No More Learning

Maisie looked at her very unhappy Melancolia, restrained a desire to
grimace before it, and was hurrying across the road to write a letter
to Dick, when she was aware of a large man on a white troop-horse. How
Torpenhow had managed in the course of twenty hours to find his way to
the hearts of the cavalry officers in quarters at Vitry-sur-Marne, to
discuss with them the certainty of a glorious revenge for France, to
reduce the colonel to tears of pure affability, and to borrow the best
horse in the squadron for the journey to Kami's studio, is a mystery
that only special correspondents can unravel.

"I beg your pardon," said he. "It seems an absurd question to ask, but
the fact is that I don't know her by any other name: Is there any young
lady here that is called Maisie? "

"I am Maisie," was the answer from the depths of a great sun-hat.

"I ought to introduce myself," he said, as the horse capered in the
blinding white dust. "My name is Torpenhow. Dick Heldar is my best
friend, and--and--the fact is that he has gone blind. "

"Blind! " said Maisie, stupidly. "He can't be blind. "

"He has been stone-blind for nearly two months. "

Maisie lifted up her face, and it was pearly white. "No! No! Not blind!
I won't have him blind! "

"Would you care to see for yourself? " said Torpenhow.

"Now,--at once? "

"Oh, no! The Paris train doesn't go through this place till tonight.
There will be ample time. "

"Did Mr. Heldar send you to me? "

"Certainly not. Dick wouldn't do that sort of thing. He's sitting in
his studio, turning over some letters that he can't read because he's
blind. "

There was a sound of choking from the sun-hat. Maisie bowed her head
and went into the cottage, where the red-haired girl was on a sofa,
complaining of a headache.

"Dick's blind! " said Maisie, taking her breath quickly as she steadied
herself against a chair-back. "My Dick's blind! "

"What? " The girl was on the sofa no longer.

"A man has come from England to tell me. He hasn't written to me for six
weeks. "

"Are you going to him? "

"I must think. "

"Think! I should go back to London and see him and I should kiss his
eyes and kiss them and kiss them until they got well again! If you don't
go I shall. Oh, what am I talking about? You wicked little idiot! Go to
him at once. Go! "

Torpenhow's neck was blistering, but he preserved a smile of infinite
patience as Maisie's appeared bareheaded in the sunshine.

"I am coming," said she, her eyes on the ground.

"You will be at Vitry Station, then, at seven this evening. " This was
an order delivered by one who was used to being obeyed. Maisie said
nothing, but she felt grateful that there was no chance of disputing
with this big man who took everything for granted and managed a
squealing horse with one hand. She returned to the red-haired girl,
who was weeping bitterly, and between tears, kisses,--very few of
those,--menthol, packing, and an interview with Kami, the sultry
afternoon wore away.

Thought might come afterwards. Her present duty was to go to Dick,--Dick
who owned the wondrous friend and sat in the dark playing with her
unopened letters.

"But what will you do," she said to her companion.

"I? Oh, I shall stay here and--finish your Melancolia," she said,
smiling pitifully. "Write to me afterwards. "

That night there ran a legend through Vitry-sur-Marne of a mad
Englishman, doubtless suffering from sunstroke, who had drunk all the
officers of the garrison under the table, had borrowed a horse from the
lines, and had then and there eloped, after the English custom, with one
of those more mad English girls who drew pictures down there under the
care of that good Monsieur Kami.

"They are very droll," said Suzanne to the conscript in the moonlight
by the studio wall. "She walked always with those big eyes that saw
nothing, and yet she kisses me on both cheeks as though she were my
sister, and gives me--see--ten francs! "

The conscript levied a contribution on both gifts; for he prided himself
on being a good soldier.

Torpenhow spoke very little to Maisie during the journey to Calais;
but he was careful to attend to all her wants, to get her a compartment
entirely to herself, and to leave her alone. He was amazed of the ease
with which the matter had been accomplished.

"The safest thing would be to let her think things out. By Dick's
showing,--when he was off his head,--she must have ordered him about
very thoroughly. Wonder how she likes being under orders. "

Maisie never told. She sat in the empty compartment often with her eyes
shut, that she might realise the sensation of blindness. It was an order
that she should return to London swiftly, and she found herself at last
almost beginning to enjoy the situation. This was better than looking
after luggage and a red-haired friend who never took any interest in her
surroundings. But there appeared to be a feeling in the air that she,
Maisie,--of all people,--was in disgrace. Therefore she justified her
conduct to herself with great success, till Torpenhow came up to her
on the steamer and without preface began to tell the story of Dick's
blindness, suppressing a few details, but dwelling at length on the
miseries of delirium. He stopped before he reached the end, as though he
had lost interest in the subject, and went forward to smoke. Maisie was
furious with him and with herself.

