The Beth Book
She would lie awake at night, a prey to horrible thoughts, or start up
in the early morning with her mind all turgid with suspicions which
goaded her to rush out and act, act--see for herself--do something.
But the great difference now was that, although she was still seized
upon by the evil, it no longer had the same power to grieve her. She
had valiantly resisted it from the moment she recognised its nature,
but now she not only resisted it, she conquered it, and found relief.
When her imagination insisted on pursuing Dan to his haunts, she
deliberately and successfully turned her attention to other things.
She turned her attention to the friends she loved and trusted, she
dwelt on the kindness they had shown her, she forced herself to sit
down and write to them, and she would rise from this happy task with
her reason restored, the mere expression of affection having sufficed
to exorcise the devils of rage and hate.
But it was the strange exalted sentiment which her knight had inspired
that began, continued, and completed her cure. Day after day he came
riding down the road, riding into her life for a moment, then passing
on and leaving her, not desolate, but greatly elated. She had known no
feeling like this feeling, no hope or faith like the hope and faith
inspired by that man's mien. She did not know his name, she had never
heard his voice; their greeting--which was hardly a greeting, so
restrained was the glance and the brightening of the countenance which
was all the recognition that passed between them--was merely
momentary, yet, in that moment, Beth was imbued with joy which lasted
longer and longer each time, until at last it stayed with her for
good, restored the charm of life to her, re-aroused her dormant
further faculty, and quickened the vision and the dream anew. She
prayed again in those days fervently, and in full faith, as of old;
for when we pray with love in our hearts our prayers are granted, and
her heart was full of love--a holy, impersonal love, such as we feel
for some great genius, adored at a distance, for the grace of goodness
he has imparted to us. And her heart being full of love, her brain
teemed with ideas; the love she lived on, the ideas she held in
reserve, for she had been so weakened by all she had suffered that the
slightest exertion in the way of work exhausted her. In any case,
however, great ideas must simmer long in the mind before they come to
the boil, and the time was not lost.
In those days fewer people than ever came to the house. For weeks
together Beth never spoke to a soul except the servants and her
husband, and through the long hours when her head troubled her and she
could not work, she felt her isolation extremely. Mrs. Kilroy and her
other new friends sent her pamphlets and papers and hurried notes to
keep her heart up and inform her of their progress, and Beth, knowing
what the hurry of their lives was, and not expecting any attention,
was grateful for all they paid her. She had no fear of losing touch
with such friends after they had once received her into their circle
as one of themselves, however seldom she might see them, and it was
well for her mental health that she had them to rely on during that
time of trial, for without them she would have had no sense of
security in any relation in life.
She was gradually growing to be on much more formal terms with Dan
than she had been, thanks to her own strength of character. She found
she was able to reduce the daily jar, and even to keep his coarseness
in check, by extreme politeness. In any difference, his habit had been
to try and shout her down; but the contrast of her own quiet dignified
demeanour checked him in that. Beth had the magnetic quality which,
when steadily directed, acts on people and forces them into any
attitude desired; and Dan accommodated his manner and conversation to
her taste more now than he had ever done before; but he felt the
restraint, and was with her as little as possible, which, as she began
to recover, was also a relief--for his blatant self-absorption, the
everlasting I, I, I, of his conversation, and his low views of life,
rasped her irritable nerves beyond endurance.
One day, coming into the drawing-room about tea-time, with muddy boots
and his hat on, he found her lying on the sofa, prostrated with
nervous headache. The days closed in early then, and she had had the
fire lighted and the curtains drawn, but could not bear the gaslight
because of her head.
"Well, this isn't brilliant," he began, at the top of his voice. "A
little more light would suit me." He struck a match and turned the gas
full on. "That's better," he said; "and some tea would be refreshing
after my walk. I've done the whole trudge on foot this afternoon, and
I consider that's a credit to me. You won't find many rising young men
economising in the matter of horseflesh as I do, or in anything else.
I'll undertake to say I spend less on myself than any other man in the
diocese." He went to the door instead of ringing the bell, and shouted
down the passage to Minna to bring him some tea.
Beth shut her eyes and groaned inwardly.
When the tea came, Dan poured some out for himself, remarking, "I
suppose you've had yours." Beth had not, but she was beyond making any
effort to help herself at the moment. Dan, who always ate at a greedy
rate, left off talking for a little; and during the interval, Beth was
startled by something cold touching her hand. She opened her eyes, and
found a dainty little black-and-tan terrier standing up, with its
forepaws on the couch, looking at her.
"You're a pretty thing," she said. "Where have you come from?"
"Oh, is that the dog?" said Dan, looking round to see to whom she was
talking. "He followed me in. I don't know who he belongs to; but as I
happen to want a little dog, he's welcome."
