The Rosary
Chapter XXXVIII
Perpetual Light
Moonlight on the terrace — silvery, white, serene. Garth and Jane had
stepped out into the brightness; and, finding the night so warm and still, and
the nightingales filling the woods and hills with soft- throated music, they
moved their usual fireside chairs close to the parapet, and sat there in restful
comfort, listening to the sweet sounds of the quiet night.
The solitude was so perfect; the restfulness so complete. Garth had removed
the cushion seat from his chair, and placed it on the gravel; and sat at his
wife's feet leaning against her knees. She stroked his hair and brow softly, as
they talked; and every now and then he put up his hand, drew hers to his lips,
and kissed the ring he had never seen.
Long tender silences fell between them. Now that they were at last alone,
thoughts too deep, joys too sacred for words, trembled about them; and silence
seemed to express more than speech. Only, Garth could not bear Jane to be for a
moment out of reach of his hand. What to another would have been: "I cannot let
her out of my sight," was, to him, "I cannot let her be beyond my touch." And
Jane fully understood this; and let him feel her every moment within reach. And
the bliss of this was hers as well as his; for sometimes it had seemed to her as
if the hunger in her heart, caused by those long weeks of waiting, when her arms
ached for him, and yet she dared not even touch his hand, would never be
appeased.
"Sweet, sweet, sweet — thrill," sang a nightingale in the wood. And Garth
whistled an exact imitation.
"Oh, darling," said Jane, "that reminds me; there is something I do so want
you to sing to me. I don't know what it is; but I think you will remember. It
was on that Monday evening, after I had seen the pictures, and Nurse Rosemary
had described them to you. Both our poor hearts were on the rack; and I went up
early in order to begin my letter of confession; but you told Simpson not to
come for you until eleven. While I was writing in the room above, I could hear
you playing in the library. You played many things I knew — music we had done
together, long ago. And then a theme I had never heard crept in, and caught my
ear at once, because it was quite new to me, and so marvellously sweet. I put
down my pen and listened. You played it several times, with slight variations,
as if trying to recall it. And then, to my joy, you began to sing. I crossed the
room; softly opened my window, and leaned out. I could hear some of the words;
but not all. Two lines, however, reached me distinctly, with such penetrating,
tender sadness, that I laid my head against the window-frame, feeling as if I
could write no more, and wait no longer, but must go straight to you at once."
Garth drew down the dear hand which had held the pen that night; turned it
over, and softly kissed the palm.
"What were they, Jane?" he said.
"'Lead us, O Christ, when all is gone,
Safe home at last.'"
"And oh, my darling, the pathos of those words, 'when all is gone'! Whoever
wrote that music, had been through suffering such as ours. Then came a theme of
such inspiring hopefulness and joy, that I arose, armed with fresh courage; took
up my pen, and went on with my letter. Again two lines had reached me:"
"'Where Thou, Eternal Light of Light,
Art Lord of All.'"
"What is it, Garth? And whose? And where did you hear it? And will you sing
it to me now, darling? I have a sudden wish that you should sing it, here and
now; and I can't wait!"
Garth sat up, and laughed — a short happy laugh, in which all sorts of
emotions were mingled.
"Jane! I like to hear you say you can't wait. It isn't like you; because you
are so strong and patient. And yet it is so deliciously like you, if you FEEL
it, to SAY it. I found the words in the Anthem-book at Worcester Cathedral, this
time last year, at even- song. I copied them into my pocket-book, during the
reading of the first lesson, I am ashamed to say; but it was all about what
Balak said unto Balaam, and Balaam said unto Balak, — so I hope I may be
forgiven! They seemed to me some of the most beautiful words I had ever read;
and, fortunately, I committed them to memory. Of course, I will sing them to
you, if you wish, here and now. But I am afraid the air will sound rather poor
without the accompaniment. However, not for worlds would I move from here, at
this moment."
So sitting up; in the moonlight, with his back to Jane, his face uplifted,
and his hands clasped around one knee, Garth sang. Much practice had added
greatly to the sweetness and flexibility of his voice; and he rendered perfectly
the exquisite melody to which the words were set.