She was hurried on from Dover to London almost before she could ask for
breakfast, and--she was past any feeling of indignation now--was bidden
curtly to wait in a hall at the foot of some lead-covered stairs while
Torpenhow went up to make inquiries. Again the knowledge that she was
being treated like a naughty little girl made her pale cheeks flame. It
was all Dick's fault for being so stupid as to go blind.

Torpenhow led her up to a shut door, which he opened very softly. Dick
was sitting by the window, with his chin on his chest. There were three
envelopes in his hand, and he turned them over and over. The big man
who gave orders was no longer by her side, and the studio door snapped
behind her.

Dick thrust the letters into his pocket as he heard the sound. "Hullo,
Torp! Is that you? I've been so lonely. "

His voice had taken the peculiar flatness of the blind. Maisie pressed
herself up into a corner of the room. Her heart was beating furiously,
and she put one hand on her breast to keep it quiet. Dick was staring
directly at her, and she realised for the first time that he was blind.

Shutting her eyes in a rail-way carriage to open them when she pleased
was child's play. This man was blind though his eyes were wide open.

"Torp, is that you? They said you were coming. " Dick looked puzzled and
a little irritated at the silence.

"No; it's only me," was the answer, in a strained little whisper. Maisie
could hardly move her lips.

"H'm! " said Dick, composedly, without moving. "This is a new phenomenon.
Darkness I'm getting used to; but I object to hearing voices. "

Was he mad, then, as well as blind, that he talked to himself? Maisie's
heart beat more wildly, and she breathed in gasps. Dick rose and began
to feel his way across the room, touching each table and chair as he
passed. Once he caught his foot on a rug, and swore, dropping on his
knees to feel what the obstruction might be. Maisie remembered him
walking in the Park as though all the earth belonged to him, tramping
up and down her studio two months ago, and flying up the gangway of the
Channel steamer. The beating of her heart was making her sick, and Dick
was coming nearer, guided by the sound of her breathing. She put out a
hand mechanically to ward him off or to draw him to herself, she did not
know which. It touched his chest, and he stepped back as though he had
been shot.

"It's Maisie! " said he, with a dry sob. "What are you doing here? "

"I came--I came--to see you, please. "

Dick's lips closed firmly.

"Won't you sit down, then? You see, I've had some bother with my eyes,
and----"

"I know. I know. Why didn't you tell me? "

"I couldn't write. "

"You might have told Mr. Torpenhow. "

"What has he to do with my affairs? "

"He--he brought me from Vitry-sur-Marne. He thought I ought to see you. "

"Why, what has happened? Can I do anything for you? No, I can't. I
forgot. "

"Oh, Dick, I'm so sorry! I've come to tell you, and----Let me take you
back to your chair. "

"Don't! I'm not a child. You only do that out of pity. I never meant to
tell you anything about it. I'm no good now. I'm down and done for. Let
me alone! "

He groped back to his chair, his chest labouring as he sat down.

Maisie watched him, and the fear went out of her heart, to be followed
by a very bitter shame. He had spoken a truth that had been hidden from
the girl through every step of the impetuous flight to London; for he
was, indeed, down and done for--masterful no longer but rather a little
abject; neither an artist stronger than she, nor a man to be looked up
to--only some blind one that sat in a chair and seemed on the point of
crying. She was immensely and unfeignedly sorry for him--more sorry than
she had ever been for any one in her life, but not sorry enough to deny
his words.

So she stood still and felt ashamed and a little hurt, because she had
honestly intended that her journey should end triumphantly; and now she
was only filled with pity most startlingly distinct from love.

"Well? " said Dick, his face steadily turned away. "I never meant to
worry you any more. What's the matter? "

He was conscious that Maisie was catching her breath, but was as
unprepared as herself for the torrent of emotion that followed. She had
dropped into a chair and was sobbing with her face hidden in her hands.

"I can't--I can't! " she cried desperately. "Indeed, I can't. It isn't my
fault. I'm so sorry. Oh, Dickie, I'm so sorry. "

Dick's shoulders straightened again, for the words lashed like a whip.

Still the sobbing continued. It is not good to realise that you have
failed in the hour of trial or flinched before the mere possibility of
making sacrifices.

"I do despise myself--indeed I do. But I can't. Oh, Dickie, you wouldn't
ask me--would you? " wailed Maisie.

