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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/12833-0.txt b/12833-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..011c782 --- /dev/null +++ b/12833-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4436 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12833 *** + +WHAT DREAMS MAY COME. + +by Frank Lin (pseud. of Gertrude Franklin Horn Atherton) + + +Dedicated to Muriel Atherton + + + + +WHAT DREAMS MAY COME. + +THE OVERTURE. + + +Constantinople; the month of August; the early days of the century. It +was the hour of the city's most perfect beauty. The sun was setting, +and flung a mellowing glow over the great golden domes and minarets +of the mosques, the bazaars glittering with trifles and precious with +elements of Oriental luxury, the tortuous thoroughfares with their +motley throng, the quiet streets with their latticed windows, and +their atmosphere heavy with silence and mystery, the palaces whose +cupolas and towers had watched over so many centuries of luxury and +intrigue, pleasure and crime, the pavilions, groves, gardens, kiosks +which swarmed with the luxuriance of tropical growth over the hills +and valleys of a city so vast and so beautiful that it tired the brain +and fatigued the senses. Scutari, purple and green and gold, blended +in the dying light into exquisite harmony of color; Stamboul gathered +deeper gloom under her overhanging balconies, behind which lay hidden +the loveliest of her women; and in the deserted gardens of the Old +Seraglio, beneath the heavy pall of the cypresses, memories of a +grand, terrible, barbarous, but most romantic Past crept forth and +whispered ruin and decay. + +High up in Pera the gray walls of the English Embassy stood out +sharply defined against the gold-wrought sky. The windows were thrown +wide to invite the faint, capricious breeze which wandered through +the hot city; but the silken curtains were drawn in one of the smaller +reception-rooms. The room itself was a soft blaze of wax candles +against the dull richness of crimson and gold. Men and women were +idling about in that uneasy atmosphere which precedes the announcement +of dinner. Many of the men wore orders on their breasts, and the +uniforms of the countries they represented, and a number of Turks +gave a picturesque touch to the scene, with their jewelled turbans and +flowing robes. The women were as typical as their husbands; the wife +of the Russian Ambassador, with her pale hair and moonlight eyes, her +delicate shoulders and jewel-sewn robe; the Italian, with her lithe +grace and heavy brows, the Spanish beauty, with her almond, +dreamy eyes, her chiselled features and mantilla-draped head; the +Frenchwoman, with her bright, sallow, charming, unrestful face; the +Austrian, with her cold repose and latent devil. In addition were the +Secretaries of Legation, with their gaily-gowned young wives, and +one or two English residents; all assembled at the bidding of Sir +Dafyd-ap-Penrhyn, the famous diplomatist who represented England at +the court of the Sultan. + +Sir Dafyd was standing between the windows and underneath one of the +heavy candelabra. He was a small but striking-looking man, with a +great deal of head above the ears, light blue eyes deeply set and far +apart, a delicate arched nose, and a certain expression of brutality +about the thin lips, so faint as to be little more than a shadow. He +was blandly apologizing for the absence of his wife. She had dressed +to meet her guests, but had been taken suddenly ill and obliged to +retire. + +As he finished speaking he turned to a woman who sat on a low chair +at his right. She was young and very handsome. Her eyes were black +and brilliant, her mouth was pouting and petulant, her chin curved +slightly outward. Her features were very regular, but there was +neither softness nor repose in her face. She looked like a statue that +had been taken possession of by the Spirit of Discontent. + +"I am sorry not to see Dartmouth," said the great minister, affably. +"Is he ill again? He must be careful; the fever is dangerous." + +Mrs. Dartmouth drew her curved brows together with a frown which did +not soften her face. "He is writing," she said, shortly. "He is always +writing." + +"O, but you know that is a Dartmouth failing--ambition," said Sir +Dafyd, with a smile. "They must be either in the study or dictating to +the King." + +"Well, I wish my Fate had been a political Dartmouth. Lionel sits in +his study all day and writes poetry--which I detest. I shall bring up +my son to be a statesman." + +"So that his wife may see more of him?" said Sir Dafyd, laughing. "You +are quite capable of making whatever you like of him, however, for you +are a clever woman--if you are not poetical. But it is hard that you +should be so much alone, Catherine. Why are not you and Sionèd more +together? There are so few of you here, you should try and amuse +each other. Diplomatists, like poets, see little of their wives, and +Sionèd, I have no doubt, is bored very often." + +Dinner was announced at the moment, and Mrs. Dartmouth stood up and +looked her companion full in the eyes. "I do not like Sionèd," she +said, harshly. "She, too, is poetical." + +For a moment there was a suspicion of color in Sir Dafyd's pale face, +and the shadow on his mouth seemed to take shape and form. Then he +bowed slightly, and crossing the room offered his arm to the wife of +the Russian Ambassador. + + * * * * * + +The sun sank lower, Constantinople's richer tints faded into soft opal +hues, and the muezzin called the people to prayer. From a window in a +wing of the Embassy furthest from the banqueting hall, and overlooking +the city, a woman watched the shifting panorama below. She was more +beautiful than any of her neglected guests, although her eyes were +heavy and her face was pale. Her hair was a rich, burnished brown, and +drawn up to the crown of her head in a loose mass of short curls, held +in place by a half-coronet of diamonds. In front the hair was parted +and curled, and the entire head was encircled by a band of diamond +stars which pressed the bronze ringlets low over the forehead. The +features were slightly aquiline; the head was oval and admirably +poised. But it was the individuality of the woman that made her +beauty, not features or coloring. The keen, intelligent eyes, with +their unmistakable power to soften, the spiritual brow, the strong, +sensuous chin, the tender mouth, the spirited head, each a poet's +delight, each an artist's study, all blended, a strange, strong, +passionate story in flesh and blood--a remarkable face. Her neck and +arms were bare, and she wore a short-waisted gown of yellow satin, +which fell in shining lines from belt to hem. + +Pale as she was she assuredly did not look ill enough to justify her +desertion of her guests. As a matter of fact she had forgotten both +guests and excuse. When a woman has taken a resolution which flings +her suddenly up to the crisis of her destiny she is apt to forget +state dinners and whispered comment. To-morrow state dinners would +pass out of her life, and they would go unregretted. She turned +suddenly and picked up some loose sheets of manuscript which lay on a +table beside her--a poem which would immortalize the city her window +overlooked. A proud smile curved her mouth, then faded swiftly as she +pressed the pages passionately to her lips. She put them back on +the table and turning her head looked down the room with much of the +affection one gives a living thing. The room was as Oriental as any +carefully secluded chamber in the city below. The walls were hung +with heavy, soft Eastern stuffs, dusky and rich, which shut out all +suggestion of doors. The black marble floor was covered with a strange +assortment of wild beasts' skins, pale, tawny, sombre, ferocious. +There were deep, soft couches and great piles of cushions, a few rare +paintings stood on easels, and the air was heavy with jasmine. The +woman's lids fell over her eyes, and the blood mounted slowly, making +her temples throb. Then she threw back her head, a triumphant light +flashing in her eyes, and brought her open palm down sharply on the +table. "If I fall," she said, "I fall through strength, not +through weakness. If I sin, I do so wittingly, not in a moment of +overmastering passion." + +She bent suddenly forward, her breath coming quickly. There were +footsteps at the end of the marble corridor without. For a moment she +trembled from head to foot. Remorse, regret, horror, fear, chased each +other across her face, her convulsed features reflecting the emotions +which for weeks past had oppressed heart and brain. Then, before the +footsteps reached the door, she was calm again and her head erect. +The glory of the sunset had faded, and behind her was the short grey +twilight of the Southern night; but in her face was that magic light +that never was on sea or land. + +The heavy portière at the end of the room was thrust aside and a man +entered. He closed the door and pushed the hanging back into place, +then went swiftly forward and stood before her. She held out her hand +and he took it and drew her further within the room. The twilight had +gone from the window, the shadows had deepened, and the darkness of +night was about them. + + * * * * * + +In the great banqueting-hall the stout mahogany table upheld its +weight of flashing gold and silver and sparkling crystal without a +groan, and solemn, turbaned Turks passed wine and viand. Around +the board the diplomatic colony forgot their exile in remote +Constantinople, and wit and anecdote, spicy but good-humored political +discussion, repartee and flirtation made a charming accompaniment +to the wonderful variety displayed in the