Diana tempest

DianaTempest
byMaryCholmondeley


Chapter1
‘Lapiredesmesalliancesestcelleducoeur.’
ColonelTempestandhisminiatureten-year-oldreplicaofhimselfhadmade
themselvesascomfortableascircumstanceswouldpermitinoppositecornersof
thesmokingcarriage.ItwasachillymorninginApril,andtheboyhadwrapped
himselfinhistravellingrug,andturneduphislittlecollar,anddrawnhissoft
littletravellingcapoverhiseyesinexact,thoughunconscious,imitationofhis
father.ColonelTempestlookedathimnowandthenwithpaternalcomplacency.
Itiscertainlyasatisfactiontoseeourselvesrepeatedinourchildren.Wefeelthat
thetypewillnotbelost.Eachneweditionofourselveslessensanaturalfearlest
aworkofvalueandimportanceshouldlapseoutofprint.
ColonelTempestatfortywasstillveryhandsome,andmust,asayoungman,
havepossessedgreatbeautybeforethecharacterhadhadtimetoassertitselfin
theface—beforeselfishnesshadlearnedtolookoutofthecleargrayeyes,anda
weakself-indulgenceandirresolutionhadloosenedthewell-cutlips.
ColonelTempest,asarule,tooklifeveryeasily.Ifhehadfitsofuncontrolled
passionnowandthen,theywerequicklyover.Ifhisfeelingsweretouched,that
wasquicklyovertoo.Buttodayhisfacewasclouded.Hehadtriedtheusual
antidotesforanimpendingattackofwhathewouldhavecalled‘theblues,’by
whichhemeantanyspeciesofreflectioncalculatedtogivehimthatpassing
annoyancewhichwasthedeepestformofemotionofwhichhewascapable.But
PunchandtheSportingTimes,andeventhecomicFrenchpaperwhichArchie
mightnotlookat,werepowerlesstodistracthimto-day.Atlasthetossedthe
latteroutofthewindowtocorruptthemoralsoftrespassersontheline,and,asit
was,afterall,lesstroubletoyieldthantoresistsettledhimselfinhiscorner,and
gavewaytoaseriesofgloomyandanxiousreflections.

Hewasbentonamissionofimportancetohisoldhome,toseehisbrother,who
wasdying.Hismindalwaysrecoiledinstinctivelyfromthethoughtofdeath,and
turnedquicklytosomethingelse.Itwasfourteenyearssincehehadbeenat
Overleigh,fourteenyearssincethateventhadtakenplacewhichhadlefta
deadlyenmityofsilenceandestrangementbetweenhisbrotherandhimselfever
since.Andithadallbeenaboutawoman.ItseemedextraordinarytoColonel
Tempest,ashelookedback,thataquarrelwhichhadledtosuchserious


consequences—whichhad,asheremembered,spoilthisownlife—shouldhave
comefromsoslightacause.Itwaslikelosingthesightofaneyebecauseafly
hadcommittedtrespassinit.Aman’smentalrankmaygenerallybedetermined
byhisestimateofwoman.Ifhestandslowheconsidersher—Heavenhelpher!
—suchanoneashimself.Ifheclimbshighhetakeshisidealofheralongwith
him,and,tokeepitsafe,placesitabovehimself.
ColonelTempestpursuedthereflectionssuggestedbyanuntaxedintellectof
averagecalibrewhichhebelievedtobeprofound.Ameregirl!Howmenthrew
upeverythingforwomen!Whatfoolsmenwerewhentheywereyoung!After
all,whenhecametothinkofit,therehadbeensomeexcuseforhim.(There
generallywas.)Howbeautifulshehadbeenwithherpaleexquisiteface,andher
innocenteyes,andacertainshydignityandprideofbearingpeculiartoherself!
Yes,anyothermanwouldhavedonethesameinhisplace.Thelatterargument
hadhadgreatweightwithColonelTempestthroughlife.Hecouldnothelpitif
shewereengagedtohisbrother.Itwasasmuchherfaultashisowniftheyfell
inlovewitheachother.Shewasseventeenandhewasseven-and-twenty,butit
isalwaysthewomanwho‘hasthegreatersin.’
Heremembered,withsomethinglikecomplacency,theviolentlove-makingof
thefortnightthatfollowed,hershyadorationofherbeautifuleagerlover.Then
camethescruples,theflight,thewhitecottagebytheThames,themarriageat
thelocalregistrar’soffice.Whatafood

