
 misinformed as to one point. Mrs. Grenville^s 
 nobility is Hungarian rather than English." 
 
 Sir Septimus felt that his mistake had been 
 corrected with great delicacy ; and susceptible 
 as he was to the claims of female beauty, and 
 full of a belief in Grenville as a man who 
 would do well for himself, he left the bride and 
 bridegroom, for whose start he obsequiously 
 waited, believing the bride to be the heiress 
 
292 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 of some great continental magnate, who had 
 only dropped her title out of deference to 
 English prejudice. Grenville shrewdly guessed 
 what was passing in the good man's mind ; 
 and the thought of the lot in life which the 
 world expected of him, deepened his sense 
 of the value of that other lot which he had 
 chosen. 
 
 It is never safe to say of a man, before his 
 death, that he was happy. In certain cases 
 it is safe to say so after it. Not many 
 months later it might have safely been said 
 of Grenville, who even now, though he did 
 not know it, carried the seeds of death in 
 him. Never, since the illness from which he 
 had suffered at Lichtenbourg, had he been 
 what he was previously. His full strength 
 never had returned to him. An attack of 
 the same kind, due to some miniature im- 
 prudence, laid prostrate for the second time 
 a constitution already weakened ; and by 
 gradual stages, as day sinks into night, his life 
 sank through a painless twilight into death. 
 Meanwhile, however, time had been given 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 293 
 
 him for realizing the fullness and depth of the 
 existence he was so soon to leave. He often, 
 without fear of wearying her by repetition, 
 applied to his acquaintance with her what 
 Keats said of his first knowledge of Homer — 
 
 " So felt I as some watcher of the skies, 
 When some new planet swims into his ken." 
 
 And she knew — for the whole course of his 
 conduct showed it — that he was speaking 
 without exaggeration. Her feelings were no 
 less deep than his ; though the full expression 
 of them in words came only after his ears 
 were deaf During his illness and weakness 
 she nursed him with most unceasing care. 
 The more I can do for you/' she said, 
 the more devoted I am to you." But that 
 he was actually going to leave her she never 
 realized, and indeed hardly feared, till one 
 afternoon, in the earnestness with which he 
 spoke to her, she felt a sudden foreshadowing 
 of it. 
 
 " As I lie here helpless," he said, I think 
 of many things which had sunk out of sight 
 
294 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 beneath the surface of my happy life with 
 you — a surface which has reflected heaven. 
 They have been coming to the surface again, 
 as I believe drowned bodies do. Don't start, 
 Irma : I am going to say nothing painful. 
 Let me tell you/' he went on slowly. Per- 
 haps, dear, I may never have another oppor- 
 tunity. The most wretched state in which 
 a human creature can be is that in which it 
 condemns what it is resolved to continue 
 doing — especially when this seems the one 
 best thing in life. You and I have both of 
 us escaped that state, by refusing to accept 
 the condemnation with which the letter of 
 the law would have crushed us, aud appealing 
 to the spirit, by which the letter is slowly 
 changed, and which has acquitted us. But 
 lately, those old prejudices which we imbibed 
 with our mother s milk, and on which all our 
 affections, all our most sacred feelings, have 
 been raised up, and trained like vines on 
 trellis- work — those old prejudices have been 
 comiug back to me ; and against my reason, 
 against my inmost conscience, they have been 
 
A HUMAIS^ DOCUMENT. 295 
 
 trying to betray my peace and fortitude with 
 a kiss. Tliey have tried to ulcerate my 
 memories with the poison of imputed wicked- 
 ness. But they have not succeeded. I want 
 to tell you that they have not, in case that 
 ever hereafter you should go through the 
 same trial. I have a claim now/' he went 
 on, smiling, " to speak with authority on the 
 matter which I never had before.'' 
 
 She looked at him speechless, full of appeal- 
 ing fear. He could not endure the sight of 
 such piteous suffering. He forced a laugh, 
 and spoke trying to reassure her. 
 
