 Book 5 Chapter 3 of the Heavenly Twins This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Vijeta Sharma The Heavenly Twins by Sarah Grand Book 5 Chapter 3 It was late when at last she went home But the drive of many miles in the fresh evening air helped to revive her She had dreaded the return The place seemed empty to her imagination and strange and chill As a south room in which we have sat and been glad with friends all the bright morning does If by chance we return alone when the sun has departed And the place was dismal There was no one to welcome her Even her well-trained servants were out of the way for once And she felt her heart sink as she crossed the deserted hall to go upstairs And saw long lines of doors shut for the most part Or, if open, showing big rooms beyond silent and tenantless As she passed the library, she had noticed her husband's chair half turned from his writing table Just as he had lifted probably that very morning It seemed a long time since then He must have come to his journey's end ages ago She wondered if he had felt it as dreary on arriving as she did now And an accustomed wish to be with him in order to make things pleasanter for him Here obtruded itself It was one of the least selfish thoughts she had had lately And this was also one of the very few occasions on which His leaving her had not occasioned her a sense of liberty restored Which was the one unmixed delight she had hitherto experienced Her mind was wracked by inconsistencies where she did not perceive it herself Otherwise, she must also have observed that she was running up the whole gamut of her past moods and experiences Only to find how unsatisfactory in its unstableness and futility was each And she might still further have perceived how fatal the habit of living From day to day without any settled purpose A mere cork of a creature on the waters of life at the mercy of every current of impulse Is to that permanent content to which a steady effort to do right At all evens, whatever else we may not do And right only whatever happens alone gives rise Making thereof a sure foundation of quite happiness Out of which countless pleasures known only to those who possess it spring perceptibly Or to which they come like butterflies to some of lars Enriching them with their beauty and vitality while they stay And leaving them none the poorer when they depart But rather it may be gainers by the fertilizing memories which remain Angelica had gone to her room to dress for the evening as usual She had no idea of shirking the ordinary routine of daily life because her mind was perturbed But that duty over she descended to the drawing room to wait until dinner should be announced And so found herself alone with her own thoughts once more She went to one of the five places and stood with her hands wounded on the ends of the mantelpiece And a forehead resting on them, looking down at the flowers and foliage plants Which conceived the great You cannot go on like this, you know She mentally ejaculated, apostrophizing herself Then she became conscious of a great sense of loneliness The kind of loneliness of the heart from which there is no escape Except in the presence of man who knows what the trouble is and can sympathize She had been half inclined to confide in Dr. Galbraith And now she regretted she had not But presently passing into a contrary mood she was glad What good could he have done? And as for her husband, an empty house was better than a bad tenant This was before dinner was announced, but afterward at dinner Sitting in solitary state with the servants behind her And a book to keep her in countenance She made a grievance of his absence And then signed for such company as the seven maw Who were entertained in that house Which was swept and garnished for another purpose she fancied But she could not recollect what And it was too much trouble to try So her thoughts rambled on uncontrolled Only she believed they were married And that was what she was not But she would be very soon in spite of everything In pursuance of which resolved She wrote several notes after dinner Asking people she knew well enough To kindly dispense with the ceremony of a long invitation And come and lunch with her tomorrow And she dispatched a groom on horseback With the notes that there might be no dealing She even thought of making up a house party But here her interest and energy flapped And she left the execution of that present till next day Then she relapsed into her regretful discontented mood If only, if only that dreaded accident had never occurred How different would her feelings have been at this moment Was one of her reflections As she sat alone on the terrace Outside the great deserted reception rooms She would have been waiting now till the house was quiet And then she would have dashed up to her room to dress With her exquisite sense of freedom Which made the whole delight of the thing And in half an hour she might have been the boy With Israel film You cannot go on like this, you know Angelica repeated to herself You must do something But what? Involuntarily her mind returned to the tenor If she could win his respect She felt she could start afresh with a clear conscience And a steadfast determination to What was it Dr. Galbraith had suggested? Live openly, live for others But how to win the tenor back to Tal Reita? If she would make him her friend Then she knew that she must be entirely true In thought, worth and deed To every duty, to every principle of right And how could she be that If there were any truth in the theory Of hereditary pre-deposition Coming as she did of her race Verdunned apparently to the opposite course It was falling to content with fate When fate took the form of a long line of ancestors Who had made a family commandment For themselves, which was Be decent to all seeming But sin all the same to your heart's content And hath kept it courageously At least the men had But then the women had been worthy In which thought she suddenly perceived That there was food for reflection But was not this contradictions fat A proof that it was a good deal A matter of choice after all And here the tenor's parting wills Rekord to her And with them came the recollection Of the impression made at the moment Of the deep yet diffident tone Of earnest conviction In which he had uttered that last assurance You will do some good in the world You will be a good woman yet I know, I know you will Should she? Was the question she now asked herself Were the words prophetic? She wondered And from that moment her thoughts Took anew departure And she was able, as it were To stand aloof and look back at herself As she had been And forward to herself As she might yet become In the quiet hour of retrospect She was quite ready to confess her sins She was sincerely sorry She had to see the tenor But why was she sorry? Why? Simply because he had found her out Simply because there was an end Of a charming adventure No less on that account than on others For of course she knew That the end was near That they must have parted soon In any case It was the matter of the parting That caused her such regret She had lost his affection Lost his confidence Lost the pleasure of his acquaintance She is opposed Which was more than she could be If he met her in the street He would probably look the other way Modi, oh! The very notions stung her She sprang to her feet And threw up her hands And then As if coated by a lash But without any distinct idea She ran down the steps Headlong into the garden And so on through the park Till she came to the river When she got there She stopped at the landing plains Not knowing why she had come And as she stood there Trying to collect her thoughts The absence of some familiar object Forced itself upon her attention Her boat It must have been lost The night of the accident She did not know Whether it had sunk or not But there was no name on it So that Even if it had been found It could not have been restored to her Unless she had claimed it And while she thought this She was conscious of another pang of regret She knew that had the boat been there Her next impulse Would have been to go to the tenor Just as she was Bare-headed And in her thin evening dress With what object though? To beg for the honour of his acquaintance She is opposed But alas She could not snare in earnest Or laugh in earnest At any absurdity She chose to think There was in the ideal For she acknowledged In her heart of hearts She knew That the acquaintance of such a man Was an honour Especially to her As she humbly insisted Although She had not broken any of the commandments And never would And never could Slowly she returned to the house A servant met her on the terrace And asked her If she should require anything more than night Then she discovered The lateness of the hour Ordered the household to bed And retired to her own room There She extinguished the lights Threw the windows wider open And sat looking out Into the dim, mysterious night Anzulika loved the night No matter what her mood might be She felt its charm And something also Of the prides of doing Hallowed influence Which is peculiarly itself And now As she leaned Looking out All the beauty of it And its heavenly purity Began to steal into her heart And to soften it Slowly As the tide goes out When the sea is tempestuous No waves returning again and again When angry burst And float to cover the same spot As you float to leave it But receding inevitably Till in the further distance Their harsh, impetuous roar Sings to a babble when heard from the place Where they lately raged Which itself seems to savor For the contrast between the now Of quiet and firmness And the then Of shifting sand and watery fury So it was with Anzulika's turmoil of mind The foaming discontent The battling presents By slow degrees They all subsided And after the storm of uncertainty They came something Like the calm of a settled purpose To be good To ascend to the higher life If that meant to feel like this always She would be good If in her league such power She could not be holy without religion Because she found in herself A reverence for what was religion In others And what after all is religion An attitude of the mind Which develops in us The power to love, reverence and practice All that constitutes Modern property But how to attain to this By trying and trusting Faith that was it Faith in the power of goodness Upon the recognition of the simple truth Her spirit wings unfurled And slowly As her senses ceased to be importunate She became possessed By some idea of deathless love And longing Which fired her soul With its heroism And filled her heart With its pathos Until both mind and hands Together Unconsciously assumed The attitude of prayer She did not go to bed at all that night But just sat there by the open window Patiently waiting for the dawn Nor did she feel the time long Her whole being thrilled To this new sensation Subdued by it So that she remained