openeditwouldraiseawhirlwind.
‘AndArchie,’saidColonelTempestquerulously—‘Ioughttohaveheardfrom
himtoo.IfJohntoldhimthesamedaythathewrotetome,weoughttohave
heardfromArchiethismorning.IshouldhaveimaginedthatthoughArchiedid
notgivehisfatherathoughtwhenhewaspoor,hemighthavethoughthim
worthyofalittleconsiderationnow.’
‘Ifthatisthemotiveyouwouldhavegivenhimifhehadwritten,itisjustas
wellhehasnot,’saidDi;butshewonderedathissilencenevertheless.
Butshedidnotwonderlong.
Sheleftherfatherbusilywritingtoanimaginarylawyer,forhehadneitherthe
namenoraddressofJohn’s,andonthelandingmetaservantbringingatelegram
toherroom.Shetookitupstairs,andthoughitwasaddressedtoherfather,
openedit.Shehadnoapprehensionofevil.Theoldareafraidoftelegrams,but
theyounghavemadethemcommon,andhavewornouttheirprestige.
ThetelegramwasfromJohn,merelystatingthatArchiehadbeentakenseriously
ill.
Di’sheartgavealeapofthankfulnessthatherfatherhadbeensparedthisfurther
shock.ButArchie?Seriouslyill.ShewasindignantatJohn’svaguestatement.
Whatdidseriouslyillmean?Whycouldnothesaywhatwasthematter?And
howcouldshekeepthefactofhisillnessfromherfather?Oughtshetogoat
oncetoArchie?Seriouslyill.Howlikeamantosendatelegramofthatkind!
ShewouldtelegraphatoncetoJohnforparticulars,andgoorstayaccordingas
thedoctorthoughtshecouldorcouldnotsafelyleaveherfather.Diputonher
walkingthings,andranouttothepost-officeroundthecorner,whereshe


despatchedaperemptorytelegramtoJohn;andthen,seeingtherewasnoone
elsetoadviseher,hurriedtothedoctor’shousecloseathand.Forawonderhe
wasin.Foragreaterstill,hislastpatientwalkedoutasshewalkedin.The
doctor,withthequicknessofhiskind,sawthedifficulty,andcaughtuphishatto

accompanyher.
‘Youshallgotoyourbrotherifyoucan,’wastheonlystatementtowhichhe
wouldcommithimselfduringthetwominutes’walkintherain—thetwo
minuteswhichsealedColonelTempest’sfate.
Nooneknewexactlyhowithappened.Perhapsthehallporterhadgonetohis
dinner,andthelittleboywhotookhisplaceforhalfanhourbroughtupthe
telegramtothepersontowhomitwasaddressed.Nooneknewafterwardshow
ithadhappened.Itdidhappen,thatwasall.
ColonelTempesthadthepinkpaperinhishandasthedoctorandDienteredthe
room.Hewaslaughingsoftlytohimself.
‘Archieisdead,’hesaid,chuckling.‘ThatiswhatJohnwouldlikemetobelieve.
ButIknowbetter.ItisJohnthatisdead.ItisJohnwhohadtobesnuffedout.
Swaynesaidso,andheknew.AndJohnsaysit’sArchie,andhewillwrite.Ha,
ha!Weknowbetter,eh,doctor?eh,Di?John’sdead.Eight-and-twentyyearsold
hewas;buthe’sdeadatlast.Hewon’twriteanymore.Hewon’tspendmy
moneyanymore.Hewon’tkeepmeoutanymore.’
ColonelTempestdroppedonhisknees.Theonlyprayerheknewrosetohislips:
‘Forwhatwearegoingtoreceive,theLordmakeustrulythankful.’
Foranawfuldayandnightthefierceflameofdeliriumleapedandfell,andever
leapedagain.WithsetfaceDistoodhourafterhourintheblastofthefurnace,
tilldoctorandnursemarvelledathercourageandendurance.
OntheeveningoftheseconddayJohncame.HehadwrittentotellColonel
Tempestofhiscoming,buttheletterhadnotbeenopened.
Thedoctor,thinkinghewasDi’sbrother,broughthimintothesickroom,too
crowdedwithfearfulimagesforhispresencetobenoticedbythesickman.
‘Johnisdead,’thehigh-pitchedterriblevoicewassaying.‘Blunderingfools!
Firsttherewastherailway,butGoodwinsavedhim;damnhisofficiousness!


Andthentherewasthefire.Theynearlyhadhimthattime.Howgrayhelooked!