Jane listened with an overflowing heart.
"The radiant morn hath passed away,
And spent too soon her golden store;
The shadows of departing day
Creep on once more.
"Our life is but a fading dawn,
Its glorious noon, how quickly past!
Lead us, O Christ, when all is gone,
Safe home at last.
"Where saints are clothed in spotless white,
And evening shadows never fall;
where Thou, Eternal Light of Light,
Art Lord of All."
The triumphant worship of the last line rang out into the night, and died
away. Garth loosed his hands, and leaned back, with a sigh of vast content,
against his wife's knees.
"Beautiful!" she said. "Beautiful! Garthie — perhaps it is because YOU sang
it; and to-night; — but it seems to me the most beautiful thing I ever heard.
Ah, and how appropriate for us; on this day, of all days."
"Oh, I don't know," said Garth, stretching his legs in front of him, and
crossing his feet the one over the other. "I certainly feel 'Safe home at last'
— not because 'all is gone'; but because I HAVE all, in having you, Jane."
Jane bent, and laid her cheek upon his head. "My own boy," she said, "you
have all I have to give — all, ALL. But, darling, in those dark days which are
past, all seemed gone, for us both. 'Lead us, O Christ' — It was He who led us
safely through the darkness, and has brought us to this. And Garth, I love to
know that He is Lord of All — Lord of our joy; Lord of our love; Lord of our
lives — our wedded lives, my husband. We could not be so safely, so blissfully,
each other's, were we not ONE, IN HIM. Is this true for you also, Garth?"
Garth felt for her left hand, drew it down, and laid his cheek against it;
then gently twisted the wedding ring that he might kiss it all round.
"Yes, my wife," he said. "I thank God, that I can say in all things: 'Thou,
Eternal Light of Light, art Lord of All.'"
A long sweet silence. Then Jane said, suddenly: "Oh, but the music, Garthie!
That exquisite setting. Whose is it? And where did you hear it?"
Garth laughed again; a laugh of half-shy pleasure.
"I am glad you like it, Jane," he said, "because I must plead guilty to the
fact that it is my own. You see, I knew no music for it; the Anthem-book gave
the words only. And on that awful night, when little Rosemary had mercilessly
rubbed it in, about 'the lady portrayed'; and what her love MUST have been, and
WOULD have been, and COULD have been; and had made me SEE 'The Wife' again, and
'The- -' the other picture; I felt so bruised, and sore, and lonely. And then
those words came to my mind: 'Lead us, O Christ, when all is gone, safe home at
last.' All seemed gone indeed; and there seemed no home to hope for, in this
world." He raised himself a little, and then leaned back again; so that his head
rested against her bosom. "Safe home at last," he said, and stayed quite still
for a moment, in utter content. Then remembered what he was telling her, and
went on eagerly.
"So those words came back to me; and to get away from despairing thoughts, I
began reciting them, to an accompaniment of chords."
"'The radiant morn hath passed away,
And spent too soon her golden store;
The shadows of departing day — '"
"And then — suddenly, Jane — I SAW it, pictured in sound! Just as I used to
SEE a sunset, in light and shadow, and then transfer it to my canvas in shade
and colour,-so I heard a SUNSET in harmony, and I felt the same kind of tingle
in my fingers as I used to feel when inspiration came, and I could catch up my
brushes and palette. So I played the sunset. And then I got the theme for life
fading, and what one feels when the glorious noon is suddenly plunged into
darkness; and then the prayer. And then, I HEARD a vision of heaven, where
evening shadows never fall: And after that came the end; just certainty, and
worship, and peace. You see the eventual theme, worked out of all this. It was
like making studies for a picture. That was why you heard it over and over. I
wasn't trying to remember. I was gathering it into final form. I am awfully glad
you like it, Jane; because if I show you how the harmonies go, perhaps you could
write it down. And it would mean such a lot to me, if you thought it worth
singing. I could play the accompaniment — Hullo! Is it beginning to rain? I
felt a drop on my cheek, and another on my hand."
No answer. Then he felt the heave, with which Jane caught her breath; and
realised that she was weeping.