motionless Unrupturously absorbed It might only last till daybreak But while it did last It was certainly intense It lasted longer than that however It even survived the day And the lunch and party to which She had in a rash moment Invited her friends She had determined to go to the tenor That very afternoon in the way Her husband had suggested At first she thought she would drive But it was a long way round by the road Much longer than by the river And so she decided to walk Although the weather was inclined To be tempestuous She crossed by the ferry Thinking she would, if possible Meet the tenor as he came away From the afternoon service In that hope however She was disappointed For when she got to the cathedral She found the service over The congregation dispersed And the door was locked There was nothing for it then But to go to his own house With a fast beating heart She crossed the road And paused at the little gate She felt now that She had made a mistake She should have taken her husband's Advice and come in state She would not have felt Half so frightened and awkward If she could have sat in her carriage And sent the footman to inquire If the tenor would do her the favour To allow her to speak to him for a moment And what would he say to her now And what should she say Suppose he refused to see her at all Should she ever survive it Could she take him by storm As the boy would have done And demand his friendship And kind consideration as a right Some of the unblushing assurance Which had distinguished the boy It must have been part of the costume But surely her confidence Would return at the right moment And then she would be able to face him boldly Having to knock at the door And ask for him was like the first Plants into cold water Just to think of it took her breath away But the winter was doubtless And fastened as usual Should she go in by that? No, it was absurd So how she hesitated Especially after all that had happened But be deterred by this Most novel and uncomfortable shyness She would not She had come so far And it should not be for nothing She would not go back until But now at last With a smile at her quants And nervous tremors She knocked resolutely There was a little interval And she filled it with hope She knew just how radiant She would feel As she came away successful She experienced something Of the relief and pleasure Which should follow upon the spring And then the door was opened By the tenuous elderly housekeeper The woman had that worn And worried look upon her face Which is common among women Of a class Is your master at home? Not recollecting for the moment By what name he was known The woman looked at her curiously As if to determine her social status Before she committed herself The question seemed to surprise her He's gone She answered doubtfully Didn't you know? Gone! Angelica echoed blankly Where? Gone home The woman answered Gone home! Angelica exclaimed Unable to conceal her dismay He has no home but this Where is his home? The woman gave her another curious look Took a moment to choose her words Then blurted out He's dead, miss Didn't you know? And buried yesterday End of Book 5, Chapter 3 Recording by Vijaytash Sharma Book 5, Chapter 4 Of the Heavenly Twins This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer Please visit LibriVox.org The Heavenly Twins by Sarah Grand Book 5, Chapter 4 The lonely man after leaving Angelica that night Had returned to the clothes walking Like one that hath a weary dream When he entered his little house And the sitting room where the lamp was still burning Its yellow light in sickly contrast To the pale twilight of the summer dawn Which was beginning to brighten by that time The discomfort consequent on disorder Struck a chill to his heart The roses still lay scattered about the floor But they had been trampled underfoot And their beauty had suffered Their freshness was marred And their perfume rising acrid from bruised petals Greeded him unhorsomely after the fresh morning air And rendered the atmosphere faint and depressive The stand with the flower pots much disarranged As he had left it when he pulled it roughly aside To get at the grate and the fire had burnt out Leaving blackened embers to add to the general air Of dreariness and desertion Angelica's violin lay under the grand piano Where he had heedlessly flung it When he loosed it from her rigid grasp And there were pipes and glasses and bottles about Chairs upset and displaced Books and papers, music and magazines Piled up in heaps untitled to be out of the way All the usual signs to sum up Which suggest that a room has been used Overnight for some unaccustomed purpose Convivial or the reverse A condition known only to the early house And parlor made as a rule And therefore acting with peculiarly Dismal effect upon the chance observer The more dismal now to the weary tenor In the room he had ever seen Under similar circumstances by reason Of the associations that clung about it He opened the window wide, extinguished the lamp And began mechanically to put things away And arrange the chairs The habit of doing much for himself Prompted all this, anything that was not A matter of habit he never thought of doing His things were drawing on him And he had forgotten that they had ever been wet And he knew that the night was passed and over He was heart-sick and weary, yet did not feel That there was any need of rest The extraordinary lucidity of mind of which He had been conscious while his much-loved boy Was in danger had left him now And only a blurred recollection as of many Incidents crowding thickly upon each other Without order or sequence recurred to him He suffered from a sense of loss Of power and grief, the kind of grief Which is all the worst to bear Because it has not come in the course of nature But by the fault of man Something that might have been helped As when a friend is killed by accident Or lost to us otherwise than by death The consequence of disease But one persistent thought beset him The same thing over and over again Exhausting him by dent of forced reiteration The girl he had been idolizing Well, there was no such person And there never had been, and that was all Yet what an awe in the first moment Of the terrible calamity that had fallen him It seemed now that there could have been Nothing like the misery of this home returning The barren black despair of it It was the hopeless difference between pain And paralysis, then he had suffered But at least he could feel Now he felt nothing except that all feeling was over When he had finished the simple arrangement Of his room, he still paced restlessly Up and down, shaking back his yellow hair And brushing his hand up over As if the gesture eased the trouble of his mind If even the boy had been left me He thought it was the one distinct regret He formulated, after a while his housekeeper Arrived a pleasant elderly woman And visited him ever since he came to Morning Quest He was not in his nature to let any personal matter Whether it were pain or pleasure Affect the temper of his intercourse With those about him And the force of habit helped him now again To rouse himself and greet the woman In his usual, kindly, courteous way So that being unobservant She noticed no change in him Except that he was up earlier than usual But then he was always an early riser She therefore said about her work unsuspiciously And presently drove him out of the sitting room With her dustpan and brush And he went upstairs There, happening to catch a glimpse Of his own haggard face And discreditable flannels in the mirror He began to change mechanically And dressed himself with all his habitual neatness And precision Then a little choir boy came to Be helped with his music It was the one who sang the soprano's solos In the cathedral A boy with a lovely voice And much general as well as musical ability Both of which the tenor labored to help him to develop He came every morning for lessons And the tenor gave him these And such a breakfast also as a small boy loves But the little fellow to do him justice Cared more for the tenor than the breakfast There were three services in the cathedral that day And the tenor went to each but he did not sing He seemed to have taken cold and was hoarse With a slight cough and a peculiar little stab In his chest and catching of the breath Which however did not trouble him much to begin with But as the day advanced every bone in his body Aked without dull wearying pain And he was glad to go to bed early Once there the sense of fatigue was overpowering Yet he could not sleep until long past midnight When he dropped off quite suddenly Or rather as it seemed to him when all at once He plunged headlong into the river to rescue the boy And began to go down, down, down to a never ending depth The weight of the water above him becoming greater and greater Till the pressure was unbearable And a horrid sense of suffocation increasing every instant Impaled him to struggle to the surface but vainly He could not rise and down, down he continued to descend Reaching no bottom yet dropping at last Before he could help himself on a sharp stake Pointed like a dagger that ran right through his chest The pain aroused him with a great start But the impression had been so vivid that it was Sometime before he could shake off the sensation Of descending with icy water about him And even when he was wide awake And although he was bathed in perspiration The feeling of cold remained and so did the pain It was during that night that the weather changed The next day it was blowing agale Heavy showers began to fall at intervals Chilling the atmosphere and finally settled into a steady downpour Such as frequently occurs in the middle of summer Making everything indoors humid and unwholesome And causing colds and sore throats And other unseasonable complaints Tenno taught this little choir boy as usual In the morning went to the three services Getting more or less wed each time And then came home and tried to do some work But was not equal to it His head ate then tried to smoke But the pipe nauseated him And finally resigned himself to idleness And just sat still in his lonely room Lonely of heart himself yet with his hands patiently folded Dreamily watching the rain as it beat upon The old cathedral opposite And streamed from eve and gargoyle And splashed from the narrow spouting under the roof Making spreading pathways of dark moisture For itself on the grey stone walls Wherever it overflowed It was all his will to the tenor And for his sake there was nothing he would not have born Heroically His cough was much worse that day The pain in his chest was more acute And his temperature rose higher and higher Yet he did not complain He knew he was suffering from something serious now But he derived from his perfect faith In the beneficence of the power that orders all things An almost superhuman fortitude But as he sat there with his hands folded His mind busy with many things