Burnttoashes.Bandageduptotheeyes.Buthegotbetter.Andthenthe
carnival.Theymuffeditagain.Oh,Lord,howslowtheywere!But’—thevoice
sanktoafrightfulwhisper—‘theygothiminParis.Idon’tknowhowtheydidit
—it’sasecret;buttheytrappedhimatlast.’
SuddenlytheglassyeyeslookedwithhorrifiedmomentaryrecognitionatJohn.
‘Risenfromthedead,’continuedthevoice.‘Iknewhewouldgetupagain.I
alwayssaidhewould;andhehas.Youcan’tkillJohn.There’snogravedeep
enoughtoholdhim.Lookathimwithhisheadoutnow,andtheearthuponhis
hair.Weoughttohaveputamonumentoverhimtokeephimdown.He’sgetting
up.ItellyouIdidnotdoit.Thegrave’snotbigenough.Swaynedugitforhim
whenhewasalittleboy—alittleboyatschool.’
DiturnedhercolourlessfacetoJohn,andsmiledathim,asoneontherack
mightsmileatafriendtoshowthattheanguishisnotunbearable.Shefeltno
surpriseatseeinghim.Shewaspastsurprise.Shehadforgottenthatshehadever
doubtedhislove.
Insilencehetookthehandsheheldouttowardshim,andkeptitinastrong
gentleclaspthatwasmorecomfortthananywords.
Hourafterhourtheywatchedandministeredtogether,andhourbyhourthelamp
oflifeflaredgrimlylowandlower.Andafterhehadtoldeverything—
everything,everythingthathehadconcealedinlife—afterJohnandDihad
heard,inawedcompassionandforgiveness,everywordoftheguiltysecret
whichhehadkeptunderlockandkeysomanyyears,atlastthetideof
remembranceebbedawayandlifewithit.
Didheknowtheminthequiethoursthatfollowed?Didherecognisethem?
Theybentoverhim.Theyspoketohimgently,tenderly.Didheunderstand?
Theyneverknew.
Andso,inthegrayofanAprilmorning,poorColonelTempest,unconsciousof
death,whichhadhadsomanyterrorsforhiminlife,driftedtranquillyuponits
tidefromthehumancompassionthatwatchedbyhimhere,totheInfinitePity
beyond.

Conclusion


‘Wheretherearetwaseekingtherewillbeafinding’
AfterJohnhadtakenDibacktoLondonhereturnedtoBrighton,andfrom
thencetoOverleigh,toarrangeforthedoublefuneral.Hehadnotremembered
tomentionthathewascoming,andintheduskofawetafternoonhewalkedup
bywayofthewood,andlethimselfinatthelittleposterninthewall.Hehadnot
thoughtheshouldreturntoOverleighagain,yetherehewasoncemoreinthe
dimgallery,withitsfaintscentofpot-pourri,hishandashepassedstirringit
fromlonghabit.Thepicturescranedthroughthetwilighttolookathim.
Hestolequietlyupstairsandalongthegarretgallery.Thenurserydoorwasopen.
AglowoflightfellonMitty’sfigure.Whatwasshedoing?
Johnstoppedshortandlookedather,and,withasuddenrecollectionasofsome
previousexistence,understood.
Mittywaspacking.Twolargewhitegroceryboxeswerealreadyclosedand
cordedinonecorner.Johnsaw‘BestCubes’printedonthem,anditdawned
uponhisslowmasculineconsciousnessthatthoseboxeswerepartofMitty’s
luggage.
Mittywasstandinginthemiddleoftheroom,holdingatarm’slengthalittlered
flanneldressing-gown,whichknockedtwentyyearsoffJohn’sageashelooked.
‘Ishalltakeit,’shesaidhalfaloud.‘It’sworeasthinasthinbehind;thatandthe
opensocksasI’vemendedandbetter-be-mended;’andshethrustthemboth
hastily,asifforfearsheshouldrepent,intoatinbox,outofwhichthebattered
headofJohn’soldhorseprotruded.
Iftherewasonethingcertaininthisworld,itwasthattheNoah’sarkwouldnot
goinunlessthehorsecameout.Mittytriedmanyways,andwascontemplating
themwitharmsakimbowhenJohncamein.
Sheshowednosurpriseatseeinghim,andwithastonishmentJohnrealizedthat
itwasonlysixdayssincehehadleftOverleigh.Itwasactuallynotyetaweek

sincethatfar-distantafternoon,separatedfromthepresentbysuchachasm,
whenhehadlainonhisfaceintheheather,andthedeeppassionsofyouthhad
renthimandlethimgo.HereatOverleightimestopped.Hecamebacktwenty
yearsolder,andthealmanaconhiswriting-tablemarkedsixdays.


