Swan Song

“Jon.”

He sealed this up, addressed it to her at Dorking, and, pulling on his boots, again stole out and posted it. When he got back he felt so tired, that, wrapped in an old coat, he fell asleep in an armchair. The moonlight played tricks through the half-drawn curtains, the old clock ticked, but Jon slept, dreamless.

He woke at daybreak, stole up to the bathroom, bathed and shaved noiselessly, and went out through a window, so as not to leave the front door unfastened. He walked up through the gap past the old chalk pit, on to the Downs, by the path he had taken with Fleur seven years ago. Till he had heard from her he did not know what to do; and he dreaded A

That day, with its anxiety and its watchfulness of self, was one of the most wretched he had ever spent; and he could not free himself from the feeling that A

Jon destroyed it, and rode homewards. Wretchedness and strain for another eighteen hours! Was there anything in the world worse than indecision? He rode slowly so as to have the less time at home, dreading the night. He stopped at a wayside i

“It’s a wonderful night,” he said, when he came into the drawing-room. “The moonlight’s simply marvellous.” It was Holly who answered; A

“Well, Jon, is it all right about the farm?”

“I’ve got some new figures; I’m going into them to-night.”

“I do wish it were settled, and we knew you were going to be near for certain. I shall be awfully disappointed if you’re not.”

“Yes; but I must make sure this time.”

“A

“I don’t want a better, but it must pay its way.”

“Is that your real reason, Jon?”

“Why not?”

“I thought perhaps you were secretly afraid of settling again. But you’re the head of the family, Jon—you ought to settle.”

“Head of the family!”

“Yes, the only son of the only son of the eldest son right back to the primeval Jolyon.”

“Nice head!” said Jon, bitterly.

“Yes—a nice head.” And, suddenly rising, Holly bent over and kissed the top of it.

“Bless you! Don’t sit up too late. A

Jon turned out the lamp and stayed, huddled in his chair before the fire. Head of the family!

He had done them proud! And if—! Ha! That would, indeed, be illustrious! What would the old fellow whose photograph he had been looking at last night, think, if he knew? Ah, what a coil! For in his inmost heart he knew that A

“Sorry, darling, you’ll catch cold—the moonlight got me.” She moved to the far side of the hearth, and stood looking at him.

“Jon, I’m going to have a child.”

“You—!”

“Yes. I didn’t tell you last month because I wanted to be sure.”

“A

She was holding up her hand.

“Wait a minute!”

Jon gripped the back of a chair, he knew what was coming.

“Something’s happened between you and Fleur.”

Jon held his breath, staring at her eyes; dark, unflinching, startled, they stared back at him.

“Everything’s happened, hasn’t it?”

Jon bent his head.

“Yesterday? Don’t explain, don’t excuse yourself or her. Only—what does it mean?”

Without raising his head, Jon answered:

“That depends on you.”

“On me?”

“After what you’ve just told me. Oh! A

“Yes; I kept it too long!”

He understood what she meant—she had kept it as a weapon of defence. And, seeming to himself unforgiveable, he said:

“Forgive me, A

“Oh! Jon, I don’t just know.”

“I swear that I will never see her again.”

He raised his eyes now, and saw that she had sunk on her knees by the fire, holding a hand out to it, as if cold. He dropped on his knees beside her.

“I think,” he said, “love is the cruellest thing in the world.”

“Yes.”

She had covered her eyes with her hand; and it seemed hours that he knelt there, waiting for a movement, a sign, a word. At last she dropped her hand.

“All right. It’s over. But don’t kiss me—yet.”