returned Inevitably to the old weary theme Just as at the same time Angelica's own Was doing but from the opposite point of view Always after a startling event Those who have been present as spectators Or taken some part in it Repeat their experiences And make some remark upon them again and again In exactly the same words Their minds working upon the subject like heat Upon water that boils Forming it into bubbles which it bursts And reforms incessantly He began each time with that remark As about the change which mere dress affects And went on to wonder at the transformation Of a strong young woman Into a slender, delicate-looking boy by it And then went on to accept her conclusion That it was not true He should have been deceived seeing that In the first place he had not the slightest suspicion And in the second he had never seen the boy Except in his own dimly lighted room Or out of doors at night Besides it was not the first time that a boy Had been successfully personated by a girl A man by a woman But here he found himself obliged to rehearse the instances Which Angelica had quoted Then he would reconsider the fact that the part Had been well played Not only attitudes and gestures But ideas and sentiments And the proper expression of them Had been done to perfection Which led up again to another assertion of hers She had been a boy for the time being There was no doubt about that And yet if he had had the slightest suspicion There had been this shyness at first Which had worn off as it became apparent That the disguise was complete The horror of being touched or startled Of anything as he now perceived Which might have caused a momentary forgetfulness And so have led to self-betrayal The boyishnesses which alternating with older moods Might have suggested something But had only charmed him The womanishnesses Of which, alas, there had been too few As seen by the light of this new revelation The physical differences But they had been cleverly concealed As she said by the cut of her clothing and pies The funny head, however, about which They had both gestured so often, oh dear How sick he was of the whole subject If only it would let him alone But what pretty ways he had had the boy But a dear, dear lad He had been with all his faults, alas, alas If only the boy had been loved him Then a pause, then off again He had been enchanted Like Raymond of Lusignan In olden times by a creature that was half a monster The boy had been a reality to him But the lady had never been more than a lovely dream And the monster where the monster had not yet appeared For that dark-haired girl in the unwomanly clothes With pride on her lips And pain in her eyes was no monster after all But an earring mortal, like himself a poor weak creature To be pitied and prayed for And the tenor bowed his sunny head And prayed for her earnestly Through all the long hours of solitary suffering Which closed that day Then came another sleepless night And another gloomy morning The church brought his little chorister boy Whom he tried to teach as usual But even the child saw what the effort cost him And looked at him with great tender eyes solemnly And was very docile Before the early service one of his fellow lay clerks Came in to see how he was They had all noticed the feverish cold From which he had appeared to be suffering the whole week And this one, not finding him better Begged him to stay in that day And take care of himself for the sake of his voice The tenor brushed his hand back over his hair He had forgotten that he ever had a voice But at all events he must go to the morning service After that he would stay at home He longed for the blessed sacrament Which was always a holy communion to him But he did not say so That afternoon he fell asleep in his easy chair Facing the window which looked out upon the cathedral Or into a troubled dose, rather Which he awoke all at once with a start And seeing the window shut rose hurriedly To go and open it for the boy He had done so before at night Often when he chanced to forget it But when he got to it now He had to clutch the frame to support himself And he looked out stupidly for some seconds Wondering in a dazed way Why the sun was shining with it should be dark Then suddenly full consciousness returned And he remembered he should never open the window Again for the boy, never again He returned to his chair after that And sat down to think When he began to understand it thoroughly The meaning of the last incident He was startled out of the apathy That oppressed him It became evident now that he Was not merely suffering but fast Becoming disabled by illness And it was time he let someone know Otherwise there might be confusion And annoyance about his work Finding a substitute And there would be a risk about What was he trying to think of? Oh, her name He might mention it and be overheard By curious people If he lost his head Angelica, Mrs. Kilroy Of Ilver Thorpe He wished he could forget But he would provide against The danger of repeating them aloud He would telegraph to his own man The fellow had written to him The other day being in want of a place A capital servant and discreet Glad he had thought of him And then there were other matters The sensible setting of his house And order which every man threatened With illness would be wise to see to There were several letters he must write One to the dean amongst others To ask him to come and see him Writing was a great effort But he managed with much difficulty To accomplish all that he had Said himself to do And then his mind was at rest Presently his old housekeeper Came in with some tea She was anxious about him I brought you this, sir, she said You've not tasted a solid morsel Since Tuesday morning and this is Thursday afternoon Try and take something, sir It will do you good You must be getting quite faint And indeed you look it Now I call that good of you He took the cup from her hand I shall be glad to have some tea I've been quite longing for something hot to drink The woman was examining his face With critical kindness She noticed the constant attempt To cough and the painful catching Of the breath which rendered The effort aborted I'm afraid you are not at all well Sir, she said expecting him to deny But he did not I'm not at all well to tell you The truth he confessed To the dean to tell him And a fit of coughing Rendered the end of the sentence Unintelligible I want you to post these letters He was able to say at last Distinctly send this telegram off At once to my servant And leave this note at the deanery That will do as you go home The man should be here tomorrow And anything else there may be Can be attended to when he arrives You will let your friends know Very well, sir, the housekeeper suggested Those letters indicating The ones she held in her hand Are to tell them The woman sing to whom the letters were Addressed and hearing the tenor Talk in an offhand way about His manservant as if he had Been accustomed to the luxury All his life feared for a moment That his mind was affected But then some of those wild surmises As to whom and what he might be Which were rife all over The ancient city when he first arrived Recurred to her and there slipped From her unaware as the remark Well, they always said You was somebody and to look at you One might suppose you was a Duke Or a Marcus, sir But I won't make so bold as to ask The tenor smiled I'm afraid I'm only a tenor Within abominable cold He rejoined Good naturedly I really think I must nurse it a little When I've seen the dean I shall go to bed You will see the doctor first She muttered decisively as she took Up the tray and withdrew The tenor overheard her But was past making any objection He had managed to take the tea And ease by the grateful warmth He sank into another heavy dose From which the arrival Of the doctor roused him It was evening then He made an effort to rise In his courteous way to receive the doctor Was sorry to trouble him for anything So trifling as a cold Would not have troubled him In fact had not his Officious old housekeeper Taken the law into her hands But now that he had come Was very glad to see him Singers as the doctor knew Being fidgety about their throats And really with a smile even a cold Was important when it threatened one's Means of livelihood The doctor responded cheerfully To these cheerful platitudes But he was listening and observing All the time then he took out a stethoscope In two pieces and as he Screwed them together he asked Been wed lately Well yes The tenor answered something of that Kind and you did not Change immediately and No now I think of it Not for hours in fact I believe my things dried on me Ah shaking his head And you'd Been living rather low before that Perhaps just let me take Your temperature I should Say that you had got a little Down below par you know A well perhaps The tenor acknowledged huh The doctor glanced at His clinical thermometer You have a temperature young man Now let me he applied this Stethoscope I'm afraid You are in for a bad dose He said after a careful examination I wish you had sent for me 24 hours sooner These things should be taken in time And it is marvelous how You have kept about so long But now go to bed at once Keep yourself warm and the Temperature as even as possible It is all a matter of nursing But I'll say He had been going to say Your life but change The phrase your voice Never fear the tenor smiled Pneumonia I suppose He said interrogatively I'm sorry to say it is The doctor answered as he rose To depart and double pneumonia To be I'll send you something To take it once and he hurried Away before the housekeeper Had time to speak to him When the medicine arrived However she had the satisfaction Of administering a dose to Her master and she begged at the same Time that she might be allowed To stay in the house that night in case He wanted anything but this The tenor would not hear out He did not think he should want anything He could think of nothing unfortunately But the risk of mentioning Angelica's name She might come out a little earlier In the morning and get him some tea Probably he would be glad of some then He was not going to get up in the morning He really meant to take care of himself The housekeeper coaxed but in vain There was no place for her to Sleep in comfort, no bell to summon her And as to sitting up all night That was out of the question Who would do her work in the morning There would be plenty of people To look after him tomorrow One night could make no difference Had she heard the doctor's orders She would have disobeyed her master But as it was his manner Imposed upon her he spoke So confidently and accordingly The house of the usual hour To the tenor's great relief When she had gone he was seized With an attack of hemoptysis And after he had recovered From that sufficiently He went to bed Or rather he found himself there Not knowing quite how it had come to pass For the disease had made rapid progress In