faces and accents of the +guests. The stately, dignified ministers of the Sultan gazed at the +fair faces and jewel-laden shoulders of the women of the North, and +sighed as they thought of their dusky wives; and the women of the +North threw blue, smiling glances to the Turks and wondered if it were +romantic to live in a harem. + +At the end of the second course Sir Dafyd raised a glass of wine to +his lips, and, as he glanced about the table, conversation ceased for +a moment. + +"Will you drink to my wife's health?" he said. "It has caused me much +anxiety of late." + +Every glass was simultaneously raised, and then Sir Dafyd pushed back +his chair and rose to his feet. "If you will pardon me," he said, "I +will go and see how she is." + +He left the room, and the wife of the Spanish Ambassador turned to +her companion with a sigh. "So devot he is, no?" she murmured. "You +Eenglish, you have the fire undere the ice. He lover his wife very +moocho when he leaver the dinner. And she lover him too, no?" + +"I don't know," said the Englishman to whom she spoke. "It never +struck me that Penrhyn was a particularly lovable fellow. He's so +deuced haughty; the Welsh are worse for that than we English. He's as +unapproachable as a stone. I don't fancy the Lady Sionèd worships the +ground he treads upon. But then, he's the biggest diplomate in Great +Britain; one can't have everything." + +"I no liker all the Eenglish, though," pursued the pretty Spaniard. +"The Señora Dar-muth, I no care for her. She looker like she have the +tempere--how you call him?--the dev-vil, no? And she looker like she +have the fire ouside and the ice in." + +"Oh, she's not so bad," said the Englishman, loyally. "She has +some admirable traits, and she's deuced clever, but she has an +ill-regulated sort of a nature, and is awfully obstinate and +prejudiced. It's a sort of vanity. She worries Dartmouth a good deal. +He's a born poet, if ever a man was, and she wants him to go into +politics. Wants a _salon_ and all that sort of thing. She ought to +have it, too. Political intrigue would just suit her; she's diplomatic +and secretive. But Dartmouth prefers his study." + +The lady from Spain raised her sympathetic, pensive eyes to the +Englishman's. "And the Señor Dar-muth? How he is? He is nice fellow? I +no meeting hime?" + +"The best fellow that ever lived, God bless him!" exclaimed the young +man, enthusiastically. "He has the temperament of genius, and he isn't +always there when you want him--I mean, he isn't always in the right +mood; but he's a splendid specimen of a man, and the most likeable +fellow I ever knew--poor fellow!" + +"Why you say 'poor fel-low'? He is no happy, no?" + +"Well, you see," said the young man, succumbing to those lovely, +pitying eyes, and not observing that they gazed with equal tenderness +at the crimson wine in the cup beside her plate--"you see, he and his +wife are none too congenial, as I said. It makes her wild to have him +write, not only because she wants to cut a figure in London, and he +will always live in some romantic place like this, but she's in love +with him, in her way, and she's jealous of his very desk. That makes +things unpleasant about the domestic hearthstone. And then she doesn't +believe a bit in his talent, and takes good care to let him know it. +So, you see, he's not the most enviable of mortals." + +"Much better she have be careful," said the Spanish woman; "some day +he feel tire out and go to lover someone else. Please you geeve me +some more clarette?" + +"Here comes Sir Dafyd," said the Englishman, as he filled her glass. +"It has taken him a long time to find out how she is." + +The shadow had wholly disappeared from Sir Dafyd's mouth, a faint +smile hovering there instead. As he took his seat the Austrian +Ambassador leaned forward and inquired politely about the state of +Lady Sionèd's health. + +"She is sleeping quietly," said Sir Dafyd. + + + + +PART I. + +THE MELODY. + +I. + + +The Hon. Harold Dartmouth was bored. He had been in Paris three months +and it was his third winter. He was young. He possessed a liberal +allowance of good looks, money, and family prestige. Combining these +three conditions, he had managed to pretty thoroughly exhaust the +pleasures of the capital. At all events he believed he had exhausted +them, and he wanted a new sensation. He had "done" his London until it +was more flavorless than Paris, and he had dawdled more or less in the +various Courts of Europe. While in St. Petersburg he had inserted +a too curious finger into the Terrorist pie, and had come very +near making a prolonged acquaintance with the House of Preventative +Detention; but after being whisked safely out of the country under +cover of a friend's passport, he had announced himself cured of +further interest in revolutionary politics. The affair had made him +quite famous for a time, however; Krapotkin had sought him out and +warmly thanked him for his interest in the Russian Geysers, and begged +him to induce his father to abjure his peace policy and lend his hand +to the laudable breaking of Czarism's back. But Lord Cardingham, who +was not altogether ruled by his younger son, had declined to expend +his seductions upon Mr. Gladstone in the cause of a possible laying of +too heavy a rod upon England's back, and had recommended his erratic +son to let the barbarism of absolutism alone in the future, and try +his genius upon that of democracy. Dartmouth, accordingly, had spent +a winter in Washington as Secretary of Legation, and had entertained +himself by doling out such allowance of diplomatic love to the fair +American dames as had won him much biographical honor in the press +of the great republic. Upon his father's private admonition, that it +would be as well to generously resign his position in favor of some +more needy applicant, with a less complex heart-line and a slight +acquaintance with international law, he had, after a summer at +Newport, returned to Europe and again devoted himself to winning a +fame not altogether political. And now there was nothing left, and he +felt that fate had used him scurrilously. He was twenty-eight, and had +exhausted life. He had nothing left but to yawn through weary years +and wish he had never been born. + +He clasped his hands behind his head and looked out on the brilliant +crowd from his chair in the Café de la Cascade in the Bois. He was +handsome, this blasé young Englishman, with a shapely head, poised +strongly upon a muscular throat. Neither beard nor moustache hid the +strong lines of the face. A high type, in spite of his career, his +face was a good deal more suggestive of passion than of sensuality. +He was tall, slight, and sinewy, and carried himself with the indolent +hauteur of a man of many grandfathers. And indeed, unless, perhaps, +that this plaything, the world, was too small, he had little to +complain of. Although a younger son, he had a large fortune in his own +right, left him by an adoring grandmother who had died shortly before +he had come of age, and with whom he had lived from infancy as adopted +son and heir. This grandmother was the one woman who had ever shone +upon his horizon whose disappearance he regretted; and he was wont +to remark that he never again expected to find anything beneath +a coiffure at once so brilliant, so fascinating, so clever, so +altogether "filling" as his lamented relative. If he ever did he would +marry and settle down as a highly respectable member of society, and +become an M.P. and the owner of a winner of the Derby; but until then +he would sigh away his tired life at the feet of beauty, Bacchus, or +chance. + +"What is the matter, Hal?" asked Bective Hollington, coming up behind +him. "Yawning so early in the day?" + +"Bored," replied Dartmouth, briefly. "Don't expect me to talk to you. +I haven't an idea left." + +"My dear Harold, do not flatter yourself that I came to you in search +of ideas. I venture to break upon your sulky meditations in the cause +of friendship alone. If you will rouse yourself and walk to the window +you may enrich your sterile mind with an idea, possibly with ideas. +Miss Penrhyn will pass in a moment." + +"The devil!" + +"No, not the devil; Miss Penrhyn." + +"And who the devil is Miss Penrhyn?" + +"The new English, or rather, Welsh beauty, Weir Penrhyn," replied +Hollington. "She came out last season in London, and the Queen +pronounced her the most beautiful girl who had been presented at Court +for twenty years. Such a relief from the blue-eyed and 'golden-bronze' +professional! She will pass in a moment. Do rouse yourself." + +Dartmouth got up languidly and walked to the window. After all, a new +face and a pretty one was something; one degree, perhaps, better than +nothing. "Which is she?" he asked. "The one in the next carriage, with +Lady Langdon, talking to Bolton." + +The carriage passed them, and Harold's eyes met for a moment those +of a girl who was lying back chatting idly with a man who rode on +horseback beside her. She was a beautiful creature, truly, with a +rich, dark skin, and eyes like a tropical animal's. A youthful face, +striking and unconventional. + +"Well?" queried Hollington. + +"Yes, a very handsome girl," said Dartmouth. "I have seen her before, +somewhere." + +"What! you have seen that woman before and not remembered her? +Impossible! And then you have not been in England for a year." + +"I am sure I have seen her before," said Dartmouth. "Where could it +have been?" + +"Her father is a Welsh baronet, and your estates are in the North, so +you could hardly have known her as a child. She was educated in the +utmost seclusion at home; no one ever saw her or heard of her until +the fag end of the last London season, and she only arrived in Paris +two days