She looked up for a minute, and by chance it happened that Dick's eyes
fell on hers. The unshaven face was very white and set, and the lips
were trying to force themselves into a smile. But it was the worn-out
eyes that Maisie feared. Her Dick had gone blind and left in his place
some one that she could hardly recognise till he spoke.

"Who is asking you to do anything, Maisie? I told you how it would be.
What's the use of worrying? For pity's sake don't cry like that; it
isn't worth it. "

"You don't know how I hate myself. Oh, Dick, help me--help me! " The
passion of tears had grown beyond her control and was beginning to alarm
the man. He stumbled forward and put his arm round her, and her head
fell on his shoulder.

"Hush, dear, hush! Don't cry. You're quite right, and you've nothing to
reproach yourself with--you never had. You're only a little upset by the
journey, and I don't suppose you've had any breakfast. What a brute Torp
was to bring you over. "

"I wanted to come. I did indeed," she protested.

"Very well. And now you've come and seen, and I'm--immensely grateful.
When you're better you shall go away and get something to eat. What sort
of a passage did you have coming over? "

Maisie was crying more subduedly, for the first time in her life glad
that she had something to lean against. Dick patted her on the shoulder
tenderly but clumsily, for he was not quite sure where her shoulder
might be.

She drew herself out of his arms at last and waited, trembling and most
unhappy. He had felt his way to the window to put the width of the room
between them, and to quiet a little the tumult in his heart.

"Are you better now? " he said.

"Yes, but--don't you hate me? "

"I hate you? My God! I? "

"Isn't--isn't there anything I could do for you, then? I'll stay here
in England to do it, if you like. Perhaps I could come and see you
sometimes. "

"I think not, dear. It would be kindest not to see me any more, please.
I don't want to seem rude, but--don't you think--perhaps you had almost
better go now.
"

He was conscious that he could not bear himself as a man if the strain
continued much longer.

"I don't deserve anything else. I'll go, Dick. Oh, I'm so miserable. "

"Nonsense. You've nothing to worry about; I'd tell you if you had. Wait
a moment, dear. I've got something to give you first. I meant it for
you ever since this little trouble began. It's my Melancolia; she was a
beauty when I last saw her. You can keep her for me, and if ever you're
poor you can sell her. She's worth a few hundreds at any state of the
market. " He groped among his canvases. "She's framed in black. Is this
a black frame that I have my hand on? There she is. What do you think of
her? "

He turned a scarred formless muddle of paint towards Maisie, and the
eyes strained as though they would catch her wonder and surprise. One
thing and one thing only could she do for him.

"Well? "

The voice was fuller and more rounded, because the man knew he was
speaking of his best work. Maisie looked at the blur, and a lunatic
desire to laugh caught her by the throat. But for Dick's sake--whatever
this mad blankness might mean--she must make no sign. Her voice choked
with hard-held tears as she answered, still gazing at the wreck--"Oh,
Dick, it is good! "

He heard the little hysterical gulp and took it for tribute. "Won't you
have it, then? I'll send it over to your house if you will. "

"I? Oh yes--thank you. Ha! ha! " If she did not fly at once the laughter
that was worse than tears would kill her. She turned and ran, choking
and blinded, down the staircases that were empty of life to take refuge
in a cab and go to her house across the Parks. There she sat down in the
dismantled drawing-room and thought of Dick in his blindness, useless
till the end of life, and of herself in her own eyes. Behind the sorrow,
the shame, and the humiliation, lay fear of the cold wrath of the
red-haired girl when Maisie should return. Maisie had never feared her
companion before. Not until she found herself saying, "Well, he never
asked me," did she realise her scorn of herself. And that is the end of
Maisie.

* * * * *

For Dick was reserved more searching torment. He could not realise at
first that Maisie, whom he had ordered to go had left him without a word
of farewell. He was savagely angry against Torpenhow, who had brought
upon him this humiliation and troubled his miserable peace. Then his
dark hour came and he was alone with himself and his desires to get what
help he could from the darkness. The queen could do no wrong, but in
following the right, so far as it served her work, she had wounded her
one subject more than his own brain would let him know.

"It's all I had and I've lost it," he said, as soon as the misery
permitted clear thinking. "And Torp will think that he has been so
infernally clever that I shan't have the heart to tell him. I must think
this out quietly. "

"Hullo! " said Torpenhow, entering the studio after Dick had enjoyed two
hours of thought. "I'm back. Are you feeling any better? "

"Torp, I don't know what to say. Come here. " Dick coughed huskily,
wondering, indeed, what he should say, and how to say it temperately.

"What's the need for saying anything? Get up and tramp. " Torpenhow was
perfectly satisfied.