In a moment he was on his knees in front of her. "Jane! Why, what is the
matter; Sweet? What on earth — ? Have I said anything to trouble you? Jane,
what is it? O God, why can't I see her!"
Jane mastered her emotion; controlling her voice, with an immense effort.
Then drew him down beside her.
"Hush, darling, hush! It is only a great joy — a wonderful surprise. Lean
against me again, and I will try to tell you. Do you know that you have composed
some of the most beautiful music in the world? Do you know, my own boy, that not
only your proud and happy wife, but ALL women who can sing, will want to sing
your music? Garthie, do you realise what it means? The creative faculty is so
strong in you, that when one outlet was denied it, it burst forth through
another. When you had your sight, you created by the hand and EYE. Now, you will
create by the hand and EAR. The power is the same. It merely works through
another channel. But oh, think what it means! Think! The world lies before you
once more!"
Garth laughed, and put up his hand to the dear face, still wet with thankful
tears.
"Oh, bother the world!" he said. "I don't want the world. I only want my
wife."
Jane put her arms around him. Ah, what a boy he was in some ways! How full of
light-hearted, irrepressible, essential youth. Just then she felt so much older
than he; but how little that mattered. The better could she wrap him round with
the greatness of her tenderness; shield him from every jar or disillusion; and
help him to make the most of his great gifts.
"I know, darling," she said. "And you have her. She is just ALL YOURS. But
think of the wonderful future. Thank God, I know enough of the technical part,
to write the scores of your compositions. And, Garth, — fancy going together to
noble cathedrals, and hearing your anthems sung; and to concerts where the most
perfect voices in the world will be doing their utmost adequately to render your
songs. Fancy thrilling hearts with pure harmony, stirring souls with
tone-pictures; just as before you used to awaken in us all, by your wonderful
paintings, an appreciation and comprehension of beauty."
Garth raised his head. "Is it really as good as that, Jane?" he said.
"Dear," answered Jane, earnestly, "I can only tell you, that when you sang it
first, and I had not the faintest idea it was yours, I said to myself: 'It is
the most beautiful thing I ever heard.'"
"I am glad," said Garth, simply. "And now, let's talk of something else. Oh,
I say, Jane! The present is too wonderful, to leave any possible room for
thoughts about the future. Do talk about the present."
Jane smiled; and it was the smile of "The Wife" — mysterious; compassionate;
tender; self-surrendering. She leaned over him, and rested her cheek upon his
head.
"Yes, darling. We will talk of this very moment, if you wish. You begin."
"Look at the house, and describe it to me, as you see it in the moonlight."
"Very grey, and calm, and restful-looking. And so home-like, Garthie."
"Are there lights in the windows?"
"Yes. The library lights are just as we left them. The French window is
standing wide open. The pedestal lamp, under a crimson silk shade, looks very
pretty from here, shedding a warm glow over the interior. Then, I can see one
candle in the dining-room. I think Simpson is putting away silver."
"Any others, Jane?"
"Yes, darling. There is a light in the Oriel chamber. I can see Margery
moving to and fro. She seems to be arranging my things, and giving final
touches. There is also a light in your room, next door. Ah, now she has gone
through. I see her standing and looking round to make sure all is right. Dear
faithful old heart! Garth, how sweet it is to be at home to-day; served and
tended by those who really love us."
"I am so glad you feel that," said Garth. "I half feared you might regret not
having an ordinary honeymoon — And yet, no! I wasn't really afraid of that, or
of anything. Just, together at last, was all we wanted. Wasn't it, my wife?"
"All."
A clock in the house struck nine.
"Dear old clock," said Garth, softly. "I used to hear it strike nine, when I
was a little chap in my crib, trying to keep awake until my mother rustled past;
and went into her room. The door between her room and mine used to stand ajar,
and I could see her candle appear in a long streak upon my ceiling. When I saw
that streak, I fell asleep immediately. It was such a comfort to know she was
there; and would not go down again. Jane, do you like the Oriel chamber?"
"Yes, dear. It is a lovely room; and very sacred because it was hers. Do you
know, Aunt Georgina insisted upon seeing it, Garth; and said it ought to be
whitened and papered. But I would not hear of that; because the beautiful old
ceiling is hand-painted, and so are the walls; and I was certain you had loved
those paintings, as a little boy; and would remember them now."