ago, and made her first appearance in public last night at +the opera, where you were not. So where could you have seen her?" + +"I cannot imagine," said Dartmouth, meditatively. "But her face is +dimly familiar, and it is a most unusual one. Tell me something about +her;" and he resumed his seat. + +"She is the daughter of Sir Iltyd-ap-Penrhyn," said Hollington, +craning his neck to catch a last glimpse of the disappearing beauty. +"Awfully poor, but dates back to before Chaos. Looks down with scorn +upon Sir Watkin Wynn, who hangs up the flood on the middle branch of +his family tree. They live in a dilapitated old castle on the coast, +and there Sir Iltyd brought up this tropical bird--she is an only +child--and educated her himself. Her mother died when she was very +young, and her father, with the proverbial constancy of mankind, has +never been known to smile since. Lively for the tropical bird, was +it not? Lady Langdon, who was in Wales last year, and who was an old +friend of the girl's mother, called on her and saw the professional +possibilities, so to speak. She gave the old gentleman no peace +until he told her she could take the girl to London, which she did +forthwith, before he had time to change his mind. She has made a +rousing sensation, but she is a downright beauty and no mistake. Lady +Langdon evidently intends to hold on to her, for I see she has her +still." + +"I could not have known her, of course; I have never put my foot in +Wales. But I suppose I shall meet her now. Is she to be at the Russian +Legation to-night?" + +"Yes; I have it from the best authority--herself. You had better go. +She is worth knowing, I can tell you." + +"Well, I'll think of it," said Dartmouth. "I must be off now; I have +no end of letters to write. I'll rely upon you to do the honors if I +go!" and he took up his hat and sauntered out. + +He went directly to his apartments on the Avenue Champs Élysées, and +wrote a few epistles to his impatient and much-enduring relatives in +Britain; then, lighting a cigar, he flung himself upon the sofa. The +room accorded with the man. Art and negligence were hand-in-hand. +The hangings were of dusky-gold plush, embroidered with designs which +breathed the fervent spirit of Decorative Art, and the floor was +covered with the oldest and oddest of Persian rugs. There were +cabinets of antique medallions, cameos, and enamels; low brass +book-cases, filled with volumes bound in Russian leather, whose +pungent odor filled the room; a varied collection of pipes; a case of +valuable ceramics, one of the collection having a pedigree which +no uncelestial mind had ever pretended to grasp, and which had been +presented to Lord Cardingham, while minister to China, by the Emperor. +That his younger son had unblushingly pilfered it he had but recently +discovered, but demands for its return had as yet availed not. There +were a few valuable paintings, a case of rare old plates, many with +the coats of arms of sovereigns upon them, strangely carved chairs, +each with a history, all crowded together and making a charming nest +for the listless, somewhat morbid, and disgusted young man stretched +out upon a couch, covered with a rug of ostrich feathers brought from +the Straits of Magellan. Over the onyx mantel was a portrait of his +grandmother, a handsome old lady with high-piled, snow-white hair, and +eyes whose brilliancy age had not dimmed. The lines about the mouth +were hard, but the face was full of intelligence, and the man at her +feet had never seen anything of the hardness of her nature. She had +blindly idolized him. + +"I wish she were here now," thought Dartmouth regretfully, as he +contemplated the picture through the rings of smoke; "I could talk +over things with her, and she could hit off people with that tongue of +hers. Gods! how it could cut! Poor old lady! I wonder if I shall ever +find her equal." After which, he fell asleep and forgot his sorrows +until his valet awakened him and told him it was time to dress for +dinner. + + + + +II. + + +I hope I have not conveyed to the reader the idea that our hero is +frivolous. On the contrary, he was considered a very brilliant young +man, and he could command the respect of his elders when he chose. +But, partly owing to his wealth and independent condition, partly to +the fact that the world had done its best to spoil him, he had led a +very aimless existence. He was by no means satisfied with his life, +however; he was far too clever for that; and he had spent a good deal +of time, first and last, reviling Fate for not having endowed him with +some talent upon which he could concentrate his energies, and with +which attain distinction and find balm for his ennui. His grandmother +had cherished the conviction that he was an undeveloped genius; but +in regard to what particular field his genius was to enrich, she had +never clearly expressed herself, and his own consciousness had not +been more explicit. He had long ago made up his mind, indeed, that +his grandmother's convictions had been the fond delusions of a doting +parent, and that the sooner he unburdened himself of that particular +legacy the better. The unburdening, however, had been accomplished +with a good deal of bitterness, for he was very ambitious and very +proud, and to be obliged to digest the fact that he was but a type of +the great majority was distinctly galling. True, politics were left. +His father, one of the most distinguished of England's statesmen, and +a member of the present cabinet, would have been delighted to assist +his career; but Harold disliked politics. With the exception of his +passing interest in the Russian socialists--an interest springing from +his adventurous nature--he had never troubled himself about any party, +faction, or policy, home or foreign. He would like to write a great +poem, but he had never felt a second's inspiration, and had never +wasted time in the endeavor to force it. Failing that, he would like +to write a novel; but, fluently and even brilliantly as he sometimes +talked, his pen was not ready, and he was conscious of a conspicuous +lack of imagination. To be sure, one does not need much in these +days of realistic fervor; it is considered rather a coarse and +old-fashioned article; but that one needs some sort of a plot is +indisputable, and Dartmouth's brain had consistently refused to evolve +one. Doubtless he could cultivate the mere habit of writing, +and achieve reputation as an essayist. His critical faculty was +pronounced, and he had carefully developed it; and it was possible +that when the world had completely palled upon him, he would shut +himself up at Crumford Hall and give the public the benefit of his +accumulated opinions, abstract and biographical. But he was not ready +for that yet; he needed several years more of experience, observation, +and assiduous cultivation of the habit of analysis; and in the +meantime he was in a condition of cold disgust with himself and with +Fate. It may also have been gathered that Mr. Dartmouth was a young +man of decidedly reckless proclivities. It is quite true that he never +troubled himself about any question of morals or social ethics; he +simply calculated the mathematical amount of happiness possible to the +individual. That was all there was in life. Had he lived a generation +or two earlier, he would have pursued his way along the paths of the +prohibited without introspective analysis; but being the intellectual +young man of the latter decades of the 19th century, it amused him +to season his defiance of certain conventional codes with the salt of +philosophy. + +Miss Penrhyn reached the Legation a few moments after Dartmouth's +arrival, and he watched her as she entered the ballroom. She wore +a simple white gown, embroidered about the corsage with silver +crescents; and her richly-tinted brown hair was coiled about her head +and held in place by a crescent-shaped comb. She was a tall, slim, +shapely girl, with an extreme grace of carriage and motion, and a neck +and arms whose clear olive was brought out with admirable effect +by the dead white of her gown. Her face, somewhat listless and +preoccupied as she entered, quickly brightened into animation as a +number of men at once surrounded her. Dartmouth continued to watch her +for a few moments, and concluded that he would like to know her, even +if she were a girl and an _ingenue_. She was fascinating, apart from +her beauty; she looked different from other women, and that was +quite enough to command his interest. It would be too much trouble +to struggle for an introduction at present, however, and he allowed +himself to be taken possession of by his cousin, Margaret Talbot, +who, with the easy skill of a spoiled beauty, dismissed several other +cavaliers upon his approach. They wandered about for a time, and +finally entered a tiny boudoir fitted up to represent a bird's nest in +tufted blue satin, with an infinite number of teacups so arranged as +to be cunningly suggestive of eggs whose parents had been addicted to +Decorative Art. + +"What do you think of the new beauty?" demanded Mrs. Talbot, as they +established themselves upon an extremely uncomfortable little sofa +upheld between the outstretched wings of the parent bird, which was +much too large for the eggs. + +"She does very well," replied Harold, who was wise in his generation. + +Mrs. Talbot put her handkerchief suddenly to her face and burst into +tears. Dartmouth turned pale. + +"What is it, Margaret?" he said. "Do not cry here; people will notice, +and make remarks." + +She made no reply, and he got up and moved restlessly about the room; +then returning he stood looking moodily down upon her. + +Some years before, just about the time he was emerging from +knickerbockers, he