They walked up and down as of custom, Torpenhow's hand on Dick's
shoulder, and Dick buried in his own thoughts.

"How in the world did you find it all out? " said Dick, at last.

"You shouldn't go off your head if you want to keep secrets, Dickie. It
was absolutely impertinent on my part; but if you'd seen me rocketing
about on a half-trained French troop-horse under a blazing sun you'd
have laughed. There will be a charivari in my rooms tonight. Seven other
devils----"

"I know--the row in the Southern Soudan. I surprised their councils the
other day, and it made me unhappy. Have you fixed your flint to go? Who
d'you work for? "

"Haven't signed any contracts yet. I wanted to see how your business
would turn out. "

"Would you have stayed with me, then, if--things had gone wrong? " He put
his question cautiously.

"Don't ask me too much. I'm only a man. "

"You've tried to be an angel very successfully. "

"Oh ye--es! . . . Well, do you attend the function tonight? We shall
be half screwed before the morning. All the men believe the war's a
certainty. "

"I don't think I will, old man, if it's all the same to you. I'll stay
quiet here. "

"And meditate? I don't blame you. You observe a good time if ever a man
did. "

That night there was a tumult on the stairs. The correspondents poured
in from theatre, dinner, and music-hall to Torpenhow's room that they
might discuss their plan of campaign in the event of military operations
becoming a certainty. Torpenhow, the Keneu, and the Nilghai had bidden
all the men they had worked with to the orgy; and Mr. Beeton, the
housekeeper, declared that never before in his checkered experience had
he seen quite such a fancy lot of gentlemen. They waked the chambers
with shoutings and song; and the elder men were quite as bad as the
younger. For the chances of war were in front of them, and all knew what
those meant.

Sitting in his own room a little perplexed by the noise across the
landing, Dick suddenly began to laugh to himself.

"When one comes to think of it the situation is intensely comic.
Maisie's quite right--poor little thing. I didn't know she could cry
like that before; but now I know what Torp thinks, I'm sure he'd be
quite fool enough to stay at home and try to console me--if he knew.
Besides, it isn't nice to own that you've been thrown over like a broken
chair. I must carry this business through alone--as usual. If there
isn't a war, and Torp finds out, I shall look foolish, that's all. If
there is a way I mustn't interfere with another man's chances. Business
is business, and I want to be alone--I want to be alone. What a row
they're making! "

Somebody hammered at the studio door.

"Come out and frolic, Dickie," said the Nilghai.

"I should like to, but I can't. I'm not feeling frolicsome. "

"Then, I'll tell the boys and they'll drag you like a badger. "

"Please not, old man. On my word, I'd sooner be left alone just now. "

"Very good. Can we send anything in to you? Fizz, for instance.
Cassavetti is beginning to sing songs of the Sunny South already. "

For one minute Dick considered the proposition seriously.

"No, thanks, I've a headache already. "

"Virtuous child. That's the effect of emotion on the young. All my
congratulations, Dick. I also was concerned in the conspiracy for your
welfare. "

"Go to the devil--oh, send Binkie in here. "

The little dog entered on elastic feet, riotous from having been
made much of all the evening. He had helped to sing the choruses;
but scarcely inside the studio he realised that this was no place for
tail-wagging, and settled himself on Dick's lap till it was bedtime.
Then he went to bed with Dick, who counted every hour as it struck, and
rose in the morning with a painfully clear head to receive Torpenhow's
more formal congratulations and a particular account of the last night's
revels.

"You aren't looking very happy for a newly accepted man," said
Torpenhow.

"Never mind that--it's my own affair, and I'm all right. Do you really
go? "

"Yes. With the old Central Southern as usual. They wired, and I accepted
on better terms than before. "

"When do you start? "

"The day after tomorrow--for Brindisi. "

"Thank God. " Dick spoke from the bottom of his heart.

"Well, that's not a pretty way of saying you're glad to get rid of me.
But men in your condition are allowed to be selfish. "

"I didn't mean that. Will you get a hundred pounds cashed for me before
you leave? "

"That's a slender amount for housekeeping, isn't it? "

"Oh, it's only for--marriage expenses. "

Torpenhow brought him the money, counted it out in fives and tens, and
carefully put it away in the writing table.

"Now I suppose I shall have to listen to his ravings about his girl
until I go. Heaven send us patience with a man in love! " he said to
himself.

But never a word did Dick say of Maisie or marriage. He hung in the
doorway of Torpenhow's room when the latter was packing and asked
innumerable questions about the coming campaign, till Torpenhow began to
feel annoyed.

"You're a secretive animal, Dickie, and you consume your own smoke,
don't you? " he said on the last evening.