the last few hours And he now suffered acutely His temperature was higher And the terrible sense of suffocation Continued to increase It was at this time that the dean In his comfortable easy chair Looked up from the tenor's note And said to his wife deprecatingly He is ill it seems And wishes to see me Do you think I need go tonight No my dear, certainly not Was the emphatic reply There cannot be much the matter with him I saw him out only yesterday Or the day before And at all events it will do In the morning you must consider yourself So the dean stayed at home To lay up a lifelong regret for himself But not with an easy conscience Yet a sort of feeling that it would be well to go But which is dislike to turn He out on a raw night Like that would not have outweighed Without his wife's word in the scale Nothing was being done to relieve the tenor There were no medicines regularly administered No soothing drinks for him No equitable temperature No boiling water to keep the atmosphere Moist with steam, the common Necessaries of such a case All these the tenor knowing his danger Had composedly foregone last perchance In a moment of delirium he should mention A lady's name And that he had had the foresight to do so Was a cause of earnest thanksgiving to him When every breath of cold air began to stab Like a knife through his lungs And his senses wandered away for a length of time Which he could not compute And he became conscious that he was uttering His thoughts aloud in spite of himself It is not so very long till morning He found himself saying once I will just lie still and bear it till then I'm drowsy enough and in the morning But now all at once he asked himself Was there to be any more mourning for him He was too healthy minded, too long for death And too brokenhearted to shrink from it His first feeling, however, when he realized The near prospect was nothing but a kind Of mild surprise that it should be near And even this was instantly dismissed No more mourning for him meant little Leisure to think of her And ere he hastened to fold his hands And bow his golden head Lord, Lord, he entreated in the midst Of his martyrdom, maker a good woman yet The bells above him broke in upon his prayer Amen and amen, they seemed to say And then the chime full fraught for him With promise rang its constant message out And as he listened his heart expanded with hope His last earthly sorrow slipped away from him And his soul relied upon the certainty That his final supplication was not in vain After this he was conscious of nothing But his own sufferings for a little Then there came a blank and next he thought He was singing, he heard his own marvelous voice And wondered at it and he remembered that Once before he had had the same experiences But when or where he could not recall Now he would faint have stopped For every note was a dagger in his breast Yet he found himself forced to sing Till at last the pain aroused him When full consciousness returned a terrible thirst Devoured him, what would he not have given For a drink, something to drink And someone to bring it to him What made him think of his mother Just then, where was his mother It was just as well perhaps She should not be there to see him suffer It never a bitter thought in his mind about Any personal thing, nor did he dream Of bemoaning the cruel fate which left him now At his death as at his birth deserted What he did think of were the many kind people Who would have been only too glad to come To his assistance had they but known his need But the torment of thirst increased upon him He thought of the dear Lord in his Agony of thirst and bore it for a time Then he remembered that there must be water in the room With great difficulty he got up to get it for himself His face was haggard and drawn by this time And there were great black circles round his sunken eyes But the expression of strength and sweetness Had been intensified, if anything And he never looked more beautiful than then It seemed like a day's journey to the wash stand He reached it at last, however Reached it and grasped the carafe With such a feeling of relief and thankfulness Alas, it was empty, so also was the jug The woman had forgotten for once to fill them And there was not a drop of water to moisten his lips Tears came at this and he sank into a chair He was hard and he was much exhausted But still there was no reproach upon his lips Presently he found himself in bed again With his pillows arranged so as to prop him up The struggle for breath was awful And he could not lie down He had only to fight for a little longer, however Then suddenly the worst was over And at the same moment, as it seemed to him The chime rang out again triumphantly And almost immediately afterward His first friend and foster father The rough collier grasped his hand But he had scarcely greeted him When his second friend arrived And bending over him called him As of old Julian, my dear, dear boy This reminded the tenor Where is the boy, he said Is the window open? It is time he came Isra, Phil, I'm here Was the soft response The tenor's face became radiant All whom he had ever cared for Were present with him coming as he called them Even the dean who is kneeling now Beside his bed murmuring Acustom prayers What happiness, the tenor murmured I was so sorrowful this afternoon And now a happy death, a happy death Ah boy, do you not see That he gives us our hearts desire He slumbers not nor sleeps And the tenor's face shone Then the chime was ringing again And now it never ceased for him He had sunk into the last dreamy lethargy From which only the clash of the bells above Roused him hour by hour During the few that remained But all sense of time was over The hours were won And so the beloved music accompanied him Till his spirit rose Enraptured to the glory Of the beatific vision itself It was just at the dawn When the boy was wont to leave him That according to his ancient faith The dear-earned wings were given him The angel-guarding led him And the true and beautiful pure spirit Was welcomed by its kindred into everlasting joy End of Book 5, Chapter 4 Book 5, Chapter 5 of the heavenly twins This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer Please visit LibriVox.org The Heavenly Twins by Sarah Grant Book 5, Chapter 5 When Angelica heard those dreadful words He's dead miss, didn't you know And buried yesterday Her jaw dropped And for a moment she felt the solid earth Real beneath her The color left her face and returned to it Red chasing white As one breath follows another And she glared at the woman For her first indignant thought Was that she was being insulted With a falsehood, the thing was impossible He could not be dead And buried yesterday The woman repeated, I don't believe you Angelica exclaimed stamping her foot Imperiously The woman drew herself up Gave one indignant look then turned her back And walked into the house Angelica ran down the passage after her And grasped her arm I beg your pardon, she said But oh, do tell me, do make me understand For I cannot believe it, I cannot believe it The woman pushed open the sitting room door And let her in, was you a friend of his miss Or man, she asked I am Mrs. Kilroy of Ilver Thorpe Angelica answered, yes, I was a friend of his I cared for him greatly, it is only a few days Since I saw him alive and well Oh, it isn't true, it isn't true She broke off wringing her hands I cannot believe it The woman sat down through her apron back over her face And rocked herself to and fro Angelica dazed and dried, stared at her stupidly The shock had stunned her Presently the woman recovered herself And seen the lady's stony face Forgot her own trouble for the moment And hastened to help her I don't wonder, you took to my lady She said it's been an awful blow To a many an awful blow I never thought when they used to come and see him here In their fine carriages and with their servants and their horses And that as it was anything but the music brought him Though mind you, he was as easy with them as they With him, oh dear, oh dear Angelica's lips were so parts She could hardly articulate Tell me, she gasped, tell me all I cannot understand The woman fetched her some water Back a bit in this chair, ma'am She said, and I'll just tell you It'll come easier when you know When one knows it helps a body You see, ma'am, it was this way And then she poured forth the narrative Of those last sad days omitting no detail And Angelica listened dry-eyed at first But presently she was seized upon By the pitifulness of it all And then like scattered raindrops That preceed a heavy shower The great tears gathered in her eyes And slowly overflowed Four runners of a storm which burst At last in deep convulsive sobs That rend her so that her suffering body Came to the relief of her mind I wanted to stay with him That last night and see to him The housekeeper proceeded for the doctor's Very words to me was When I went to fetch him Before ever he had come to see What was the matter, he says Knowing me for how many years he says You won't look after him Well, I'm sure Mrs. Jenkins, he says And I answered, yes, sir, please God I will, for I felt as something Was hanging over me then I did the little I knowed what it was And I did my best to persuade him To let me stay that night and nurse him But he wouldn't hear of it He said there wasn't no need And what with the way he had As you didn't like to go again Him in nothing and what with His being so cheerful like he imposed Upon me so I went away Oh, it's been a bad business Shaking her head Disconsolently a bad business To think of him being alone That night without a soul near him And it is last on earth He'd not let a dog die So he wouldn't Angelica's sobs redoubled But I couldn't rest man The woman went on the whole night Through I kept waking up And thinking of him And I heard every hour strike Till at last I couldn't stand it no longer And I just got up and came to see How he was I'd have been less tired If I'd have sat up all night with him And I came here And as soon as I opened the doorman There she threw her hands before her I knew there was something For the smell that met me in the passage It was just for all the world Fresh turned clay But still I didn't think it was until afterward That I'd note it was his grave And I went upstairs man Not imagining nothing neither And tapped at his door And he didn't answer so I opened this softly And says, how are you this morning sir? I says quite softly like in a whisper For fear of waking him If he should be asleep Oh dear, oh dear I needn't have been so careful And says it again, how are you sir? This morning I says I hope you had a good night I says, but still he Didn't answer and somehow It struck me man That the house was very quiet It seemed kinda unnatural still If you understand So just without knowing why Like I pushed the door open Showing how she did it with her hands Little by little bit by bit All for fear of disturbing him