The Streets of Ascalon

She rested in silence for a while, then:

"Could I tell you?"

"My dear, my dear! – of course you can."

"I – it's been unsaid so long – there was nobody to tell it to. I've done my best to forget it – and for days I seem to forget it. But sometimes when I wake at night it is there – the horror of it – the terror sinking deeper into my breast… I was very young. You knew that?"

"Yes."

"You knew my mother had very slender means?"

"Yes."

"I wouldn't have cared; I was an imaginative child – and could have lived quite happy with my fancies on very, very little… I was a sensitive and affectionate child – inclined to be demonstrative. You wouldn't believe it, would you?"

"I can understand it."

"Can you? It's odd because I have changed so… I was quite romantic about my mother – madly in love with her… There is nothing more to say… In boarding-school I was perfectly aware that I was being given the best grooming that we could afford. Even then romance persisted. I had the ideas of a coloured picture-book concerning men and love and marriage. I remember, as a very little child, that I had a picture-book showing Cinderella's wedding. It was a very golden sort of picture. It coloured my ideas long after I was grown up."

She moved her head a little, looked up for an instant and smiled; but at his answering smile she turned her cheek to his shoulder, hastily, and lay silent for a while. Presently she continued in a low voice:

"It was when we were returning for the April vacation – and the platform was crowded and some of the girls' brothers were there. There were two trains in – and much confusion – I don't know how I became separated from Miss Buckley and my schoolmates – I don't know to this day how I found myself on the Baltimore train, and Gladys Leeds's brother laughing and talking and the train moving faster and faster… There is no use saying any more. I was as ignorant as I was innocent – a perfect little fool, frightened, excited, even amused by turns… He had been attentive to me. We both were fools. Only finally I became badly scared and he talked such nonsense – and I managed to slip away from him and board the train at Baltimore as soon as we arrived there… If he hadn't found me and returned to New York with me, it might not have been known. But we were recognised on the train and – it was a dreadful thing for me when I arrived home after midnight…"

She fell silent; once or twice he looked down at her and saw that her eyes were closed. Then, with a quick, uneven breath:

"I think you know the rest, don't you?"

"I think so."

But she went on in a low, emotionless voice: "I was treated like a damaged gown – for which depreciation in value somebody was to be made responsible. I suffered; days and nights seemed unreal. There were lawyers; did you know it?"

"No."

"Yes," she said wearily, "it was a bad dream – my mother, others —his family – many people strange and familiar passed through it. Then we travelled; I saw nothing, feeling half dead… We were married in the Hawaiian Islands."

"I know."

"Then – the two years began."

After a long while she said again: "That was the real nightmare. I passed through the depths as in a trance. There was nothing lower, not even hell… We travelled in Europe, Africa, and India for two years… I scarcely remember a soul I saw or one single object. And then —that happened."

"I know, dear."

A slight shudder passed over her:

"I've told you," she whispered – "I've told you at last. Shall I tell you more?"

"Not unless – "

"I don't know whether I want to – about the gendarmes – and that terrible woman who screamed when they touched her with the handcuffs – and how ill I was – "

She had begun to tremble so perceptibly that Quarren's arm tightened around her; and presently she became limp and motionless.

"This – what I have told you – is a very close bond between us, isn't it?" she said.

"Very close, Strelsa."

"Was I much to blame?"

"No."

"How much?"

"You should have left him long before."

"Why, he was my husband! I had made a contract; I had to keep it and make the best of it."

"Is that your idea?"

"That was all I could see to do about it."

"Don't you believe in divorce?"

"Yes; but I thought he'd be killed; I thought he was a little insane. If he'd been well mentally and merely cruel and brutal I would have left him. But one can't abandon a helpless person."

"Every word you utter," he said, "forges a new link in my love for you."

"You don't mean – love?"

"We mean the same I think – differing only in degree."

"Thank you. That is nice of you."

He nodded, smiling to himself; then, graver:

"Is your little fortune quite gone, Strelsa?"

"All gone – all of it."

"I see… And something has got to be done."

"You know it has… And I'm old before my time – tired, worn out. I can't work – I have no heart, no courage. My heart and strength were burnt out; I haven't the will to struggle; I have no capacity to endure. What am I to do?"

"Not what you plan to do."

"Why not? As long as I need help – and the best is offered – "

"Wouldn't you take less – and me?"