<h2 class="gap3 chaphead"><SPAN name="XVIII" id="XVIII"></SPAN>XVIII</h2>
<h2 class="chaphead">Starbreak</h2>
<div class="sidenote">Edith's
Failure</div>
<p>Through the long night Edith lay awake,
thinking. Her senses were blindly
merged into one comprehensive hurt. She was
as one who fares forth in darkness, knowing
well the way upon which he must go, yet
longing vainly for light.</p>
<p>Her path lay before her, mercilessly clear
and distinct. A trick of memory took her
back to what Madame had said, the day after
she came: "The old way would have been to
have waited, done the best one could, and
trusted God to make it right in His good time."
She remembered, too, her bitter answer: "I've
waited and I've done the best I could, and
I've trusted, but I've failed."</p>
<p>Keenly she perceived the subtlety of her
punishment. Attempting to bind the Everlasting
with her own personal limitations, her
own desires, she had failed to see that at least
half of a rightful prayer must deal with herself.
She had asked only that her husband might love
her; not that she might continue to love him.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</SPAN></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Out of
Harmony</div>
<p>Now, with her heart and soul wholly in the
keeping of another man, the boon had been
granted her, in bitterness and ashes and
desolation. He had said, in his letter, that
her coming away had made him think. Through
her absence he had seen the true state of affairs
between them, as she could never have made
him see it if she had remained at home. This,
then, was God's way of revelation to him, but—to
her?</p>
<p>The truth broke upon her with the vividness
of a lightning flash. It was the way of revelation
to her also, but how? She sat up in bed,
propping herself back against the pillows, her
mind groping eagerly for the clue.</p>
<p>During the past six years she had endeavoured
constantly for a certain adjustment.
Now it had come, but she herself was out of
harmony. Were her feet to be forever set
upon the ways of pain? Was there nothing
at all in the world for her?</p>
<p>Alden, too, was awake and thinking. She
felt it, through the darkness, as definitely as
though he had been in the same room, with
his face full in the light. He also was conscious
of the utter hopelessness of it and was
striving to see his way clearly.</p>
<p>Until then, she had not known how far his
argument had swayed her, nor how much she
had depended upon the thought that her
husband would gladly accept the release she<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</SPAN></span>
offered him. Her principles had not changed,
but his possible point of view had not been
considered before.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Irrevocably
Bound</div>
<p>"'Until death do us part,'" said Edith,
to herself. "Not 'until death or divorce do
us part'; nor yet 'until I see someone else I
like better'; not even 'until you see someone
else you like better,' And, again, 'forsaking
all others keep thee only unto me so long as
we both shall live.'"</p>
<p>Suppose he had violated his oath, consented
to accept freedom at her hands, and gone his
way? Would not the solemn words she had
spoken at the altar still be binding upon her?
She saw, now, that they would be, and that
whatever compromise he might have been
able to make with his own conscience, to be
legally justified later, she was irrevocably
bound, until death should divide them one
from the other.</p>
<p>She smiled sadly, for it was, indeed, a confused
and muddled world. Things moved
crazily, depending wholly upon blind chance.
One works steadily, even for years, bending
all his energies to one single point, and what
is the result? Nothing! Another turns the
knob of a door, walks into a strange room, or,
perhaps, writes a letter, and from that moment
his whole life is changed, for destiny lurks in
hinges and abides upon the written page.</p>
<p>For days, for months even, no single action<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</SPAN></span>
may be significant, and again, upon another
day, a thoughtless word, or even a look, may
be as a pebble cast into deep waters, to reach,
by means of ever-widening circles, some distant,
unseen shore.</p>
<div class="sidenote">The One
Affected</div>
<p>All this had come from a single sentence.
Louise Archer, upon her death-bed, had
harked back to her school days, and, thinking
fondly of Virginia Marsh, had bade her daughter
go to her if she felt the need of a mother's
counsel when her own mother was past the
power of giving it. Years afterward, during
a day of despondency, Edith had remembered.
The pebble had fallen deep and far and had
become still again, but its final circle had that
day touched the ultimate boundary made by
three lives.</p>
<p>It had, of course, made no difference to
Madame, but two men and a woman had been
profoundly shaken by it, though not moved
from their original position. They would all
stay where they were, of course—Alden with
his mother, and Edith with her husband. Then,
with a shock, Edith remembered Rosemary—she
was the one who had been swept aside as
though by a tidal wave.</p>
<p>Poor Rosemary! Edith's heart throbbed
with understanding pity for the girl who had
lost all. She had not asked how it had
happened, merely accepting Alden's exultant
announcement. Now she hoped that it might<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</SPAN></span>
have been done delicately, so that Alden need
not feel himself a brute, nor Rosemary's pride
be hurt.</p>
<div class="sidenote">A
Sleepless
Night</div>
<p>Then, through the night, came a definite
perception, as though Alden himself had given
her assurance. Rosemary had done it herself,
had she? Very well—that was as it should be.