Johnmadethenecessaryarrangementsforthefuneraltotakeplaceatmidnight,
accordingtotheTempestcustom,whichheknewColonelTempestwouldhave
beenthelasttowaive.HewrotetotellDiwhathehadsettled,togetherwiththe
hourandthedate.Hedarednotadvisehernottobepresent,butheremembered
thevastconcourseofpeoplewhohadassembledathisfather’sfuneraltoseethe
torchlightprocession,andhehopedshewouldnotcome.
ButMrs.Courtenaywrotebackthathergranddaughterwasfixedinher
determinationtobepresent,thatshehadreluctantlyconsentedtoit,andwould
accompanyherherself.SheaddedinapostscriptthatnodoubtJohnwould
arrangeforthemtostaythenightatOverleigh,andtheyshouldreturntoLondon
thenextday.
Thenightofthefuneralwasexceedingdarkandstill;sostillthatmany,
watchingfromadistanceonMoat-hill,heardthevoicesaying,‘Iamthe
resurrectionandthelife,saiththeLord:hethatbelievethinMe,thoughhewere
dead,yetshallhelive.’
Andagain—
‘Webroughtnothingintothisworld,anditiscertainwecancarrynothingout.’
Thenightwassocalmthatthetorchesburneduprightandunwavering,castinga
steadfastlightonchurchandgraveyardandtiltedtombstones,onthecrowded
darknessoutside,andonthewornfacesofamanandwomanwhostoodtogether
betweentwoopengraves.
JohnandDiexchangednowordastheydrovehome.Therewerelightsandafire
inthemusic-room,andshewentinthere,andbeganabsentlytotakeoffherhat
andlongcrepeveil.Mrs.Courtenayhadgonetobed.

JohnfollowedDiwithacandleinhishand.Heofferedittoher,butshedidnot
takeit.
‘Itisgoodbyeaswellasgood-night,’hesaid,holdingouthishand.‘Imustleave
hereveryearlytomorrow.’
Ditooknonoticeofhisoutstretchedhand.Shewaslookingintothefire.
‘Youmustrest,’hesaidgently,tryingtorecallhertoherself.


Aswifttremorpassedoverherface.
‘Youareright,’shesaid,inalowvoice.‘Iwillrest—whenIhavehadfive
minutes’talkwithyou.’
Johnshutthedoor,andcamebacktothefireside.Hebelievedheknewwhatwas
coming,andhisfacehardened.ItwasbittertohimthatDithoughtitworthwhile
tospeaktohimonthesubject.Sheoughttohaveknownhimbetter.
Shefacedhimwithdifficulty,butwithouthesitation.Theylookedeachotherin
theeyes.
‘YouaregoingtoLondonearlytoseeyourlawyer,’shesaid,‘onthesubjectthat
youwrotetofatherabout.’
‘Iam.’
‘ThatiswhyImustspeaktoyoutonight.Idarenotwait.’Hereyesfellbefore
thesternintentnessofhis.Hervoicefalteredamoment,andthenwenton:‘John,
don’tgo.Itisnotnecessary.Don’tgrievemebyleavingOverleigh,or—
changingyourname.’
AgreatbitternesswelledupinJohn’sheartagainstthewomanheloved—the
bitternesswhichsoonerorlaterfewmenescape,ofrealizinghowfeebleisa
woman’sperceptionofwhatishonourableordishonourableinaman.
‘Ah,Di,’hesaid,‘youareverygenerous.Butdonotletusspeakofitagain.
Suchathingcouldnotbe.’
Hetookherhand,butshewithdrewitinstantly.
‘John,’shesaidwithdignity,‘youmisunderstandme.Itwouldbeapoorkindof

generosityinmetoofferwhatitisimpossibleforyoutoaccept.Youwoundme
bythinkingIcoulddosuchathing.Ionlymeanttoaskyoutokeepyourpresent
nameandhomeforalittlewhile,until—theybothwillbecomeyoursagainby
right—thedaywhen—youmarryme.’
AbeautifulcolourhadmountedtoDi’sface.
John’sbecamewhiteasdeath.


‘Doyouloveme?’hesaidhoarsely,shakingfromheadtofoot.
‘Yes,’shereplied,tremblingasmuchashe.
Heheldherinhisarms.Thesteadfastheartthatunderstoodandlovedhimbeat
againsthisown.
‘Di!’hestammered—‘Di!’
Andtheyweptandclungtogetherliketwochildren.
Postscript
Mitty’spackingwasneverfinished—why,shedidnotunderstand.ButJohn,
whohelpedhertorearrangeherthings,understood,andthatwasenoughforher.
Formanyspringsandspringcleaningsthehorse-chestnutbudspeeredinatthe
nurserywindowsandfoundherstillwithin.IthinkthewishesofMitty’sheart
allcametopass,andthatsheloved‘MissDinah’;but,nevertheless,Ibelieve
that,totheendoflife,sheneverquiteceasedtoregretthelittlekitchenthatJohn
hadspokenof,whereshewouldhavemade‘rockbuns’forherlamb,andwaited
onhim‘handandfoot.’