 I only mean," he said, " that when one 
 is ill, a kind of clairvoyance comes to one, so I 
 thought I might as well speak to you whilst 
 the prophet's vision possessed me. By the 
 way, Irma, there is another thing I have been 
 thinking about — the children, and how to 
 educate them. Do you remember them in the 
 cathedral at Siena ? I often think of them 
 there, and of the way in which the prayers 
 and the music touched them. How can we 
 teach them except in terms of the religion by 
 
296 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 which we were taught ourselves ? It seems 
 hard to tell them things which to us are truths 
 no longer ; and yet these fictions are sponges 
 still soaked with truth. Irma, you must settle 
 what is best. T can speak no more ; I am tired." 
 
 Later that day a doctor came to visit him. 
 When the interview was over Grenville said 
 to his wife, I have had what to me is a piece 
 of welcome news. To-morrow morning I want 
 to go out early, and see the world at sunrise. 
 If it is not chilly, and if I take proper pre- 
 cautions, the doctor tells me I may do so. I 
 want to go to the beach, close by the grove of 
 stone-pines. It is only a fancy of mine ; but 
 if you will come with me, perhaps you will 
 understand it." 
 
 The spot he had indicated was just below 
 the garden, and could be reached by a winding 
 road, practicable for a light carriage. In the 
 hush of the morning, when the light was a white 
 dimness, a little pony- chaise stood at the villa 
 door ; and Grenville and his wife crawled in 
 it down the steep descent, whose rough zigzags 
 brought them close to the sea. In the uni- 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 297 
 
 versal stillness the noise even of that light 
 carriage was startling. Every stone which the 
 pony's hoofs loosed had been audible separately 
 as it rattled down the hill. But on reaching 
 the grove of pines, where the ground was soft 
 and velvety, one sound alone came to their 
 listening ears ; and this was the long sigh 
 and the falling murmur of the waves. 
 
 They stationed themselves on the margin of 
 the grove, just where the sands bordered it. 
 The air was fresh with the night which had 
 hardly left it ; and the darkness of the night 
 was still in the solemn blueness of the sea. 
 Before them for miles and miles were the 
 curves of a vast bay, ending in a horn of 
 mountains, which were now half lost in mist ; 
 and along the sea-line, and over the high hill- 
 country inland, white houses were sprinkled on 
 purple and gray shadow. But all as yet was 
 sleeping. Even the waves fell like a dreamer 
 moving on his pillow. Nothing was awake 
 but smells of brine and dew. 
 
 Let me taste the world," he said in a low 
 voice to her. " Let me inhale the morning. 
 
298 
 
 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 Ah — there is life — life, everywhere. Soon 
 you will see it waking. Look, look ! " he 
 exclaimed, as an arrow of rosy gold shot 
 through the air and struck on a crest of foam. 
 And now a change came. Far away the 
 mountains began to flush ; coloured vapours 
 steamed out of distant valleys ; and wreaths 
 of smoke from one place and another were 
 seen rising in columns of shining silver. ^ 
 
 She felt it difficult to speak. She could 
 only look at him anxiously. 
 
 ''Did you ever/' he asked her presently, 
 '' hear a story of Mirabeau — I dare say untrue, 
 like most stories of death-beds — -how he told 
 them, as he was dying, to throw the windows 
 open, and said, ' Sprinkle me with rose-buds, 
 crown me with flowers, that I may so enter 
 on the eternal sleep ' % I think that was rather 
 theatrical ; but still I can feel a meaning in 
 it. I should like to be buried where flowers 
 might sprinkle my grave — in our own garden ; 
 I once told you the place ; and not in lead or 
 wood, but in a wicker coffin which at once 
 will give the earth to me." 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 299 
 
 ^^Hush! hush!" she said. Don't. Oh, 
 Bobby, you frighten me.'' 
 