Did at last I steps in Making no noise Oh dear, oh dear She threw her apron up over her face again And rocked herself as she stood And there he was man She resumed huskily Propped up by pillows in the bed So as to be almost sitting And the top one was a great broad pillow Very white for he was always Most particular about such things And Adam all of the very best And his face was turned away From me as I came in Man so that I only saw it Sidewise and just at first I thought he was asleep Very sound she wiped Her eyes with her apron and shook Her head several times and there's A little window to his room What slides along instead of opening Up she proceeded when she had Recovered herself sufficiently With small pains and outside There's roses and honey sucklers What made shadows that flickered In the morning was gusty though bright And they deceived me I thought he was breathing natural But while I stood there the sun shone in And just touched the edges of his air Ma'am and it looked For all the world like a crown of gold Against the white pillars it did indeed Hey ma'am, I don't wonder you take on This emphatically Upon a fresh outburst Of uncontrollable grief from Angelica For I says to myself When the light fell on his face Strong like that it's the face Of an angel I says But they're raising her hands Bombs outward slowly And bringing them down to her knees Again I can't tell you But his lips were just a little Part of ma'am with a sort Of look on him not a smile you Understand but just a look that sweet Has made you feel like smiling Yourself and his skin That transpired You'd have expected to see That through it but that didn't Make me think nothing for it was always so As clear as your own ma'am If you'll excuse the liberty And some folks said it was because He was a great lord in disguise For such do I have fine skins And some said it was because He was so good but I think it was Both myself But however ma'am Seeing he slept so sound I made bold to creep in a little nearer For he was a picture Shaking her head solemn And I was just thinking what A proud woman his mother would be If she was me to see him At that moment and him So beautiful when ma'am But hear her voice broke And it was some seconds before she could You might have heard me Scream at the cathedral And after I had screamed I'd given untold gold Not to have done it for it seemed To sin to make a noise and him So still And oh ma'am He'd been dying the old That last afternoon And I never suspected he'd More nor a cold Though I knew it was bad And he'd been alone the old The blessed night Of dying and sensible They say to the last And not a soul to give him So much as a drink and the thirst Awful so I'm told Up to try and get one for himself For the bottle off the wash Then was lying on the floor As if he'd dropped it out of his And he'd Got up to get a drink for himself She repeated impressively And him dying ma'am And there wasn't a drop of water there I noted I noted the moment I see that Bottle on the floor I'd forgot to bring up and eat Before I left the day before Myself when I did the room in the Morning I must fetch that water Once and never thought of it again From that moment Oh this is dreadful, dreadful Angelica moaned A woman ejaculated Sympathetically And the artist part of it was the way They came when it was too late Everybody and me, Evan Forgive me, thinking him Outer is mine When he wrote to him and There was his friends There was his lordship, the Marcus Sidon and his two sisters And that other great lady What is with them so much And they didn't say much Any of them except her But she wept and rung her And blamed herself and everybody For letting the master have His own way and leaving them As it seems it was Is wished to be left alone With some trouble he'd had But they had come to see him To Dr. Gilbrath and the Marcus Had many times why I let them In Myself and never Thought nothing of it in the way Of there being friends of his I thought they came about the music A she repeated They didn't say much any of them But you could see You could see and the dean came And you should have heard him Full of remorse he was Man for not, Evan come The night before though he was Asked and they all went upstairs To see him and then Lined there so quite and all And different to their grief yet with such A look of peace upon his face It was sweet and it was sad too For all the world as if He'd been hurt cruel By somebody in his Feelings but had forgiven Them and then been glad To go. Israfil Israfil the wretched angelica Moaned aloud, she could picture The scene her aunt fold a Prayerful but tearless only able To sorrow as saints and angels do Ideala with her great Human heart torn weeping and Wailing and wringing her hands On Claudia heart of aspect And soft of heart stealthily Wiping her tears as if ashamed Of them. Uncle Don sitting With his elbows on his knees And his face hidden in his hands And Dr. Gilbrath standing beside Waking down on the marble calm Of the dead with her face as Still but pained in expression Angelica knew them all so well It was easy for her imagination To set them before her in Characteristic attitudes at such a time And she was not surprised to find That they had been friends of his Although no hint of the fact Had ever reached her. They were A loyal set in that little circle And could keep counsel among Themselves as she knew They were followed as a matter of course Under similar circumstances So surely does the force of early Associations impelled us Instinctively to act on the Principles which we have been accustomed To see those about us habitually Pursue. And they covered In with flowers and One or other of those great Ladies in the plainest black Dresses with nothing except Just white linen collar and Cuffs stayed with him Until they took him to his Long own yesterday The woman concluded Then there was a long silence Broken only by Angelica's Heavy sobs Can't I do nothing for you, man The housekeeper asked dead last Yes, Angelica answered Leave me alone a while And the woman had tacked enough To obey. Then Angelica Got up and went to knock by The tenor's empty chair To take against the cold cushion. It isn't true, it isn't true It isn't true, she wailed again And again, but it was long Before she could think at all And her dry eyes ached For she had no more tears to shed. Presently she became aware About withered rose in the Hollow between the seat of the chair And the back. She knew it must be One of those she had thrown at him that night Perhaps the one he had carelessly twirled In his hand while they talked And inhaling its perfume As he listened, watching her with Quiet eyes. Dead, dead, she whispered Pressing the dry petals to her lips Then she looked about her The light of day falling on a scene Which was familiar only By the subdued light of a lamp Produced in effect as of chill And bareness. She noticed Worn places in the carpet And a certain shabbiness from constant Use in everything which had not And now affected her in an Inexpressibly dreary way. There was very little Difference, really, and yet there was Some change which, as she perceived It began gradually to bring The great change home to her. There was the empty chair, first relic In importance and saddest in significance. There were his pipes neatly Arranged on a little fretwork Rock which hung where bell Handles are usually put beside The fireplace. She remembered Having seen in her place one of them The last time she was there, and now She went over and touched his cold stem And her heart swelled. The stand of ferns and flowers, which he Had arranged with such infinite pains To please the boy, stood in It's a custom place, but ferns and Flowers alike were dead or drooping In their pots, untended and Uncared for, and some had been Taken away altogether, leaving gaps On the stand behind which the common Great empty and rusted from Peace appeared. There was dust On her violin case, and dust on His grand piano, her violin which He kept so carefully. She opened The violin case, expecting to find The instrument ruined by water, but No, it lay there snugly on its Velvet cushion without a scratch On its polished surface or an injured String. She understood, and Perhaps it had been one of his last Conscious acts to put it right for Her. He was always doing something For her always. They said Now that his income had been insufficient Or that he gave too much away, and That the melody had been rendered hopeless From the first by his weakness for want Of food. The woman who waited on Him had told her, so he'd Feed that chorus to brat, what come Every morning. She said in a Way that was shameful, but his own Breakfast had been dry bread and coffee Without neither sugar nor milk For many and many a day, and his dinner An ounce of meat at noon, with never A bite nor a sup to speak up at He, as often as not. Oh, Israfil, Israfil, she moaned When she thought of it. There had Always been food and wine too For that other hungry boy, food And wine which the tenor rarely Touched. She remembered that now To see the boy eat and be happy Was all he asked, and if hunger Pinched him, he filled his pipe And smoked till the craving ceased She saw it all now, but why Had she never suspected it? She who was rolling in wealth His face was wan, enough at times And warned to that expression of sadness Which comes of privation, but the Reason had never cost her a thought And it was all for her, or for him Whom he believed to be near and dear To her. No one else had ever Sacrificed anything for her sake No one else had ever cared for her As he had cared. No one else Would ever again. Oh, hateful deception She threw herself down on her knees Once more. Oh, Israfil, Israfil, she cried, only forgive Me, and I will be true, only forgive Me, and I will be true. It was Trying to rain outside the wind Swept down the close, in little gusts And dashed cold drops against the window Pain, and in the interval sprays Of the honeysuckle and clematis Tapped on the glass and the leaves Russell. This roused her, she had Heard them rustle like that, how many A moonlight night, with what a Different significance. And he Also used to listen to them, and I Told her that often, when he Had sounded like voices whispering And had comforted him, for they Had always said pleasant things. Oh, gentle, loving heart to which The very leaves spoke peace, so Spiritually perfect, was it? And these were the same creepers To which he had listened, these That tapped now, disconsolately, and This was his empty chair, but Where it was he who was tender For the tiniest living thing, who Had thought and cared for everyone But himself, what was the end of His reward? His hearth was cold, his Little house deserted, and the wind In the rain swept over his lonely Grave. She went to the window and Opened it, she would go to his grave, She would find him, while she stood On the landing stage at the Watergate waiting for the flat Fairy boat, which happened