"I--I suppose so. By the way, how long do you think this war will last? "

"Days, weeks, or months. One can never tell. It may go on for years. "

"I wish I were going. "

"Good Heavens! You're the most unaccountable creature! Hasn't it
occurred to you that you're going to be married--thanks to me? "

"Of course, yes. I'm going to be married--so I am. Going to be married.
I'm awfully grateful to you. Haven't I told you that? "

"You might be going to be hanged by the look of you," said Torpenhow.

And the next day Torpenhow bade him good-bye and left him to the
loneliness he had so much desired.



CHAPTER XIV

Yet at the last, ere our spearmen had found him,
Yet at the last, ere a sword-thrust could save,
Yet at the last, with his masters around him,
He of the Faith spoke as master to slave;
Yet at the last, tho' the Kafirs had maimed him,
Broken by bondage and wrecked by the reiver,--
Yet at the last, tho' the darkness had claimed him,
He called upon Allah and died a believer. --Kizzilbashi.

"Beg your pardon, Mr. Heldar, but--but isn't nothin' going to happen? "
said Mr. Beeton.

"No! " Dick had just waked to another morning of blank despair and his
temper was of the shortest.

"'Tain't my regular business, 'o course, sir; and what I say is, 'Mind
your own business and let other people mind theirs;' but just before Mr.
Torpenhow went away he give me to understand, like, that you might be
moving into a house of your own, so to speak--a sort of house with rooms
upstairs and downstairs where you'd be better attended to, though I try
to act just by all our tenants. Don't I? "

"Ah! That must have been a mad-house. I shan't trouble you to take me
there yet. Get me my breakfast, please, and leave me alone. "

"I hope I haven't done anything wrong, sir, but you know I hope that as
far as a man can I tries to do the proper thing by all the gentlemen in
chambers--and more particular those whose lot is hard--such as you, for
instance, Mr. Heldar. You likes soft-roe bloater, don't you? Soft-roe
bloaters is scarcer than hard-roe, but what I says is, 'Never mind a
little extra trouble so long as you give satisfaction to the tenants. '"

Mr. Beeton withdrew and left Dick to himself. Torpenhow had been long
away; there was no more rioting in the chambers, and Dick had settled
down to his new life, which he was weak enough to consider nothing
better than death.

It is hard to live alone in the dark, confusing the day and night;
dropping to sleep through sheer weariness at mid-day, and rising
restless in the chill of the dawn. At first Dick, on his awakenings,
would grope along the corridors of the chambers till he heard some one
snore. Then he would know that the day had not yet come, and return
wearily to his bedroom.

Later he learned not to stir till there was a noise and movement in the
house and Mr. Beeton advised him to get up. Once dressed--and dressing,
now that Torpenhow was away, was a lengthy business, because collars,
ties, and the like hid themselves in far corners of the room, and search
meant head-beating against chairs and trunks--once dressed, there was
nothing whatever to do except to sit still and brood till the three
daily meals came. Centuries separated breakfast from lunch and lunch
from dinner, and though a man prayed for hundreds of years that his
mind might be taken from him, God would never hear. Rather the mind
was quickened and the revolving thoughts ground against each other as
millstones grind when there is no corn between; and yet the brain would
not wear out and give him rest. It continued to think, at length, with
imagery and all manner of reminiscences. It recalled Maisie and past
success, reckless travels by land and sea, the glory of doing work and
feeling that it was good, and suggested all that might have happened had
the eyes only been faithful to their duty. When thinking ceased
through sheer weariness, there poured into Dick's soul tide on tide of
overwhelming, purposeless fear--dread of starvation always, terror
lest the unseen ceiling should crush down upon him, fear of fire in the
chambers and a louse's death in red flame, and agonies of fiercer horror
that had nothing to do with any fear of death. Then Dick bowed his head,
and clutching the arms of his chair fought with his sweating self till
the tinkle of plates told him that something to eat was being set before
him.

Mr. Beeton would bring the meal when he had time to spare, and
Dick learned to hang upon his speech, which dealt with badly fitted
gas-plugs, waste-pipes out of repair, little tricks for driving
picture-nails into walls, and the sins of the charwoman or the
housemaids. In the lack of better things the small gossip of a servants'
hall becomes immensely interesting, and the screwing of a washer on a
tap an event to be talked over for days.

Once or twice a week, too, Mr. Beeton would take Dick out with him when
he went marketing in the morning to haggle with tradesmen over fish,
lamp-wicks, mustard, tapioca, and so forth, while Dick rested his weight
first on one foot and then on the other and played aimlessly with the
tins and string-ball on the counter.