 ''Don't be frightened/' he answered. ''Ah, 
 there is life, life everywhere. And you are 
 here, Irma, who are more than life. Irma," 
 he went on presently, " I wonder if you will 
 remember, dear, what I said to you yesterday 
 about the children '? Don't answer. You will 
 — yes, I am sure you will. My thoughts 
 wander a little. It's something else I must 
 try to tell you now. I said, you remember, 
 that as to our case of conscience, I could 
 speak with an authority I never possessed 
 before. What I meant was this. My convic- 
 tions are now being put to the last test — the 
 test of how they look to eyes that will soon 
 be dying ! I see things now from within, not 
 from without, and I know that w^hatever may 
 be said as to the rules or laws we have broken, 
 we have been truer to their spirit in our 
 breach of them than half the world is in their 
 observance. Armed with that thouo'ht, I 
 am afraid of one thing only — not of having 
 loved you, but of leaving you. Don't cry. 
 
300 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 dear, and don't look so scared at me. Our 
 lot is one, now and hereafter also. I have 
 done nothing for you that you would not 
 have done for me ; and it is for your sake I 
 am dying. God ! — love ! — Irma ! — I don't 
 know how to express myself — I have been 
 true to you." 
 
 Bobby," she exclaimed, what — what is 
 the matter with you ? Are you ill ? — are you 
 worse ? Let us go to the house instantly. 
 Lean back a little — you will breathe more 
 easily." 
 
 Before the day was ended he breathed 
 neither with ease nor difficulty. 
 
 One further sorrow, and one only, was re- 
 served for her. This was her ow^n parting 
 from her children, whom she left to go to 
 Grenville, and sleep by him under the same 
 flowers. Meanwhile what her life owed to 
 his, and what it could not lose even with 
 his loss, may be gathered from the fact that 
 after she was left alone — alone except for her 
 children — her chief solace and most constant 
 occupation when not teaching them, was 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 301 
 
 studying the papers and diaries in which his 
 devotion to herself was recorded, and in com- 
 paring her own with them. Close to his 
 resting-place in the garden w^as a pavilion 
 overgrown with creepers. Here she would 
 sit for hours, whilst the children were play- 
 ing near her ; and would re-read what he 
 had written, repeating aloud his phrases. 
 
 Where shall I find him in all this boundless 
 universe ? " This was her constant question ; 
 and again and again in a vague way she 
 answered it, by certain words of his, which 
 she had written down the night he said them. 
 ''Think of the worlds forming, think of the 
 worlds shining, and the darkened suns and 
 systems mute in the night of time. To us, 
 to us, what can it all say, more than the sea 
 says to a rainbow in one tossed bubble of 
 foam ? And yet to me it seems that it says 
 something. It asks, can it have no meaning 
 for us, seeing that we are born of it ? And 
 can we be out of harmony with it, seeing that 
 it speaks to us now ? 
 
 Gradually a plan shaped itself in her mind, 
 
302 A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 
 
 to which ultimately she gave effect. Piecing 
 together her own diary to his, and using also 
 letters and other papers, she formed the whole 
 into something that resembled a coherent 
 history ; to which, when she had finished it, 
 she prefixed the following dedication — 
 
 ''to THE SOLE AND ONLY BEGETTER OF THIS 
 VOLUME. 
 
 You by whose side I shall lie, in a wicker 
 coffin like yours, with whose bones my bones 
 shall mingle, and whose flesh I shall meet 
 again in the sap of the violets above our 
 grave, I have done my best, whilst waiting 
 to come back to you in death, to perpetuate 
 in this book neither your life nor mine, but 
 that one single life in which both our lives 
 were fused. Were my power as a writer 
 equal to my love as a woman, that life should 
 live in these pages, as it lived and breathed 
 once in our now lonely bodies. T would make 
 it live — all of it ; I would keep back nothing ; 
 for perfect love casts out shame. But if any 
 
A HUMAN DOCUMENT. 303 
 
 one should think that I ought to blush for 
 what I have written, I should be proud if, in 
 witness of my love for you, every page of it 
 were as crimson as a rose." 
 
 u 
 
 E END. 
 
Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, 
 London & Bvngay