himself to think that her hour of watching was at an
end. A sleepy footman was his informant.
Women were in my lord’s dressing-room, he said.
Upstairs, at the death-chamber, Dacier paused.
No sound came to him. He hurried to his own room,
paced about, and returned. Expecting to see no
one but the dead, he turned the handle, and the two
circles of a shaded lamp, on ceiling and on table,
met his gaze.
DIANA A NIGHT-WATCH IN THE CHAMBER OF DEATH
He stepped into the room, and thrilled to hear the
quiet voice beside the bed: ‘Who is it?’
Apologies and excuses were on his tongue. The
vibration of those grave tones checked them.
‘It is you,’ she said.
She sat in shadow, her hands joined on her lap.
An unopened book was under the lamp.
He spoke in an underbreath: ’I have just
come. I was not sure I should find you here.
Pardon.’
‘There is a chair.’
He murmured thanks and entered into the stillness,
observing her.
‘You have been watching . . . . You must
be tired.’
‘No.’
‘An hour was asked, only one.’
‘I could not leave him.’
‘Watchers are at hand to relieve you’
‘It is better for him to have me.’
The chord of her voice told him of the gulf she had
sunk in during the night. The thought of her
endurance became a burden.
He let fall his breath for patience, and tapped the
floor with his foot.
He feared to discompose her by speaking. The
silence grew more fearful, as the very speech of Death
between them.
’You came. I thought it right to let you
know instantly. I hoped you would come to-morrow’
‘I could not delay.’
‘You have been sitting alone here since eleven!’
‘I have not found it long.’
‘You must want some refreshment . . . tea?’
‘I need nothing.’
‘It can be made ready in a few minutes.’
‘I could not eat or drink.’
He tried to brush away the impression of the tomb
in the heavily-curtained chamber by thinking of the
summer-morn outside; he spoke of it, the rosy sky,
the dewy grass, the piping birds. She listened,
as one hearing of a quitted sphere.
Their breathing in common was just heard if either
drew a deeper breath. At moments his eyes wandered
and shut. Alternately in his mind Death had vaster
meanings and doubtfuller; Life cowered under the shadow
or outshone it. He glanced from her to the figure
in the bed, and she seemed swallowed.
He said: ’It is time for you to have rest.
You know your room. I will stay till the servants
are up.’
She replied: ‘No, let this night with him
be mine.’
‘I am not intruding . . .?’
‘If you wish to remain . . .’
No traces of weeping were on her face. The lampshade
revealed it colourless, and lustreless her eyes.
She was robed in black. She held her hands clasped.