"Ah, yes," said Garth, eagerly. "A French artist stayed here, and did them.
Water and rushes, and the most lovely flamingoes; those on the walls standing
with their feet in the water; and those on the ceiling, flying with wings
outspread, into a pale green sky, all over white billowy clouds. Jane, I believe
I could walk round that room, blindfold — no! I mean, as I am now; and point
out the exact spot where each flamingo stands."
"You shall," said Jane, tenderly. These slips when he talked, momentarily
forgetting his blindness, always wrung her heart. "By degrees you must tell me
all the things you specially did and loved, as a little boy. I like to know
them. Had you always that room, next door to your mother's?"
"Ever since I can remember," said Garth. "And the door between was always
open. After my mother's death, I kept it locked. But the night before my
birthday, I used to open it; and when I woke early and saw it ajar, I would
spring up, and go quickly in; and it seemed as if her dear presence was there to
greet me, just on that one morning. But I had to go quickly, and immediately I
wakened; just as you must go out early to catch the rosy glow of sunrise on the
fleeting clouds; or to see the gossamer webs on the gorse, outlined in diamonds,
by the sparkling summer dew. But, somehow, Margery found out about it; and the
third year there was a sheet of writing- paper firmly stuck to the pincushion by
a large black-headed pin, saying, in Margery's careful caligraphy: 'Many happy
returns of the day, Master Garthie.' It was very touching, because it was meant
to be so comforting and tactful. But it destroyed the illusion! Since then the
door has been kept closed."
Another long sweet silence. Two nightingales, in distant trees, sang
alternately; answering one another in liquid streams of melody.
Again Garth turned the wedding ring; then spoke, with his lips against it.
"You said Margery had 'gone through.' Is it open to-night?" he asked.
Jane clasped both hands behind his head — strong, capable hands, though now
they trembled a little — and pressed his face against her, as she had done on
the terrace at Shenstone, three years before.
"Yes, my own boy," she said; "it is."
"Jane! Oh, Jane — " He released himself from the pressure of those
restraining hands, and lifted his adoring face to hers.
Then, suddenly, Jane broke down. "Ah, darling," she said, "take me away from
this horrible white moonlight! I cannot bear it. It reminds me of Shenstone. It
reminds me of the wrong I did you. It seems a separating thing between you and
me — this cruel brightness which you cannot share."
Her tears fell on his upturned fate.
Then Garth sprang to his feet. The sense of manhood and mastery; the right of
control, the joy of possession, arose within him. Even in his blindness, he was
the stronger. Even in his helplessness, for the great essentials, Jane must lean
on him. He raised her gently, put his arms about her, and stood there, glorified
by his great love.
"Hush, sweetest wife," he said. "Neither light nor darkness can separate
between you and me: This quiet moonlight cannot take you from me; but in the
still, sweet darkness you will feel more completely my own, because it will hold
nothing we cannot share. Come with me to the library, and we will send away the
lamps, and close the curtains; and you shall sit on the couch near the piano,
where you sat, on that wonderful evening when I found you, and when I almost
frightened my brave Jane. But she will not be frightened now, because she is so
my own; and I may say what I like; and do what I will; and she must not threaten
me with Nurse Rosemary; because it is Jane I want — Jane, Jane; just ONLY Jane!
Come in, beloved; and I, who see as clearly in the dark as in the light, will
sit and play THE ROSARY for you; and then Veni, Creator Spiritus; and I will
sing you the verse which has been the secret source of peace, and the sustaining
power of my whole inner life, through the long, hard years, apart."
"Now," whispered Jane. "Now, as we go."
So Garth drew her hand through his arm; and, as they walked, sang softly:
"Enable with perpetual light,
The dulness of our blinded sight;
Anoint and cheer our soiled face
With the abundance of Thy grace.
Keep far our foes; give peace at home;
Where Thou art Guide, no ill can come."
Thus, leaning on her husband; yet guiding him as she leaned; Jane passed to
the perfect happiness of her wedded home.
— End —