For a moment she dwelt upon the fact with
satisfaction, then, a little frightened, began to
speculate upon this mysterious tie between
herself and Alden.</p>
<p>The thing was absurd, impossible. She
curled her short upper lip scornfully in the
darkness. "You know it is," she said, imperiously,
in her thought, as though in answer
to a mocking question from somewhere:
"Is it?"</p>
<p>She turned restlessly. All at once her
position became tiresome, unbearable. She
wanted to go to sleep, indeed she must sleep,
for she had a long hard day before her to-morrow,
putting her things into her trunks.
Perhaps, if she rose and walked around her
room a little——</p>
<p>One small, pink foot was on the floor, and
the other almost beside it, when a caution
came to her from some external source: "Don't.
You'll take cold." She got back into bed,
shivering a little. Yes, the polished floor was
cold.</p>
<p>Then she became furious with Alden and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</SPAN></span>
with herself. Why couldn't the man go to
sleep? It must be past midnight, now, and
she would walk, if she wanted to. Defiantly
and in a triumph of self-assertion, she went to
the open window and peered out into the
stillness, illumined by neither moon nor stars.
The night had the suffocating quality of
hangings of black velvet.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Sitting in
the Dark</div>
<p>She lighted a candle, found her kimono and
slippers, wrapped herself in a heavy blanket,
and drew up a low rocker to the open window.
Then she put out the light and settled herself
to wait until she was sleepy.</p>
<p>The darkness that clung around her so
closely seemed alive, almost thrilling, as it
did, with fibres of communication perceptible
only to a sixth sense. She marvelled at the
strangeness of it, but was no longer afraid.
Her fear had vanished at the bidding of someone
else.</p>
<p>Why was it? she asked herself, for the
hundredth time, and almost immediately the
answer came: "Why not?"</p>
<p>Why not, indeed? If a wireless telegraph
instrument, sending its call into space, may be
answered with lightning-like swiftness by
another a thousand miles away, why should
not a thought, without the clumsy medium of
speech, instantly respond to another thought
from a mind in harmony with it?</p>
<p>A subtle analogy appeared between the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</SPAN></span>
earth and the body, the tower from which the
wireless signalled and the thought which called
to another. When the physical forces were at
their lowest ebb, and the powers of the spirit
had risen to keep the balance true, why was
not communication possible always between
soul and soul? And, if one lived always above
the fog of sense, as far as the earth-bound may,
what would be the need of speech or touch
between those who belonged to one another?</p>
<div class="sidenote">Two
Views</div>
<p>She and Alden "belonged," there was no
doubt of that. She had, for him, the woman's
recognition of her mate, which is never to be
mistaken or denied when once it has asserted
itself. "Why," she thought, "will people
marry without it?" The other mind responded
instantly: "Because they don't know."</p>
<p>Marriage presented itself before her in two
phases, the one sordid and unworthy, as it so
often is, the other as it might be—the earthly
seal upon a heavenly bond. But, if the
heavenly relationship existed, was the other
essential? Her heart answered "No."</p>
<p>Slowly she began to see her way through the
maze of things. "Dust to dust, earth to earth,
ashes to ashes." Then she laughed outright,
for that was part of the burial service, and
she had been thinking of something else.
And yet—earth to earth meant only things
that belonged together; why not soul to soul?</p>
<p>Warm tides of assurance and love flowed<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</SPAN></span>
through her heart, cleansing, strengthening,
sweeping barriers aside in a mighty rush of
joy. What barriers could earth interpose,
when two belonged to each other in such
heavenly ways as this? Step by step her soul
mounted upward to the heights, keeping pace
with another, in the room beyond.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Edith's
Revelation</div>
<p>Out of sound and sight and touch, with
darkened spaces and closed doors between,
they two faced the world together as surely
as though they were hand in hand. Even
Death could make no difference—need Life
deny them more?</p>
<p>Then, with a blinding flash of insight, the
revelation came to her—there was no denial,
since they loved. Sense, indeed, was wholly
put aside, but love has nothing to do with
sense, being wholly of the soul. Shaken with
wonder, she trembled as she sat in her chair,
staring out into the starless night.</p>
<p>No denial! All that Love might give was
theirs, not only for the moment but for all the
years to come. Love—neither hunger nor
thirst nor passion nor the need of sleep; neither
a perception of the senses nor a physical demand,
yet streaming divinely through any or
all of these as only light may stream—the
heavenly signal of a star to earth, through infinite
darkness, illimitable space.</p>
<p>By tortuous paths and devious passages,
she had come out upon the heights, into the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</SPAN></span>
clear upper air of freedom and of love. Exquisitely,
through the love of the one had come
the love of the many; the complete mastery
of self had been gained by the surrender of
self; triumph had rewarded sacrifice.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Her
Understanding
of
Love</div>
<p>Nothing was difficult now—nothing would
ever be hard again. To go where she was
wanted, to give what she could that was
needed, steadily to set self aside, asking for
nothing but the opportunity to help, and
through this high human service renewing the
spent forces of her soul at the divine fountains
that do not fail—this, indeed, was Love!</p>
<p>Oh, to make the others understand as she
understood now—and as Alden understood!
In her thought they two were as one. Groping
through the same darkness, he had emerged,
with her, into the same light; she felt it through
the living, throbbing night more certainly
than if they stood face to face in the blinding
glare of the sun.</p>
<p>The heart-breaking tragedy of Woman
revealed itself wholly to her for the first time.