"But he's very well-bred, isn't he," said Beth, "and valuable? Look at
his pencilled paws, and thin tail, and sharp ears pricked to
attention. He's listening to what we are saying with the greatest
intelligence. I'm sure he's a pet, and his owners will want him back."
"Let them come and fetch him, then," said Dan.
Then it occurred to Beth that Dan had probably bought him to present
to somebody, but chose to lie about it for reasons of his own, so she
said no more.
The next night, about ten o'clock, Dan was called out, and did not
return. Beth, being very wideawake, sat up late, playing patience
first of all, and then reading a shilling shocker of Dan's, which she
had taken up casually and become interested in. The story was of an
extremely sensational kind, and she found herself being wrought up by
it to a high pitch of nervous excitement. At the slightest noise she
jumped; and then she became oppressed by the silence, and found
herself peering into the dark corners of the room, and hesitating to
glance over her shoulder, as if she feared to see something. She
supposed the servants had not yet gone to bed, for she heard at
intervals what seemed to be a human voice. After a time, however, it
struck her that there was something unusual in the regularity of the
sound, and, although she continued to read, she found herself waiting
involuntarily, with strained attention, for it to be repeated. When it
occurred again, she thought it sounded suspiciously like a cry of
pain; and the next time it came she was sure of it. Instantly
forgetting herself and her nervous tremors, she threw down her book
and went to see what was the matter. She stood a moment in the hall,
where the gas had been left burning, and listened; but all was still.
Then she opened the door of communication into the kitchen regions,
and found that that part of the house was all in darkness. The
servants had gone to bed. Holding the door open, she stood a little,
and listened again; but, as she heard nothing, she began to think her
fancy had played her a trick, when, just beside her, as it seemed,
some one shrieked. Beth, gasping with terror, ran back into the hall,
and struck a match to light one of the bed-candles that stood on a
table, her impulse being to go to the rescue in spite of her deadly
fright. It seemed an age before she could get the candle lit with her
trembling hands, and, in the interval, the horrible cry recurred, and
this time she thought it came from the surgery. Could any sick person
have been left there locked up? Dan always kept the room locked up,
and Beth had hardly ever been in it. She went to the door now, bent on
breaking it open, but she found that for once the key had been left in
the lock. She turned it and entered boldly; but her candle flickered
as she opened the door, so that, at first, she could see nothing
distinctly. She held it high above her head, however, and as the flame
became steady she looked about her. There was no one to be seen. The
room was large and bare. All that it contained was a bookcase, some
shelves with books on them, a writing-table and chair, an arm-chair, a
couch, and another table of common deal, like a kitchen table, on
which was a variety of things--bottles, books, and instruments
apparently--all covered up with a calico sheet.
Beth, checked again in her search, was considering what to do next,
when the horrid cry was once more repeated. It seemed to come from
under the calico sheet. Beth lighted the gas, put down her candle, and
going to the table, took the sheet off deliberately, and saw a sight
too sickening for description. The little black-and-tan terrier, the
bonny wee thing which had been so blithe and greeted her so
confidently only the evening before, lay there, fastened into a sort
of frame in a position which alone must have been agonising. But that
was not all.
Beth had heard of these horrors before, but little suspected that they
were carried on under that very roof. She had turned sick at the
sight, a low cry escaped her, and her great compassionate heart
swelled with rage; but she acted without hesitation.
Snatching up her candle, she went to the shelves where the bottles
were, looked along the row of red labels, found what she wanted, went
back to the table, and poured some drops down the poor little tortured
creature's throat.
In a moment its sufferings ceased.
Then Beth covered the table with the calico sheet mechanically, put
the bottle back in its place, turned out the gas, and left the room,
locking the door after her. Her eyes were haggard and her teeth were
clenched, but she felt the stronger for a brave determination, and
more herself than she had done for many months.
Maclure only came in to bathe and breakfast next morning, and she
scarcely exchanged a word with him before he went out again; but in
the afternoon he came into the drawing-room, where she was writing a
letter, and began to talk as if he meant to be sociable. He had his
usual air of having lavished much attention on his personal
adornment--too much for manliness; and, in spite of the night work,
his hair shone as glossy black, his complexion was as bright and
clear, and his general appearance as fresh and healthy, as care of
himself and complete indifference to other people, except in so far as
his own well-being might be affected by them, could make it. Beth
watched him surveying himself in the glass from different points of
view with a complacent smile, and felt that his physical advantages,
and the superabundant vitality which made the business of living such
an easy enjoyable farce to him, made his inhuman callousness all the
more repulsive.
"I should go out if I were you," he said, peering close into the glass
at the corner of his eye, where he fancied he had detected the faint
criss-cross of coming crows' feet "I'd never stay mugging up in the
house, withering. Look at me! I go out in all weathers, and I'll