had been madly in love with this golden-haired, +hazel-eyed cousin of his, and the lady, who had the advantage of him +in years, being unresponsive, he had haunted a very large and very +deep ornamental pond in his grandmother's park for several weeks with +considerable persistency. Had the disease attacked him in summer it is +quite probable that this story would never have been written, for his +nature was essentially a high-strung and tragic one; but fortunately +he met his beautiful cousin in mid-winter, and 'tis a despairing lover +indeed who breaks the ice. Near as their relationship was, he had not +met her again until the present winter, and then he had found that +years had lent her additional fascination. She was extremely unhappy +in her domestic life, and naturally she gave him her confidence and +awoke that sentiment which is so fatally akin to another and sometimes +more disastrous one. + +Dartmouth loved her with that love which a man gives to so many women +before the day comes wherein he recognizes the spurious metal from the +real. It was not, as in its first stage, the mad, unreasoning fancy +of an unfledged boy, but that sentiment, half sympathy, half passion, +which a woman may inspire who is not strong enough to call out the +highest and best that lies hidden in a man's nature. This feeling for +his cousin, if not the supremest that a woman can command, bore +one characteristic which distinguished it from any of his previous +passions. For the first time in his life he had resisted a +temptation--principally because she was his cousin. With the instinct +of his caste he acknowledged the obligation to avert dishonor in his +own family where he could. And, aside from family pride, he had a +strong personal regard for his cousin which was quite independent of +that sentiment which, for want of a better name, he called love. She +was young, she was lonely, she was unhappy, and his calmer affection +prompted him to protect her from himself, and not, after a brief +period of doubtful happiness, to leave her to a lifetime of tormenting +memories and regrets. She loved him, of course; and reckless with the +knowledge of her ruined life, her hopeless future, and above all the +certainty that youth and its delicious opportunities were slipping +fast, she would doubtless have gone the way of most women under +similar circumstances, had not Harold, for once in his life, been +strong. Perhaps, if he had really loved her, he would not have been so +self-sacrificing. + +After her paroxysm of tears had partly subsided, he took her hand. +"What is the matter?" he asked, kindly. "Is there any more trouble?" + +"It is the same," she said. "You know how unhappy I am; it was foolish +of me to break down here, but I could not help it. Besides, there is +another thing--I wish you would go away." + +He walked to the end of the room, then returned and bent over her, +placing his hand on the back of the sofa. "Very well," he said, "I +will go. I should have gone before. I would have done so, but I hated +to leave you alone." + +He lifted her face and kissed her. She laid her head against his +shoulder, then she suddenly pushed him from her with a low cry, and +Dartmouth, following her gaze, turned his head in time to meet the +scornful eyes of Miss Penrhyn as she dropped the portière from her +hand. Dartmouth kicked aside a footstool with an exclamation of +anger. He was acutely conscious of having been caught in a ridiculous +position, and moreover, he would not be the chief sufferer. + +"Oh, Harold! Harold!" gasped Margaret, "I am ruined. You know what +women are. By this time to-morrow that girl will have told the story +all over Paris." + +The words made Dartmouth forget his personal annoyance for the moment. +"Do not cry any more," he said, kindly; "I am awfully sorry, but I +will see what I can do. I will make a point of meeting the girl, and +I will see that--do not worry. I will go at once, and you had better +remain here for the present. There is no danger of anyone intruding +upon you: this room was never intended for three." He paused a moment. +"Good-bye, Margaret!" he said. + +She started sharply, but rose to her feet and put out her hand: +"Good-bye," she said. + +He lifted her hand to his lips, then the portière fell behind him and +she was alone. + +He went directly to the ball-room and asked Hollington to present him +to Miss Penrhyn. She was standing with her back to him and did not +notice his approach, and his name was pronounced while her eyes were +still on the face of the man to whom she was talking. She gave him a +glance of swift scorn, bent her head haughtily, and all but turned her +back upon him. But Dartmouth, indolent and lazy as he was, was not the +man to be lightly disposed of when once roused to action. + +"Bolton," he said, to her companion, "they are waiting for you in the +billiard-room; you have an engagement to play a game with our host +at twelve. It is now exactly the hour. I will take charge of Miss +Penrhyn;" and before the bewildered Bolton could protest, or Miss +Penrhyn realize his purpose, he had drawn the girl's arm through his +own and was half-way down the room. + +"Where have I met you before?" he demanded, when they were safely lost +in the crowd. "Surely, we are not altogether strangers." + +"I do not know," haughtily; "I have never met you before that I am +aware of." + +"It is strange, but I cannot get rid of the idea that I have seen you +elsewhere," continued Dartmouth, unmoved. "And yet, if I had, I most +assuredly could not have forgotten it." + +"You are flattering, but I must ask you to excuse me. I am engaged for +the next dance, and I see my partner looking for me." + +"Indeed, I shall do nothing of the kind. I have no idea of resigning +you so lightly." And he calmly led her into a small withdrawing-room +and seated her behind a protecting screen. He took the chair beside +her and smiled down into her angry face. Her eyes, which had a +peculiar yellow flame in them, now within, now just without the iris, +as if from a tiny lantern hidden in their depths, were blazing. + +"Well?" he said, calmly; "of what are you thinking?" + +"That you are the rudest and the most impertinent man I have ever +met," she replied, hotly. + +"You are unkind; I have been unfortunate enough to incur your +disapproval, but you judge me cruelly. I am undoubtedly a very +reprehensible character, Miss Penrhyn, but I don't think that I am +worse than most men." He recognized at once that it would be folly to +tell the usual lie: she would simply laugh in his face. He must accept +the situation, plead guilty and make a skilful defense. Later, when +he had established himself in her confidence, he would exonerate his +cousin. + +Miss Penrhyn's lip curled disdainfully. "I am not aware that I have +asked you to justify yourself," she said. "It is of no possible +interest to me whether you are better or worse than most men. It is +quite possible, however," she added, hastily and unwillingly, "that +in this case, as in others, there may be the relief of an exception to +prove the rule." + +Dartmouth saw his advantage at once. She was not merely disgusted; +she was angry; and in her anger she forgot herself and condescended to +sarcasm. There was one barrier the less to be broken down. "We are a +bad lot, I am afraid, Miss Penrhyn," he replied, quietly; "but keep +your illusions while you can. You are happier for them, and I would be +the last to dispel them." + +"You are considerate," she retorted: "it is more than possible you +will not dispel my illusions; there will not be--" + +"You mean to imply, delicately," he interrupted her, "that you do not +consider me worthy of being added to the list of your acquaintances?" + +"I really have given the matter no thought, and I do not see what +advantage either side could derive from further acquaintance." But +she colored slightly as she spoke, and turned to him an angrily severe +profile. + +"Don't you think," he said--and his calm, drawling tone formed a +contrast to her own lack of control which she could not fail to +appreciate--"don't you think that you judge me with exaggerated +harshness? Do you think the life of any one of these men who have +surrounded you to-night, and upon whom you certainly did not frown, +would bear inspection? It would almost appear as if I had personally +incurred your displeasure, you are so very hard upon me. You forget +that my offense could not have any individual application for you. Had +I known you, you might reasonably have been indignant had I gone from +you, a young girl, to things which you held to be wrong. But I did not +know you; you must remember that. And as for the wrong itself, I hope +the knowledge of greater wrong may never come to you. When you have +lived in the world a few years longer, I am very much afraid you will +look upon such things with an only too careless eye." + +The cruel allusion to her youth told, and the girl's cheek flushed, +as she threw back her head with a spirited movement which delighted +Dartmouth, while the lanterns in her eyes leaped up afresh. Where had +he seen those eyes before? + +"I don't know what your ideas of honor may be in regard to the young +ladies of your acquaintance," she said, with an additional dash of +ice in her voice, "but it seems to me a peculiar kind of honor which +allows a man to insult his hostess by making love to a married woman +in her house." + +"Pret-ty good for a baby!" thought Dartmouth. "She could not have +done that better if she had been brought up Lady Langdon's daughter, +instead of having been under that general's tuition, and emancipated +from a life of seclusion, just about six months. Decidedly, she is +worth cultivating." He looked at her reflectively. That