to be On the farther side of the narrow River to be pulled across to her The tenor's little chorister boy Came up and waited too. He had a Rustic posey in his hand, but The man on the contrary, he seemed Unnaturally subdued for a boy, and Angelica somehow knew who he was And conjectured that his errand Was the same as her own. If so, He would show her the way. The child seemed unconscious Of her presence, he stepped into the Boat before her, and they stood Side by side during the crossing, But his eyes were fixed on the Water, and he took notice of her On the other side of the landing When they reached it was a narrow Between a high wall on the one hand And a high hedge on the other, which Led up a steep hill to a road on The other side of which was a cemetery. The child followed this path, and then Angelica knew that she had been right In her conjecture, and had only To follow him. He led her quite Across the cemetery to a quiet Corner where was an open grassy Space away from the other graves. Two sides of it were sheltered By great horse chestnuts, old And umbrages, and from Where she stood she caught a glimpse Of the city below, of the cathedral Spire appearing above the trees Of morn, in the same direction A crest of masonry crowning the Wooded steep, and on the other side The country stretching away into a dim Blue hazy distance. It was A lovely spot, and she felt with A jealous pang that the care Of others had founded for him In life or death it was all the same He owed her nothing. The grass Was trampled about the grave, there In quite a concourse of people there The day before, it was covered with Floral tokens, wreaths and crosses With anchors of hope and hearts Of love, pathetic symbols at such A time. But was he really there under All that? If she dug down deep Should she find him? The little chorister boy had gone Straight to the grave and dropped on His knees beside it. He looked at The lovely hot house flowers and Then glanced ruefully at his own Humble offering. Sweet William Slapped dragons, stocks and nest Dershin. But he laid it there with The rest, and Angelica's heart was Wrung anew as she thought of the tender Pleasure this loving act of the child Would have been to the tenor, yet Her eyes were dry. The boy pressed The flowers on the grave as if He would nestle them closer to His friend, and then all at once As he patted the cold clay, his Lip trembled, his chest heaved With subs, his eyes overflowed With tears, and his face was Wrapped. Having accomplished his errand, He got up from the ground, slapped His knees to knock the clay off Them, and still sniffing and sobbing Walk back the way he had come In sturdy dejection. All that was womanly, and Angelica Went out to the poor little fella She would like to have comforted Him, but what could she say or do? Alas, alas, a woman who cannot Comfort a child, what sort of a Woman is she? Presently she found herself standing Looking up to the iron bridge that Crossed it with one long span. There were trees on one side of the Bridge, and old houses piled up On the other, picturesquely. Isra Phil had noticed them the Last time they rode down the river. The evening was closing in, the sky Was deepening from gray to indigo There was one bright star above the Bridge, but why had she come here? She had not come to see a bridge With one great star above it, nor To watch a sullen river slipping by The bridge she bent over the water Peering into it. She remembered that after the first Plunge there had been no great pain And even if there had been, what was Physical pain compared to this Terrible heartache, this dreadful Remorse, an incurable malady of the Mind which would make life a Burden to her forever more if She had the patience to live. Patience and Angelica, what an Impossible association of ideas. Her face relaxed at the End of it, and it was with a smile That she turned to gather her summer Drapery about her bending Sideways to reach back to the train Of her dress, as the insane fashion Of tight skirts which were Then in both necessitated. In the act, however, she became Aware of someone hastening after Her, and the next moment a soft White hand grasped her on And drew her back. Angelica, how can you stand so Near the edge in this uncertain I really thought you would lose your balance And fall in. It was Lady Fulda who spoke, uttering The words in and irritated Almost angry tone as mothers Do when they relieve their own feelings By scolding and shaking a child That has escaped with a bruise From some danger to life and limb But that was all she ever said On the subject and consequently Angelica Never knew if she had guessed Her intention or only been startled By her seeming carelessness As she professed to be. The sudden impulse passed from Angelica As is the way with morbid impulses The moment she ceased to be alone The first word was sufficient To take her out of herself To recall her to her normal state And to readjust her view of life Setting it back to the proper Focus, but still she looked out At the world from a low level If healthy, a dull, dead level The mean temperature of Which was chilly while the atmosphere Threatened to vary only from stagnant Apathy to boisterous discontent Positive, hopeless, and unconcealed Moved by common consent The two ladies turned from the river And walked on slowly together and in silence The feeling uppermost in Angelica's mind Was one of resentment Her aunt had appeared in the same Unexpected manner at the outset Of her acquaintance with the tenor And she objected to her reappearance Now at the conclusion It was like an incident in a melodrama The arrival of the good influence It was absurd If she had done it on purpose It would have been impertinent The entrance to Ilver Thorpe Was only a few hundred yards from where they had met And they had now reached a post turn Which led into the grounds Angelica opened it with a latch Key and then stood to let her aunt Pass through before her I suppose you will come in She said ungraciously But gave the discourtesy And the two walked on together up to the house Passing while their road lay Through the park under old forest trees That swayed continually In a rising gale And somewhat buffeted by the wind Till they came to a narrow path Sheltered by rows of tall shrubs On that thick foliage of which the rain Which had fallen at intervals During the day had collected And now splashed in their faces Or fell in wedding drops upon their dresses Struck by the heavy gusts swayed To and fro Angelica, whose nervous system Was peculiarly susceptible To discomfort of the kind Felt more wretched than ever She thought of a desolate grave With mud splashed bedraggle flowers upon it And of the golden head And beautiful calm face beneath Thought of him as we are apt to think Of our dead at first Imagining them still sentient Aware of the horror of their position But narrow beds with a terrible weight Of earth upon them left out alone In the cold uncomforted and uncared For while those they loved And trusted most reclined In easy chairs round blazing Fires talking forgetfully Something like this flashed through Angelica's mind in a cry As of acute pain escaped from her Unawares. Her companions Features contracted for a moment But otherwise she made no sign Of having heard. They had not Exchanged a word since they had Entered the grounds, and now The gentle lady folder began again With some trepidation, however, For Angelica's manner continued To be chilling, not to say repellent And she could not tell how her advances Would be received. I was looking For you, she said. For me, Raising her eyebrows. Yes, I went to his house this afternoon And heard from the housekeeper That a young lady had been there And I felt sure from the description Of the SBU, she said you had been wholly unprepared for the dreadful Noose, and it had been a great shock To you, and I thought you would probably Go to see his grave. It is always One's first impulse, and I was Going to look for you there when I saw you in the distance on the Turing path. Angelica Preserved her ungracious silence About her attention was attracted By the way in which her aunt spoke Of a tenor in regard to herself Apparently as if she had known To see. Lady Falter resumed however Before Angelica had asked herself How this could be. I'm afraid You will think me a very meddling Person, she said speaking to her Young niece with the respect And unassuming diffidence Of high-breeding and good feeling But perhaps you know how one fancies That one can do something or say Something or that one ought to try To. I believe it is a comfort To oneself to be allowed to try. Yes, Angelica Ascented thinking of her desire To help the child and throwing With interest at this expression Of an experience similar to her own I built something of that a while ago. They had reached the house By this time and Angelica ushered Her aunt in and led her to the Drawing room where she herself Usually sat, the one that opened Onto the terrace. This was the Sheltered side of the house that day And the windows stood wide open Making the room as fresh as the Air. They sat themselves down At one of them from which they could See the tops of trees swaying Immediately beneath and further Off the river than the green upland Terminating in a distance of Wooded hills. I always think this Is prettier than the view from Morn, although not so fine. Lady Folder remarked tentatively. She was a little afraid of the way In which Angelica in her present Move might receive any observation Of hers, however inoffensive. I remember when she spoke with the silence Which followed caused her to turn and look At Angelica. The latter had risen For some purpose she could not remember What and now stood staring before In a dazed way. I'm afraid You are not well, dear lady Folder said taking her hand Defectionately. I am well enough Angelica answered almost snatching Her hand away and making a great effort To control another tempest of tears Which threatened to overwhelm her But don't expect me to be polite You don't know. She took a turn Up and down the room and then the trouble Of her mind betrayed her. Oh Aunt Folder, she exclaimed clasping her Hands and ringing them. I've done Such a dreadful thing. I know Was the unexpected rejoinder. Angelica's hands dropped and she Stared at her aunt. Her thoughts Taking a new departure under the Shock of this surprise. Did he tell You? She demanded. No Lady Folder, stammered. I Saw you with him several times. At first I thought it was Diavolo And I did not wonder. He Is so naughty or rather he used To be. But when I asked with whom He was staying, everybody was amazed And maintained that he had not been In the neighborhood at all. So I wrote To him at Sandhurst and his reply convinced Me that I must have been mistaken. Then I began to suspect. In fact I was sure. Lady Folder spoke nervously And with her accustomed simplicity But Angelica felt the fascination Of the singular womanly power which Her aunt