Torpenhow gave him a letter with a black M. on the envelope flap. Dick put it into his pocket. There was nothing in it that Torpenhow might not have read, but it belonged to himself and to Maisie, who would never belong to him.
'When she finds that I don't write, she'll stop writing. It's better so. Icouldn't be any use to her now,' Dick argued, and the tempter suggested that he should make known his condition. Every nerve in him revolted. 'Ihave fallen low enough already. I'm not going to beg for pity. Besides, it would be cruel to her.' He strove to put Maisie out of his thoughts; but the blind have many opportunities for thinking, and as the tides of his strength came back to him in the long employless days of dead darkness, Dick's soul was troubled to the core. Another letter, and another, came from Maisie. Then there was silence, and Dick sat by the window, the pulse of summer in the air, and pictured her being won by another man, stronger than himself. His imagination, the keener for the dark background it worked against, spared him no single detail that might send him raging up and down the studio, to stumble over the stove that seemed to be in four places at once. Worst of all, tobacco would not taste in the darkness. The arrogance of the man had disappeared, and in its place were settled despair that Torpenhow knew, and blind passion that Dick confided to his pillow at night. The intervals between the paroxysms were filled with intolerable waiting and the weight of intolerable darkness.
'Come out into the Park,' said Torpenhow. 'You haven't stirred out since the beginning of things.'
'What's the use? There's no movement in the dark; and, besides,'--he paused irresolutely at the head of the stairs,--'something will run over me.'
'Not if I'm with you. Proceed gingerly.'
The roar of the streets filled Dick with nervous terror, and he clung to Torpenhow's arm. 'Fancy having to feel for a gutter with your foot!' he said petulantly, as he turned into the Park. 'Let's curse God and die.'
'Sentries are forbidden to pay unauthorised compliments. By Jove, there are the Guards!'
Dick's figure straightened. 'Let's get near 'em. Let's go in and look. Let's get on the grass and run. I can smell the trees.'
'Mind the low railing. That's all right!' Torpenhow kicked out a tuft of grass with his heel. 'Smell that,' he said. 'Isn't it good?' Dick sniffed luxuriously. 'Now pick up your feet and run.' They approached as near to the regiment as was possible. The clank of bayonets being unfixed made Dick's nostrils quiver.
'Let's get nearer. They're in column, aren't they?'
'Yes. How did you know?'
'Felt it. Oh, my men!--my beautiful men!' He edged forward as though he could see. 'I could draw those chaps once. Who'll draw 'em now?'
'They'll move off in a minute. Don't jump when the band begins.'
'Huh! I'm not a new charger. It's the silences that hurt. Nearer, Torp!--nearer! Oh, my God, what wouldn't I give to see 'em for a minute!--one half-minute!'
He could hear the armed life almost within reach of him, could hear the slings tighten across the bandsman's chest as he heaved the big drum from the ground.
'Sticks crossed above his head,' whispered Torpenhow.
'I know. I know! Who should know if I don't? H'sh!'
The drum-sticks fell with a boom, and the men swung forward to the crash of the band. Dick felt the wind of the massed movement in his face, heard the maddening tramp of feet and the friction of the pouches on the belts. The big drum pounded out the tune. It was a music-hall refrain that made a perfect quickstep--He must be a man of decent height, He must be a man of weight, He must come home on a Saturday night In a thoroughly sober state;He must know how to love me, And he must know how to kiss;And if he's enough to keep us both I can't refuse him bliss.
'What's the matter?' said Torpenhow, as he saw Dick's head fall when the last of the regiment had departed.
'Nothing. I feel a little bit out of the running,--that's all. Torp, take me back. Why did you bring me out?'?