he was in +utter disgrace admitted of not a doubt. Women found little fault with +him, as a rule. They had shown themselves willing, with an aptitude +which savored of monotony, to take him on any terms; and to be sat in +judgment upon by a penniless girl with the face and air of an angry +goddess, had a flavor of novelty about it decidedly thrilling. +He determined to conquer or die. Clever as she was, she was still +absolutely a child, and no match for him. He placed his elbow on his +knee and leaned his head on his hand. + +"Your rebuke is a very just one," he said, sadly. "And I have only the +poor excuse to offer that in this wicked world of ours we grow very +callous, and forget those old codes of honor which men were once so +strict about, no matter what the irregularities of their lives might +be. I am afraid it is quite true that I am not fit to touch your hand; +and indeed," he added hastily, "it is a miserable business all round, +and God knows there is little enough in it." + +She turned and regarded him with something less of anger, something +more of interest, in her eyes. + +"Then why do not you reform?" she asked, in a matter-of fact tone. +"Why do you remain so bad, if you regret it?" + +"There is nothing else to do," gloomily "Life is such a wretched bore +that the only thing to do is to seize what little spice there is in +it, and the spice, alas! will never bear analysis." + +"Are you unhappy?" she demanded. Her eyes were still disapproving, but +her voice was a shade less cold. + +He smiled, but at the same time he felt a little ashamed of +himself, the weapons were so trite, and it was so easy to manage an +unworldly-wise and romantic girl. There was nothing to do but go on, +however. "No, I am not unhappy, Miss Penrhyn," he said; "that is, not +unhappy in the sense you would mean. I am only tired of life. That is +all--but it is enough." + +"But you are very young," she said, innocently. "You cannot yet be +thirty." + +He laughed shortly. "I am twenty-eight, Miss Penrhyn--and I am--forty +five. You cannot understand, and it is well you should not. But this +much I can tell you. I was born with a wretched load of _ennui_ on my +spirits, and all things pall after a brief experience. It has been so +since the first hour I can remember. My grandmother used to tell +me that I should wake up some day and find myself a genius, that I +rejoiced in several pointed indications toward that desirable end; +that I had only to wait, and ample compensation for the boredom of +life would come But, alas! I am twenty-eight, and there are no signs +of genius yet. I am merely a commonplace young man pursuing the most +commonplace of lives--but I am not going to bore you by talking about +myself any longer. I never do. I do not know why I do so to-night. But +there is something about you which is strangely sympathetic, in spite +of your"--he hesitated--"your unkindness." + +She had kept her eyes implacably on the opposite wall, but when he +finished she turned to him suddenly, and he saw that her face had +perceptibly relaxed. + +"You impress me very strangely," she said, abruptly. "I am willing to +tell you that frankly, and I hardly understand it. You are doubtless +correct when you say I have no right to be angry with you, and I +suppose it is also true that you are no worse than other men. When I +pushed aside that portière to-night I felt an unreasoning anger which +it would be hard to account for. Had it been Lord Bective Hollington +or Mr. Bolton I--I should not have cared. I should not have been +angry, I am sure of it. And yet I never saw you before to-day, and +had no possible interest in you. I do not understand it. I hardly know +whether I like you very much or hate you very much." + +He bent his head and looked down sharply into her eyes. He was so used +to the coquetry and finesse of women! Was she like the rest? But the +eyes she had turned to him were sincere to disquiet, and there was not +a suggestion of coquetry about her. + +"Do not hate me," he said, softly, "for I would give more for your +good opinion than for that of any woman I know. No, I do not mean that +for idle flattery. You may not realize it, but you are very different +from other women--Oh, bother!"--this last under his breath, as their +retreat was invaded by two indignant young men who insisted upon the +lawful rights of which Dartmouth had so unblushingly deprived them. +There was nothing to do but resign himself to his fate. + +Knowing that a second uninterrupted conversation would be impossible +with her that night, he left the house shortly after, not, however, +before a parting word had assured him that though she still might +disapprove, he would have many future opportunities to plead his +cause, and, furthermore, that she would not risk the loss of his +admiration by relating what she had seen. When he reached his +apartment he exchanged his coat for a smoking-jacket, lit a cigar, and +throwing himself down on a sofa, gave himself up to thoughts of Miss +Penrhyn. + +"A strange creature," he mentally announced. "If one can put one's +trust in physiognomy, I should say she had about ten times more in +her than dwells in ordinary women. She has no suspicion of it herself, +however; she will make that discovery later on. I should like to have +the power to render myself invisible; but no, I beg pardon, I should +like to be present in astral body when her nature awakens. I have +always wanted to study the successive psychological evolutions of a +woman in love. Not of the ordinary compound of the domestic and the +fashionable; there is nothing exciting in that; and besides, +our realistic novelists have rendered such researches on my part +superfluous; but of a type, small, but each member of which is built +up of infinite complexities--like this girl. The nature would awaken +with a sudden, mighty shock, not creep toward the light with slow, +well-regulated steps--but, bah! what is the use of indulging in +boneless imaginings? One can never tell what a woman of that sort will +think and feel, until her experience has been a part of his own. And +there is no possibility of my falling in love with her, even did I +wish it, which I certainly do not. The man who fascinates is not the +man who loves. Pardon my modesty, most charming of grandmothers, if +your soul really lurks behind that wonderful likeness of yours, as +I sometimes think it does, but a man cannot have the double power of +making many others feel and of feeling himself. At least, so it seems +to me. Love lightly roused is held as lightly, and one loses one's +respect for even the passion in the abstract. Of what value can a +thing be which springs into life for a trick of manner, an atom or two +more of that negative quality called personal magnetism, while wiser +and better men pass by unnoticed? One naturally asks, What is love? +A spiritual enthusiasm which a cold-blooded analyst would call +sentimentality, or its correlative, a fever of the senses? Neither is +a very exalted set of conditions. I have been through both more +than once, and if my attacks have been light, I have been the better +enabled to study my fair inspiration. I never discovered that she +felt more deeply; simply more strongly, more tempestuously, after the +nature of women. Her feelings were not more complex, they were merely +more strongly accentuated. A woman in love imagines that she is the +pivot on which the world revolves. A general may immortalize himself, +an emperor be assassinated and his empire plunged into a French +Revolution, and her passing interest is not roused; nor is she +unapt to wonder how others can be interested in matters so purely +impersonal. She thinks she loves as no woman ever loved before, and +sometimes she succeeds in making the man think so too. But when a +man has gone through this sort of thing a couple of dozen times, he +becomes impressed with the monotony, the shallowness, and the racial +resemblance, so to speak, of the divine passion; and his own capacity +for indulging in it diminishes in proportion. If Miss Penrhyn is +capable of anything wider and deeper and higher than her average +sister, I have met her too late to be inspired with anything beyond +passing curiosity. In fact, I doubt if I could be capable of so much +as indulging in the surmise had I never known my grandmother. _There_ +was a woman unique in her generation. So strong was her individuality +that I was forced to appreciate it, even in the days when I used +to make her life a burden by planting her silver spoons in the +rose-garden and re-setting her favorite cuttings wrong side up. I wish +she had lived longer; it would have been both a pleasure and a profit +to have studied and analyzed her. And how I should like to know her +history! That she had one there is no doubt. The lines of repression +in her face were the strongest I have ever seen, to say nothing of +the night I found her standing over the Byzantine chest with her hands +full of yellow papers. There were no lines of repression in her face +just then; she looked fairly murderous. She did not see me, and I left +with a brevity worthy of its cause. I should like to know who wrote +those letters. I looked for them after her death, but she had either +destroyed them or else that old Byzantine chest has a secret drawer. +If it has I'll discover it some day when time hangs heavily. + +"No," he continued, settling himself down more comfortably among his +pillows, and tossing the end of his cigar into the grate, "I shall +marry some day, undoubtedly, but I must find a woman with the brains +and charm of my grandmother. This girl, they say, is brilliant, and +certainly she cut me up sharply enough to-night; but she would +be altogether too much to handle for a