exercised and resented it. Is that all? She said Defiantly, why didn't you interfere? For one thing, because I did not Like to. Why? On Your account. Did you know I was Deceiving him? Yes. Or you would not have been with Him under such circumstances. Lady Folder rejoined. And then I thought upon the whole it was Better not to interfere. She broke Off recurring once more to Angelica's Question. I was sure he would find You out sooner or later. And then I knew he would do what was right. And in the meantime, the companion Shipped out such a man under any Circumstances was good for you. You seemed to know him very well. Yes, Lady Folder Answered he was at the university With your Uncle Don and George Galbraith. They were great Friends and used to come to the Castle, a good deal at that time That eventually, Julian's visits Continued. Lady Folder Colored painfully as she made this Last statement. And Angelica Always apt to put two and two together Instantly inserted this last fragment Into an imperfect story she possessed Of a love affair and disappointment Of her aunts and made the tale Complete. She had heard that Never made and glowed But that was in her earlier Maidenhood with such a fervent Flame of human love Which being rudely bluntly glanced And shot only to holy things To prayer and praise She gave herself too fast And alms. They must have been about the same age Angelica reflected as she examined The line less perfection of Lady Folder's face and then there glanced Through her mind a vision Of what might have been what ought to Have been as it seemed to her But why should he have been banished From the castle because you cared for him She asked point blind Lady Folder's confusion increased That was not the reason She faltered making a brave effort To confide in Angelica in the hope Of winning the latter's confidence In return there was a dreadful mistake Your grandfather thought he was Paying attention to me and spoke To him about it telling him I should Not be allowed to marry beneath Me and Julian said not meaning Any affront to me never dreaming That I cared that he had not Intended to ask me which made My father angry and unreasonable And he scolded me because he had made A mistake. Men do that do you know They have so little sense of justice And self-control and I had little Self-control in those days either And I retorted and told my father He had spoiled up my life where I Thought it would have been different If he had not interfered however I don't know she sighed regretfully But when such absolute Uncertainty prevailed it was impossible To say that Julian was beneath My birth and asked a position But there she broke off of course He never came amongst us anymore Otherwise I should have known him all my life Angelica exclaimed and there would Have been none of this misery They have returned to their seats and She sat now frowning for some Seconds then asked her aunt does Uncle Don know did you tell him About my escapade? No You are a singularly reticent Person. I am a singularly Soar-hearted one lady Folder answered and very full of remorse For I think now I might have done Something to prevent she stammered The final catastrophe Angelica concluded then you are Laying his death at my door Oh no heaven forbid Her aunt protested a long Pause ensued which was broken by Lady Folder rising it is time I return she said come back With me tomorrow it would be less miserable For you than staying here alone tonight Angelica looked up at her For a second or two without perfectly Blank countenance then rose slowly How do you propose to return She asked I had not Thought of that I left the carriage In morning quest lady Folder answered really on Folder Angelica snapped then rang The bell impatiently you can't walk Back to morning quest and being Time for dinner at the castle also I should think the carriage immediately This was to the man who had answered The bell you will accompany me Lady Folder meekly pleaded I suppose so was the Ungracious rejoinder that is If you will decide for me I am Tired of action I just want to drift Come then said lady Folder kindly End of Book 5 Chapter 5 Book 5 Chapter 6 Of the heavenly twins All the LibriVox recordings Are in the public domain For more information Or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org The heavenly twins by Sarah Grand Book 5 Chapter 6 I am tired of action I just want to drift I am tired of action I just want to drift This was the new refrain To Angelica's thoughts She was tired of thinking too But thought ran on An inexhaustible stream And the more passive she became To the will of others outwardly The more active was her mind She leaned back Languidly in the carriage Beside her aunt As they drove together through the city To mourn and remained silent The whole time And motionless all but her eyes Which roved incessantly From object to object While she inwardly rendered An account to herself of each And of her own state of mind Keeping up disjointed Comments, quotations And reflections Consciously but without power To check the flow There were a few blessed moments Of oblivion Caused by the bustle Of their departure from the house Angelica looked up And instantly her intellect awoke They were driving down the avenue The green leaves rustle overhead Was the first impression That formulated itself into words The carriage wheels roll rhythmically Every faculty is on the alert There is something unaccustomed In the aspect of things Things familiar This once familiar scene A new point of view The change is in me To ride down that lane Blackberries the day I found a worm In one hug Diavolo, Diavolo No longer in touch 100,000 miles away What does it matter? I'm tired of action, I just want to drift I'm tired of action, I just want to drift Just want to drift Drifting out to mourn a restful place But I shall drift from thence again Wither better be steered No, though I'm not a wooden ship to be steered But a human soul With a sacred individuality To be preserved and the grand right Of private judgment What happens when such ennobling privileges Are sacrificed Demon worship, grand papa The old Duke sat in his velvet cap In a carved oak chair in the Oriole room Nonsense And aunt, bolder As passive as a cow Is she though? Is Angelica Was a cow for all that she's so still? Poor daddy, drudging at the house Just now, not thinking of me I hope not, do I hope not No, he belongs to me And I do care for him The kind eyes, the kind caress The kind thought, Angelica dear Oh daddy, I'm sorry I tormented you Sorry, sorry, the lonely grave The lonely grave, oh Israfil Dead, dead, long dead And my heart is a handful of dust The horses hoofs Beat out the measure of my misery The green leaves rustle overhead The air is delicious after the rain The dust is laid Only this afternoon I went to see him What was I thinking of Can I bring him back again Never again, never again Only this afternoon But time is not measured by minutes Time is measured by the consciousness of it He's dead, miss, haven't you heard And buried yesterday Dead, dead, long dead The dearest friend to me The kindest man The best conditioned and unweary Spirit in doing courtesies On through the dim Rich city, a pretty girl And poor, do you envy me My dear, stare at me hard I am a rich lady you see Asked everywhere The daughter of a hundred urls You are not one to be desired The palace, poor Edith Here we are at the castle hill And that idiot Aunt Folder Has forgotten her carriage Shall I remind her There is still time to turn back No, don't trouble yourself Let them alone and they'll come home I wish I had no memory It is a perfect nuisance to have to think In inverted commas all the time And Shakespeare's the greatest bore of all The whole of life could be Set to his expressions That cannot be quite right In his words Diavolo and I tried once to talk Shakespeare for a whole day I made the game, but Diavolo Could remember nothing but to be or not to be Which went no way at all When he tried to live on it So he said Shakespeare was wrought And I pulled his hair I wish I could stop thinking Suspend my thoughts, the pine woods From the top of the upright pine The snow lumps fall with the thud Come from where the sunbeams shine The heart of the mud The heart of the mud Four oblivion, nirvana The dewdrop slips into the shining sea We're slipping into the courtyard of the castle How many weary women Waiting, happy women Despairing women, thoughtful women Thoughtless women have those rows of Winking windows eyed as they entered Women are much more interesting than men The lonely grave Angelica, Lady Folder Exclaimed as they drew up at the door I've left the carriage in Morning Quest Yes, I know, said Angelica My dear child, why didn't you remind me? Angelica shrugged her shoulders Let them alone, and they'll come home Recurred to her, and then I must be more gracious Aunt Folder allowed Who are here? Your uncle Dawn And company, I suppose, Angelica Concluded derisively Your Aunt Claudia and her friend are also here Lady Folder corrected her with dignity Not exactly a successful Attempt to be gracious Angelica's thoughts ran on Ah, well, what does it matter? Living that live, forget and forgive Forgetting is forgiving, and everyone Forgets, and then again, piano The lonely grave, the lonely grave At dinner, she sat beside her grandfather Her uncle being opposite, silent And serious as usual But they were all subdued that night Except the old Duke, who weren't aware Of any cause for their painful preoccupation Had to see Angelica who roused him As a rule with her wonderful spirits Chatted inconsequently But Angelica's unnatural quietity Could not escape the attention of the rest Of the party, and inquiring glances Were directed to Lady Folder In the calm of whose passion Lest demeanor, however, there was no Consciousness of anything unusual To be read, and of course, no questions Were asked. In the drawing Room after dinner, Angelica sat On a velvet cushion at her uncle's Feet, and rested her head against His knee, close beside her There was a long, narrow mirror Led into the wall of the room like a panel And in this, she could see herself And him reflected. At first She turned from the group impatiently But presently, she looked again And began to study her uncle's appearance With conscious deliberation. It was As if she had never seen him before And was receiving a first impression Lord Dawn was one of those men Who make one think of another Ficturesque age. He would have Look natural in black velvet and point lace He was about five and thirty At that time, to judge by his appearance Tall, well-made and strong With a slim strength of a racehorse All superfluous fleshed And bone-bread out of him His skin was dark, clear and colorless His hair black, wavy and abundant His eyes deblue a contrast Inherited from an Irish mother A Spanish Hidalgo in appearance Angelica decided at this point It was a sad face As hybrid faces often are You would not have been