Less materialistic and more finely-grained
than Man, she aspires toward things that are
often out of his reach. Failing in her aspiration,
confused by the effort to distinguish the false
from the true, she blindly clutches at the
counterfeit and so loses the genuine forever.</p>
<p>Longing, from the day of her birth for Love,
she spends herself prodigally in the endless<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</SPAN></span>
effort to find it, little guessing, sometimes, that
it is not the most obvious thing Man has to
offer. With colour and scent and silken sheen,
she makes a lure of her body; with cunning
artifice she makes temptation of her hands
and face and weaves it with her hair. She
flatters, pleads, cajoles; denies only that she
may yield, sets free in order to summon back,
and calls, so that when he has answered she
may preserve a mystifying silence.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Her
Estimate
of Women</div>
<p>She affects a thousand arts that in her heart
she despises, pretends to housewifery that she
hates, forces herself to play tunes though she
has no gift for music, and chatters glibly of
independence when she has none at all.</p>
<p>In making herself "all things to all men," she
loses her own individuality, and becomes no
more than a harp which any passing hand may
strike to quick response. To one man she is
a sage, to another an incarnate temptation, to
another a sensible, business-like person, to
another a frothy bit of frivolity. To one man
she is the guardian of his ideals, as Elaine in
her high tower kept Launcelot's shield bright
for him, to another she is what he very vaguely
terms "a good fellow," with a discriminating
taste in cigarettes and champagne.</p>
<p>Let Man ask what he will and Woman will
give it, praying only that somewhere she will
come upon Love. She adapts herself to him
as water adapts itself to the shape of the vessel<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</SPAN></span>
in which it is placed. She dare not assert
herself or be herself, lest, in some way, she
should lose her tentative grasp upon the
counterfeit which largely takes the place of
love. If he prefers it, she will expatiate upon
her fondness for vaudeville and musical comedy
until she herself begins to believe that she
likes it. With tears in her eyes and her throat
raw, she will choke upon the assertion that
she likes the smell of smoke; she will assume
passion when his slightest touch makes her
shudder and turn cold.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Her
Estimate
of Women</div>
<p>And, most pitiful of all, when blinded by
her own senses, she will surrender the last
citadel of her womanhood to him who comes
a-wooing, undismayed by the weeping women
around her whose sacred altars have been
profaned and left bare. They may have told
her that if it is love, the man will protect her
even against himself, but why should she
take account of the experience of others?
Has not he himself just told her that she is
different from all other women? Hugging
this sophistry to her breast, and still searching
for love, she believes him until the day of
realisation dawns upon her—old and broken
and bitter-hearted, with scarcely a friend left
in the world, and not even the compensating
coin thriftily demanded by her sister of the
streets.</p>
<p>Under her countless masques and behind<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</SPAN></span>
her multitudinous phases, lurks the old hunger,
the old appeal. Man, too, though more rarely,
guessing that the imperishable beauty of the
soul is above the fog of sense and not in it,
searches hopefully at first, then despairingly,
and finally offers the counterfeit to the living
Lie who is waiting for it with eager, outstretched
hands.</p>
<hr style="width: 45%;" />
<div class="sidenote">The
Clouds
Break</div>
<p>Stirred to the depths by the pity of it,
Edith brushed away a tear or two. She was
not at all sleepy, but drew the blanket closer
around her, for the night grew chill as the
earth swept farther and farther away from the
sun. The clouds had begun to drift away,
and faintly, through the shadow, glimmered one
pale star. Gradually, others came out, then
a white and ghostly moon, with a veil of cloud
about it, grey, yet iridescent, like mother-of-pearl.</p>
<p>Blown far across the seas of space by a
swiftly rising wind, the clouds vanished, and
all the starry hosts of heaven marched forth,
challenging the earth with javelins of light.</p>
<p>"Starbreak," murmured Edith, "up there
and in my soul."</p>
<p>The blue rays of the love-star burned low
upon the grey horizon, that star towards
which the eyes of women yearn and which
women's feet are fain to follow, though, like
a will-o'-the-wisp, it leads them through<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</SPAN></span>
strange and difficult places, and into the
quicksands.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Fellowship
with the
World</div>
<p>The body grows slowly, but the soul progresses
by leaps and bounds. Through a single
hurt or a single joy, the soul of a child may
reach man's estate, never to go backward,
but always on. And so, through a great love
and her own complete comprehension of its
meaning, Edith had grown in a night out of
herself, into a beautiful fellowship with the
whole world.</p>
<p>Strangely uplifted and forever at peace,
she rose from her chair. The blanket slipped
away from her, and her loosened hair flowed
back over her shoulders, catching gleams of
starlight as it fell. She stretched out her arms
in yearning toward Alden, her husband, Madame—indeed,
all the world, having come out
of self into service; through the love of one
to the love of all.</p>
<p>Then, through the living darkness, came the
one clear call: "Mine?"</p>
<p>Unmistakably the answer surged back: "In
all the ways of Heaven and for always, I am
thine."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</SPAN></span></p>
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