lifetime. It would be very +pleasant for a time, but a deuced bore later on. What a beauty she is, +though! I cannot get her out of my mind. She has been posing before my +mental vision all the time I have been trying to think about something +else. Those eyes--gods! And what a figure! What--" + +With a nervous, precipitate motion, he rose to his feet and drew in +his breath, as if to throw a sudden load from his chest. He stood +irresolute for a moment, then revolving slowly on his heel, walked, as +if independently of his own volition, over to his desk. He felt very +strangely; he did not remember to have ever felt so strangely before. +His head had become suddenly confused, but at the same time he was +aware that his brain had thrown open its doors to a new arrival, and +that the visitor was trying to make itself heard. It appeared to be a +visitor of great importance, and Dartmouth was conscious that it had +presented itself to his perceptions in the form of an extraordinarily +strong impulse, a great and clamorous Desire. He had been aware of the +same desire before, but only in an abstract way, a general purposeless +longing; but now this peremptory, loudly-knocking consciousness was +vaguely suggesting another--just behind. It would almost seem, if it +were not too preposterous a supposition, as if that second struggling +consciousness were trying to announce itself under the high-sounding +title of--what? He could not formulate it. If his brain were only not +so confused! What could so suddenly have affected him? He was always +so clear-headed and logical. Was he going to be ill? When he reached +his desk he sat down before it and mechanically took up his pen. +He leaned his head on his hand, like a man in a state of mental +exhaustion, and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he opened them +wide, with an exclamation which was almost a cry; and of his usual +calm repose there was not a trace remaining. He leaned forward +breathlessly and put his pen to the paper. "Her eyes! Her skin! Her +form!" he muttered uncertainly. "Her--her--her--Oh! _what_ is it? +_Why_ cannot I say it? It has come at last--_she_ was right after +all--but the words--the words--why will not they come? The music is +there--a great rhythm and harmony--but the words are floating about +like wraiths of mist. If I could only grasp and crystallize them, and +set them to that wonderful music, the world--the world would rise at +last and call me great! Her eyes--her hair--oh, my God, _what_ is it?" +He threw down his pen and staggered to his feet. His face was blanched +and drawn, and his eyes had lost their steady light. He grasped the +chair to save himself from falling; he had lost over himself both +physical and mental control. It seemed to him that two beings, two +distinct entities, were at war within his brain--that new, glorious +consciousness, and a tangible power above, which forced it down with +an iron hand--down--down--into the depths of his mind, where its cries +for speech came up in faint, inarticulate murmurs. And it tried and +tried, that strange new thing, to struggle from its dungeon and reach +the wide, free halls of his thought, but it could not; it beat against +that unrelaxing iron hand only to fall back again and again. And it +sang and sang and sang, in spite of its struggles and captivity. The +faint, sweet echo came up--if he could but catch the words! If he +could but dash aside that iron hand, and let his brain absorb them! +Surely a word or two must force their way--yes! yes! they had come! +"Her face! her form!"--He tore open his waistcoat; his lungs felt as +if they had been exhausted. Then, how he never knew, he managed to +reach his sofa, and fell face downward upon it; and the next morning, +when his valet came in and drew aside the curtains and let in the +light of mid-day, he found him there as he had fallen. + + + + +III. + + +Harold Dartmouth came of a family celebrated throughout its history +for producing men of marked literary and political ability. Few +generations had passed without a Dartmouth distinguishing himself, +and those members of the family less gifted were not in the habit +of having their fine intellectual qualities called to account. The +consequence was that their young descendant, who inherited all the +family cleverness, although as yet he had betrayed the possession of +none of its higher gifts, paid the penalty of his mental patrimony. +His brain was abnormally active, both through conditions of heredity +and personal incitement; and the cerebral excitation necessarily +produced resulted not infrequently in violent reaction, which took the +form of protracted periods of melancholy. These attacks of melancholy +had begun during his early school-days, when, a remarkably bright +but extremely wild boy, he had been invariably fired with ambition as +examinations approached, and obliged to cram to make up for lost time. +As years went by they grew with his growth, and few months passed +without an attack of the blues more or less violent, no matter +how brief. They came after hours of brooding over his desire to +distinguish himself, and his fatal want of ability; they came during +his intervals of purely intellectual disgust with himself and with +life; but more frequently still they came upon him from no apparent +cause whatever. They were a part of his personality, just as humor, +or light, unthinking gaiety, or a constantly bubbling wit may form the +predominating characteristic of another man. + +For a week after the night of his futile impulse to put into shape +the nebulous verse which had tormented his brain, no one saw Harold +Dartmouth. The violent shock and strain had induced an attack of +mental and spiritual depression which amounted to prostration, and +he lay on his sofa taking no notice of the days as they slipped by, +eating little and speaking to no one. At first Jones, his man-servant, +was not particularly disturbed. He had brought Dartmouth up, and +had come to look upon his moods as a matter of course. He therefore +confined himself to forcing his master to take his food and to +parrying the curiosity of the French servants; he knew Dartmouth's +temper too well to venture to call a doctor, and he hoped that in a +few days the mood would wear itself out. But at the end of a week +he became seriously alarmed. He had spent the last day but one in a +desperate and fruitless attempt to rouse Dartmouth, and had used every +expedient his ingenuity could suggest. Finally, at his wits' end, he +determined to call in the help of Lord Bective Hollington, who was +Dartmouth's most intimate friend, and had lived with him and his moods +for months together. He came to this decision late on the night of the +seventh day, and at eleven the next morning he presented himself at +Hollington's apartments in the Rue Lincoln. Hollington was still in +bed and reading the morning paper, but he put it down at once. + +"Send him in," he said. "Something is the matter with Harold," he +continued to himself. "Something unusual has been the matter with him +all the week, when he wouldn't even see me. Well, Jones, what is it?" +as that perturbed worthy entered. "You are an early visitor." + +"Oh! my Lord!" exclaimed Jones, tearfully; "something dreadful hails +Master 'Arold." + +"What is it?" demanded Hollington, quickly. "Is he ill?" + +Jones shook his head. "No, my Lord; I wish 'ee was. 'Ee's worse than +hill. 'Ee's got one of 'is moods." + +"Poor Harold! I thought he had got over all that since he had given +himself over to the distractions of wine, woman, and song. I haven't +seen him in one of his moods for three or four years." + +"Ah, sir, I 'ave, then. 'Ee don't 'ave them so frequent like before he +begun to travel, but hevery wunst in a while 'ee will be terrible for +two hor three days; but I never see hanything like this before, heven +at Crumford 'All. 'Ee 'as never spoke for a week; not since the night +of the ball hat the Russian Legation." + +"By Jove! you don't mean it. I thought he was on a 'private tear,' as +the Americans say; but I don't like this at all. Just clear out, and +I'll be dressed and over in his rooms in less than half an hour." And +he sprang out of bed before Jones had closed the door. + +He was but a few moments dressing, as he had promised, and was at +Dartmouth's apartment before Jones had time to become impatient, +nervous as he was. He pulled aside the portière of the salon and +looked in. The curtains were drawn and the room was dark, but on a +sofa near the window he saw his friend lying. He picked his way over +through the studiously disordered furniture and touched Dartmouth on +the shoulder. + +"Hal!" he said, "Hal!" + +Dartmouth opened his eyes and looked up. "Is it you, Becky?" he +said, languidly. "Go away and let me alone." But his words and manner +indicated that the attack was at last "wearing itself out." + +"I will do nothing of the sort," replied Hollington. "Get up off that +sofa this moment. A week! I am ashamed of you. What would the old lady +say?" + +"She would understand," murmured Dartmouth. "She always understood. I +wish she were here now." + +"I wish she were. She would soon have you out of this. Get up. Don't +be a fool." + +"I am not a fool. I have got one of the worst of the old attacks, and +I can't shake it off; that is all. Go away, and let me fight it out by +myself." + +"I will not move from this room, if I stay here for six months, until +you go with me. So make up your mind to it." And he threw himself into +an easy-chair, and lighting a cigar, proceeded leisurely to smoke it. + +Dartmouth turned uneasily once or twice. "You know I can't bear anyone +near me," he said; "I want to be alone." + +"You have been alone long enough. I will do as I have