surprised to hear That his life had been blighted At the outset by some great sorrow Or disappointment, but it was a strong Face to the face of a manly man You would have said and have won With self-denial, courage, endurance And devotion enough for a hero And a martyr. Angelica, her grandfather Broke in upon her reflections With kindly concern, you look pale Do you not feel well, my dear child? Not exactly, thank you Angelica answered, mendaciously With formal politeness, hoping thereby To save herself the annoyance Of further remarks, then inwardly added Sick at heart, in very truth To save her conscience, which was Painfully sensitive just then When anyone addressed her thought Was suspended by the effort to answer After which the rush returned But the current had usually set In a new direction, as was now the case Her uncle, as seen in the mirror Gave place when she had spoken To the tenor's long loat room As she had seen it that afternoon The light shone in and showed The shabby places, should the light Be shut out to conceal what is wrong Oh, no, show up, expose, make evident Let in knowledge the light But here her grandfather arose The evening was to end with service In the chapel where you come Angelica, he asked, do you feel Equal to the exertion? Oh, yes Angelica answered indifferently Letting herself go again to drift With the stream. The private chapel At morn was lavishly decorated An ideal shrine, the beauty of which Alone would have inclined your heart To prayer and praise by reason Of the pleasure it gave you and of The desire which is always a part Of this form of pleasure to express Your gratitude in some sort. On this occasion, the altar was Brilliantly illuminated and as She passed in before Lord Dawn She was attracted like a child by The light and stationed herself So as to see it fully admiring It as a spectator, but only so The scene, although familiar, was Always impressive, being so Beautiful, and as she settled Herself on a chair apart, her spirit Revived under its influence enough To enable her to entertain the hope That by force of habit and association That sensation of well-being Which is due to the refined and Delicate flattery of the senses Assoothing without excitement Merging in content and Restful to the verge of oblivion Would steal over her and gradually Possess her to the exclusion of all Importunate and painful thought And this was what happened. It came at a pause in the service When the people bent their heads and Seemed to wait, or rather fathered Upon that impressive moment as Did the organ prelude and the First notes of a glorious voice The voice of a woman who suddenly Sang. Angelica looked up amazed by The fervor of it while a feeling not Knew but strained from its intensity Took possession of her, steeping her Soul in bliss, a feeling that made Her both tremble and be glad. She thought no more of the lonely Grave but of an angel in ecstasy An angel in heaven, she looked Around, she raised her eyes to The altar, she tried to seize upon Some idea which should continue With her and be a key with which She could unlock this fountain of Joy hereafter when she would. She almost felt for the moment as If it would be worthy to grovel for Such opium at the knees of an Oleo saccharine priest and Contribute to his support forever. She tried to think of something To which to compare the feeling But in vain. In the effort to fix It, her mind and memory became a Blank and for a blissful interval She could not think, she could only Feel. Then came the inevitable Moment of grateful acknowledgement When her senses brought of their Best to pay for their indulgence, Their best on this occasion being That vow to his refill which Presently she found herself renewing She would indeed be true. After this surfeit of sensuous Distraction, she retired to her room The old room as far away from the Avolos as possible which she Had always occupied at the castle. She dismissed her maid and sat Down to think but she was suffering From nervous irritability by the This time and could not rest. She drew up a blind and looked out Of the open window. The night was Calm, the air was freshly caressing A crescent moon hung in the Indigo sky and there were stars Bright stars up from the pine Woods which clothed the castle hill Balsamic airs were wafted And murmurs came as the voices Inviting friendly voices of nature Claiming a kinship with her Which she herself had recognized From her earliest childhood. Out there in the open was the Unpolluted altar at which she was Bidden to worship and in view of That with the healthy breath of Night expanding her lungs Revivingly she felt that her late Experiences in the midst of perfumes Too sweet to be wholesome and With the help of accessories too Luxurious to be anything but Intervating had been degrading To that better part of her to Which the purity and peace of night Appealed. She would go shrive In solitudes and listen to the voice Which spoke to her heart alone Saying only be true in the silence Of those scenes incomparable which Tend to reverence, promote endeavor And prolonged love. She went To her door opened, it looked out And listened. The corridor was all In darkness and excessive silence Pervaded to place. The whole Household had apparently retired With confident steps although In the dark Angelica went to Diavolo's room and presently Closed, these she put on And then without haste went Downstairs, across the hall opened A narrow door which led to a dark Damped, flagged passage Along which she grew up for some distance Then descended a crooked stone staircase At the foot of which was a heavy door This she opened with the key Careless of the noise she made And bound herself out in the open air Under the stars on a gravel walk With a broad lawn stretched before her She stood a moment breathing deeply in The pure enjoyment of the air Then put up both hands to rearrange A little clawed cap she wore Which was slipping from off her abundant Hair. Then she threw up Her arms and stretched every limb In the joy of perfect freedom from restraint And then with strong bounds She clued the grassy space, dashed Down a rocky step and found herself A substance amongst the Shadows out in the murmuring woods When she returned she was making Less vigorous demonstrations of Super abundant strength and vitality But still her step was swift, firm And elastic. And she was Running up the grand staircase from The hall when she saw that the door At the top leading into the suite Of rooms occupied by Lord Dawn When he was at the castle was wide open Showing the room beyond brilliantly Lighted. She would have to pass That open door or stay downstairs Till it was shut, but the latter She did not feel inclined to do So it was scarcely apposed to nerve And herself for what might happen She continued rapidly to ascend the stairs As she expected when she reached the top Her uncle appeared. Oh, he exclaimed In surprise seeing Diavolo As he supposed emerging from the darkness I thought it was Angelica's step I fancied I heard her go down Some time ago, and I had been Waiting for her. She complained Of not feeling well this evening And I thought she might possibly want Something. Come in, he had turned To lead the way as he spoke. By the What are you doing here, you young rascal? Angelica overcome by One of her mischievous impulses And grinning broadly, boldly Followed her uncle into the room. I'd forgotten for a moment that you ought Not to be here. It is so natural to find You marauding about the place at night He pursued bending down to adjust The wick of a lamp that was flaring As he spoke. Angelica Sent down and coolly waited for him To turn and look at her, which he Did when he had done with the lamp His eyes unsuspectingly At first then with fixed attention Inquiringly. Angelica, he exclaimed How can you? I've been Out in the woods, she rejoined with her A custom candor, the suffocating Fumes of incense and orthodoxy Overpowered me in the chapel And I was miserable besides so sick But this fresh air Is a powerful tonic and it has Exhilarated me. The stars have Strengthened me. The voices of the night Spoke peace to me and the pleasant And invisible gave me welcome As one of themselves and showed me how To attain to their joy in life She bent forward to brush Some fresh earth from the leg of her Trousers, but you would have me Forgo these innocent, healthy, minded Invigorating exercises, I suppose Because I am a woman. She pursued You would allow Diavolo to Discord himself so it will and Approve rather than object, although He is not so strong as I am And then these clothes which are Uncomfortable and convenient for him Besides being a greater protection Than any you permit me to wear You think immodest for me, you mass Of prejudice. Lord dawn made no reply He had taken his seat and remained With his eyes fixed on the floor For some seconds after she had spoken There was neither agreement nor Descent in his attitude, however He was simply reflecting. What is it Angelica? He said at last Looking hurtful in the face What is what? She asked defiantly No matter. He answered, there is Something wrong I see and if it is Anything that you would like to talk About, I don't pretend to offer you Advice, but sometimes when one speaks You know, however, what a comfort it Is to talk a thing out as you used To call it when you were a little girl He looked at her and smiled when She entered the room fresh from the Open air, a brilliant color glowed In her cheeks, but now she was pale To her lips, which perceiving caused Him to rise hastily and add, but You yourself, in glancy of the clock It is nearly breakfast time, I'll go And get you something. After a Considerable interval he returned with A tray upon which was a plentiful Variety of refreshments, prawns, And aspic jelly, cold chicken And tongue, a freshly opened tin A pate de fra, croix, cake, Bread, butter and champagne. I think I've brought everything. He remarked Surveying the tray complacently When he had put it down upon the table beside her. You've forgotten the salt, snapped Angelica. His complacency vanished and he retired Apologetically to remedy the omission. Do you remember the night you and Diavolo Taught me where to find food in my father's House? He asked when he returned. Yes, Angelica answered with a grin And then she expanded into further Reminisces of that occasion By which time she was in such a good Humor that she began to feel hungry And under the stimulating influences Of food and champagne, she told Her uncle the whole story of her Intimacy with the tenor. Lord Dawn listened with interest, but almost In silence the occasion was not won As it appeared to him which it would Be well to improve. He discussed The matter with her, however, as well As he could without offering her advice Or expressing an opinion of her conduct And in consequence of this wise Forbearance on his part, she found Herself the better in every way For the interview. End of book 5 Chapter 6