Lilith, George MacDonald [autobiographies to read .TXT] 📗

a horse; from their two grim white heads ascended the shrivelled reins to the hand of the skeleton-coachman seated on his tattered hammer-cloth; both doors had fallen away; within sat two skeletons, each leaning back in its corner.

Even as I looked, they started awake, and with a cracking rattle of bones, each leaped from the door next it. One fell and lay; the other stood a moment, its structure shaking perilously; then with difficulty, for its joints were stiff, crept, holding by the back of the carriage, to the opposite side, the thin leg-bones seeming hardly strong enough to carry its weight, where, kneeling by the other, it sought to raise it, almost falling itself again in the endeavour.

The prostrate one rose at length, as by a sudden effort, to the sitting posture. For a few moments it turned its yellowish skull to this side and that; then, heedless of its neighbour, got upon its feet by grasping the spokes of the hind wheel. Half erected thus, it stood with its back to the other, both hands holding one of its knee-joints. With little less difficulty and not a few contortions, the kneeling one rose next, and addressed its companion.

“Have you hurt yourself, my lord?” it said, in a voice that sounded far-off, and ill-articulated as if blown aside by some spectral wind.

“Yes, I have,” answered the other, in like but rougher tone. “You would do nothing to help me, and this cursed knee is out!”

“I did my best, my lord.”

“No doubt, my lady, for it was bad! I thought I should never find my feet again!⁠—But, bless my soul, madam! are you out in your bones?”

She cast a look at herself.

“I have nothing else to be out in,” she returned; “⁠—and you at least cannot complain! But what on earth does it mean? Am I dreaming?”

“You may be dreaming, madam⁠—I cannot tell; but this knee of mine forbids me the grateful illusion.⁠—Ha! I too, I perceive, have nothing to walk in but bones!⁠—Not so unbecoming to a man, however! I trust to goodness they are not my bones! everyone aches worse than another, and this loose knee worst of all! The bed must have been damp⁠—and I too drunk to know it!”

“Probably, my lord of Cokayne!”

“What! what!⁠—You make me think I too am dreaming⁠—aches and all! How do you know the title my roistering bullies give me? I don’t remember you!⁠—Anyhow, you have no right to take liberties! My name is⁠—I am lord⁠—tut, tut! What do you call me when I’m⁠—I mean when you are sober? I cannot⁠—at the moment⁠—Why, what is my name?⁠—I must have been very drunk when I went to bed! I often am!”

“You come so seldom to mine, that I do not know, my lord; but I may take your word for that!”

“I hope so!”

“⁠—if for nothing else!”

“Hoity toity! I never told you a lie in my life!”

“You never told me anything but lies.”

“Upon my honour!⁠—Why, I never saw the woman before!”

“You knew me well enough to lie to, my lord!”

“I do seem to begin to dream I have met you before, but, upon my oath, there is nothing to know you by! Out of your clothes, who is to tell who you may not be?⁠—One thing I may swear⁠—that I never saw you so much undressed before!⁠—By heaven, I have no recollection of you!”

“I am glad to hear it: my recollections of you are the less distasteful!⁠—Good morning, my lord!”

She turned away, hobbled, clacking, a few paces, and stood again.

“You are just as heartless as⁠—as⁠—any other woman, madam!⁠—Where in this hell of a place shall I find my valet?⁠—What was the cursed name I used to call the fool?”

He turned his bare noddle this way and that on its creaking pivot, still holding his knee with both hands.

“I will be your valet for once, my lord,” said the lady, turning once more to him. “⁠—What can I do for you? It is not easy to tell!”

“Tie my leg on, of course, you fool! Can’t you see it is all but off? Heigho, my dancing days!”

She looked about with her eyeless sockets and found a piece of fibrous grass, with which she proceeded to bind together the adjoining parts that had formed the knee. When she had done, he gave one or two carefully tentative stamps.

“You used to stamp rather differently, my lord!” she said, as she rose from her knees.

“Eh? what!⁠—Now I look at you again, it seems to me I used to hate you!⁠—Eh?”

“Naturally, my lord! You hated a good many people!⁠—your wife, of course, among the rest!”

“Ah, I begin, I begin⁠—But⁠—I must have been a long time somewhere!⁠—I really forget!⁠—There! your damned, miserable bit of grass is breaking!⁠—We used to get on pretty well together⁠—eh?”

“Not that I remember, my lord. The only happy moments I had in your company were scattered over the first week of our marriage.”

“Was that the way of it? Ha! ha!⁠—Well, it’s over now, thank goodness!”

“I wish I could believe it! Why were we sitting there in that carriage together? It wakes apprehension!”

“I think we were divorced, my lady!”

“Hardly enough: we are still together!”

“A sad truth, but capable of remedy: the forest seems of some extent!”

“I doubt! I doubt!”

“I am sorry I cannot think of a compliment to pay you⁠—without lying, that is. To judge by your figure and complexion you have lived hard since I saw you last! I cannot surely be quite so naked as your ladyship!⁠—I beg your pardon, madam! I trust you will take it I am but jesting in a dream! It is of no consequence, however; dreaming or waking, all’s one⁠—all merest appearance! You can’t be certain of anything, and that’s as good as knowing there is nothing! Life may teach any fool that!”

“It has taught me the fool I was to love you!”

“You were not the only fool to do that! Women had a trick of falling in love with me:⁠—I had forgotten that you were one of them!”

“I did love