said." + +There was silence for a few moments, and Dartmouth's restlessness +increased. Hollington watched him closely, and after a time handed him +a cigar and offered him a light. Dartmouth accepted both mechanically, +and for a time the two men smoked in silence. When Dartmouth finished +he rose to his feet. + +"Very well," he said, "have your own way. Wait until I dress and I +will go out with you." He went into his dressing-room and returned +about an hour later, during which time Hollington had thrown back the +curtains and written a couple of letters. Dartmouth was still haggard +and very pale, but his face had been shaved and he looked something +like himself once more. Hollington rose and threw down his pen at +once. + +"I will drop in on our way back and finish this letter," he said. "You +must get out of the house as quickly as possible. By Jove! how bad you +look!" He put his hand on his friend's shoulder and looked at him a +moment. He was the average Englishman in most of his details, +tall, well-built, with a good profile, and a ruddy Saxon face. His +individual characteristics were an eternal twinkle in his eye, a +forehead with remarkably well-developed reflectives, and a very square +chin and jaw. Just now the twinkle was less aggressive and his face +had softened noticeably. "There is no help for it, I suppose, Hal, is +there?" he said. + +Dartmouth looked back at him with a smile, and a good deal of +affection in his eyes. "No, old fellow," he replied; "I am afraid +there is not. But they are rarely as bad as this last. And--thank you +for coming." + +They went out together and walked to the Café Anglais on the Boulevard +des Italiens. The air was keen and cold, the walk a long one, and +Dartmouth felt like another man by the time he sat down to breakfast. +One or two other men joined them. Hollington was unusually witty, the +conversation was general and animated, and when Dartmouth left the +café the past week seemed an ugly dream. In the afternoon he met the +wife of the American Consul-General, Mrs. Raleigh, in the Bois, and +learned from her that Margaret Talbot had left Paris. This left him +free to remain; and when Mrs. Raleigh reminded him that her doors were +open that evening, he asked permission at once to present himself. +Mrs. Raleigh not only had a distinguished and interesting salon, but +she casually remarked that she expected Miss Penrhyn, and Dartmouth +felt a strong desire to see the girl again. + + + + +IV. + + +When, a few hours later, Dartmouth entered Mrs. Raleigh's salon, he +saw Miss Penrhyn surrounded by some half-dozen men, and talking +with the abandon of a pleased child, her eyes sparkling, her cheeks +flushed. As he went over to her the flush faded slightly, but she held +out her hand and smiled up into his eyes. + +"You have been ill," she murmured, sympathetically. "You look so +still." + +"Yes," he said, "I have been ill; otherwise I should have made an +effort to see you before. I suppose I cannot get a word with you +to-night May I call on you to morrow morning?" + +"Yes, you may come." + +"Thank you. And there will not be a dozen other men there?" + +She smiled. "I do not think there will be anyone else. I rarely +receive in the morning." + +"But are you sure?" + +He had a long sweep of black lash, through which the clear blue of his +eyes had a way of shining with a pleading, softening lustre, immensely +effective. It was an accepted fact that when Mr. Dartmouth turned +on this battery of eyes and lash, resistance was a forgotten art and +protest a waste of time. Miss Penrhyn did not prove an exception to +the rule. She hesitated, then answered, with a little laugh, as if +amused at herself, "Well, yes, I am sure." + +"Very well, then, remember, I look upon that as a promise. And I will +try to get a word with you later, but there is no hope now." + +He moved off and, leaning against the opposite wall, covertly watched +her, while ostensibly listening with due sympathy to the hopes and +fears of an old friend and embryo author. In a moment he made a +discovery--of his friend's confidence I regret to say he heard not one +word--she did not treat him as she treated other men. Well bred as she +was, there was a perceptible embarrassment in her manner whenever he +addressed her, but with these other men she was talking and smiling +without a trace of effort or restraint. He knew what it meant. He was +thoroughly aware that he was a man of extraordinary magnetism, and he +had seen his power over a great many women. Ordinarily, to a man so +sated with easy success as Harold Dartmouth, the certainty of conquest +would have strangled the fancy, but there was something about this +girl which awakened in him an interest he did not pretend to define, +except that he found her more beautiful, and believed her to be +more original, than other women. He was anxious to have a longer +conversation with her, and ascertain whether or not he was correct in +his latter supposition. He did not want to marry, and she was too +good to flirt with, but platonics were left. And platonics with Miss +Penrhyn suggested variety. + +He also made another discovery. Someone played an interminable piece +of classic music. During its recital it was not possible for Miss +Penrhyn to talk with the men about her, and as the animation faded +from her face, he noticed the same preoccupied look overspread it +which had characterized it the night she had entered the ball-room at +the Legation. Something troubled her, but to Dartmouth's quick eye +it was not an active trouble, it was more like a shadow which took +possession of her face in its moments of repose with the quiet +assurance of a dweller of long standing. Possibly she herself was +habitually forgetful of its cause; but the cause had struck deep +into the roots of her nature, and its shadow had become a part of +her beauty. Dartmouth speculated much and widely, but rejected the +hypothesis of a lover. She had never loved for a moment; and in spite +of his platonic predilections, this last of his conclusions held a +very perceptible flavor of satisfaction. When the classic young lady +had gracefully acknowledged the raptures she had evoked, and tripped +back to her seat, Miss Penrhyn was asked to sing, and then Dartmouth +saw his opportunity; he captured her when she had finished, and bore +her off to the conservatory before anyone could interfere. + +"You sing charmingly," he said. "Will you sing for me to-morrow?" + +"If you can stretch flattery to that extent, with Patti at the Grand +Opera House." + +"I have been listening to Patti for fifteen years, and man loves +variety. I wish I could tell where I have seen you before," he +continued, abruptly. "Do you look like your mother? I may have seen +her in my youth." + +Her face flushed a sudden, painful red, and then turned very pale. "I +do not remember my mother," she stammered. "She died when I was quite +young." + +"Poor thing!" thought Dartmouth. "How girls do grieve for an unknown +mother!" "But you have seen her picture?" he said, aloud. + +"Yes, I have seen her pictures. They are dark, like myself. But that +is all." + +"You must have had a lonely childhood, brought up all by yourself in +that gloomy old castle I have heard described." + +She colored again and crushed a fern-leaf nervously between her +fingers. "Yes, it was lonesome. Yes--those old castles always are." + +"By the way--I remember--my mother spent a summer down there once, +some twelve or thirteen years ago, and--it comes back to me now--I +remember having heard her speak of Rhyd-Alwyn as the most picturesque +castle in Wales. She must have known your mother, of course. And you +must have known the children. _Why_ was I not there?" + +"I do not remember," she said, rising suddenly to her feet, and +turning so pale that Dartmouth started to his in alarm. "Come; let us +go back to the salon." + +"There is some mystery," thought Dartmouth. "Have I stumbled upon a +family skeleton? Poor child!" But aloud he said, "No, do not go yet; +I want to talk to you." And when he had persuaded her to sit down +once more, he exerted himself to amuse her, and before long had the +satisfaction of seeing that she had forgotten her agitation. It did +not take him long to discover that she had read a great deal and that +her favorite reading had been travels, and he entertained her with +graphic recitals of such of his own varied experience as he thought +most likely to interest her. She listened with flattering attention +and a natural and keen sense of humor, and he was stimulated to a good +deal more effort than habit prompted. "You will enjoy travelling," he +said, finally; "and you will not travel like other women. You will see +something besides picture-galleries, and churches, and _Bons marchés_. +I believe that you would realize what it is to be an atom of to-day in +the presence of twenty centuries." + +She smiled up at him with quick sympathy. "Yes," she said, "I believe +one must more frequently be awed than pleased, or even enraptured. And +I can imagine how even the most self-content of men, if he absorb the +meaning of Europe, must feel his insignificance. If he has wit enough +to reflect that all these represented ages, with their extraordinary +results, abstract and concrete, have come and gone with no aid of his; +that no prophet ever whispered his name among the thousands of great +in every conceivable destiny; that he is, mentally and physically, +simply a result of evolution and civilization, not, in any way worth +mentioning, a cause, he will be apt to reflect as well upon how many +men, all told, have ever heard of his existence or who besides his +grandchildren will remember him a generation hence. He will probably +wish that arithmetic had never been invented. Or if he be one of the +great of earth, he is only one after all, and, if he be in danger of +bursting from inflation, he can be grateful for a timely reminder that +there are several millions on the globe who have never heard of him, +and a few millions more who do not and never will take the faintest +interest in him or his career. But it needs the presence of twenty +centuries to bring the fact of man's individual insignificance home to +most of us." + +"She is clever," thought Dartmouth, as he dismissed his brougham +a little later and walked home alone. "Very un-modern and most +reprehensibly unconventional, in so much as she thinks, and develops +her mental muscles; but very charming, notwithstanding. There is an +incongruity about her, however, which is almost absurd. She has been +brought up in such seclusion--and under the sole tuition of a man not +only a pedant, but who has never stepped through the gates of the last +generation--that she reminds one of those fair English dames who used +to prowl about their parks with the Phaedo under their arm and long +for a block on which to float down to prosperity; Plato had quite +enough to do to sail for himself. And upon this epitomized abstraction +of the sixteenth century, this mingling of old-time stateliness, of +womanly charm, of tougher mental fibre, are superimposed the shallow +and purely objective attributes of the nineteenth-century belle and +woman of fashion. It is almost a shock to hear her use our modern +vernacular, and when she relapses into the somewhat stilted language +in which she is still accustomed to think, it is a positive relief. +She is conscious that she is apt to be a little high-flown, and when +she forgets herself and is natural, she quickly pulls herself in with +a round turn, which is an apology in itself. Upon such occasions a +man wants to get his fingers about the throat of the world. She has +acquired all the little arts and mannerisms of the London drawing-room +girl, and although they do not sit ungracefully upon her, because +she is innately graceful, and too clever to assume a virtue which +she cannot assimilate, still it is like a foreigner who speaks your +language to perfection in all but accent, and whom you long to hear in +his own tongue. Put her back in her Welsh castle, and the scales +would fall from her as from a mermaid who loves. If she returns to +her father at the end of the season, I think I will call upon her six +months later. She should go now, though; scales are apt to corrode. +But what is the mystery about the mother? Did she elope with the +coachman? But, no; that is strictly a modern freak of fashion. Perhaps +she died in a mad-house. Not improbable, if she had anything of the +nature of this girl in her, and Sir Iltyd sowed the way with thorns +too sharp. Poor girl! she is too young for mysteries, whatever it is. +I shall like to know her better, but she is so intense that she makes +me feel frivolous. I am never intense except when I have the blues, +and intensity, with my peculiar mental anatomy, is a thing to be +avoided. In what is invariably the last chapter of those attacks of +morbid dissatisfaction I shall some day feel an intense desire to blow +out my brains, and shall probably succumb. I wonder if she will induce +another rhyming attack to-night. Was that night a dream or a reality? +Could I have had a short but sharp attack of brain fever? Perhaps +the less I think about it the better; but it is decidedly hard to be +gifted with the instincts of a poet and denied the verbal formulation. +And it was the most painfully realistic, aggressively material +thing, that conflict in my brain, that mortal ever experienced. That, +however, may have been a mere figment of my excited imagination. +But what excited my imagination? That is the question. If I remember +aright, I was mentally discoursing with some enthusiasm upon Miss +Penrhyn's charms, but in strict impartiality it cannot be said that +I was excited. The excitement was like that produced by an onslaught +from behind. It is the more surprising, as I think it may be conceded +that I have myself pretty well in hand by this time, and that my +nerves, unruly as nature saw fit to make them, are now my very abject +slaves. Occasionally one of our fiction carpenters flies off at a +tangent and treats us to a series of intellectual gymnastics, the +significance of which--so we are called upon to digest--is that the +soul of one dead, finding its present clime too warm--or too cold--or +having left something undone on earth, takes temporary and summary +possession of an unfortunate still in the flesh, and through this +unhappy medium endeavors to work his will. Perhaps that is what is the +matter with me. Pollok, perchance, who died in his flower, thinking +that he had not given the world a big enough pill to swallow, wants to +concoct another dose in my presumably vacant brain. I appreciate +the compliment, but I disdain to be Pollok's mouthpiece: I will be +original or nothing. Besides, it is deuced uncomfortable. And I should +like to know if there is anything in life more bitter than the sense, +even momentary, of loss of self-mastery. Well, as I remarked a few +moments since, the less I think about it the better, considering my +unfortunate peculiarities. I will go and see Miss Penrhyn to-morrow; +that will be sufficiently distracting for the present." + + + + +V. + + +He found her the next day in a pretty morning-room, dressed in a long +white gown, with a single great yellow rose at her throat. She had +a piece of tapestry in her hand, and as she rose to greet him, the +plain, heavy folds of her gown clinging about her, and her dark +hair bound closely around her head with a simplicity that was almost +severe, Dartmouth again felt a humorous sense of having suddenly +stepped into a page of a past century. + +"What are you doing?" he said, as he took a chair opposite her. "Women +never make tapestry--real tapestry--in these days. You remind me of +Lady Jane Grey. Shall I get a volume of Greek and read it to you?" + +She laughed. "I fear it would literally be Greek to me. Latin and I +had a fierce and desperate war, but I conquered in the end. With the +Greek, however, the war was extremely brief, and he marched off with +colors flying, and never condescended to renew the engagement." + +"For all mercies make us duly thankful. A woman who knows Greek is +like a hot-house grape; a mathematically perfect thing, but scentless +and flavorless." + +"You are consoling; and, indeed, I cannot see that it would have done +me much good; it certainly would not have increased my popularity +among your exacting sex. You are the first man to whom I have dared +acknowledge I know Latin. Lady Langdon was kind enough to give me +elaborate warnings and instructions before she launched me into +society. Among other things, she constantly reiterated, 'Never let a +man suspect that you know anything, my dear. He will fly from you as +a hare to cover. I want you to be a belle, and you must help me.' I +naturally asked her what I was to talk about, and she promptly replied +'Nothing. Study the American girl, they have the most brilliant way +of jabbering meaningless recitativos of any tribe on the face of the +earth. Every sentence is an epigram with the point left out. They are +like the effervescent part of a bottle of soda-water.' This was while +we were still in Wales, and she sent for six books by two of those +American novelists who are supposed to be the expounders-in-chief of +the American girl at home and abroad, and made me read them. It nearly +killed me, but I did it, and I learned a valuable lesson. I hated the +American girl, but I felt as if I had been boiled in soda-water and +every pore of my body had absorbed it. I felt ecstatically frivolous, +and commonplace, and flashing, and sizzling. And--I assure you this +is a fact, although you may not give me credit for such grim +determination and concentration of purpose--but I never eat my +breakfast before I have read an entire chapter from one of those two +authors, it adjusts my mental tone for the day and keeps me in proper +condition." + +Dartmouth threw back his head and gave vent to the heartiest burst +of laughter he had indulged in for years. "Upon my word, you are +original," he exclaimed, delightedly, "and for heaven's sake, don't +try to be anything else. You could not be an American girl if you +tried for a century, for the reason that you have too many centuries +behind you. The American girl is charming, exquisite, a perfect +flower--but thin. She is like the first fruit of a new tree planted +in new soil. Her flavor is as subtle and vanishing as pistachio, +but there is no richness, no depth, no mellowness, no suggestion +of generations of grafting, or of orchards whose very sites are +forgotten. The soda-water simile is good, but the American girl, in +her actual existence--not in her verbal photographs, I grant you--is +worthy of a better. She is more like one glass of champagne-_frappe_, +momentarily stimulating, but quickly forgotten. When I was in America, +I met the most charming women in New York--I did not spend two weeks, +all told, in Washington--and New York is the concentrated essence, +the pinnacle of American civilization and achievement. But although I +frequently talked to one or another of those women for five hours at a +time without a suggestion of fatigue, I always had the same sensation +in regard to them that I had in regard to their waists while +dancing--they were unsatisfactory, intangible. I never could be sure +I really held a woman in my arms, and I never could remember a word +I had exchanged with them. But they are charming--that word describes +them 'down to the ground.'" + +"That word 'thin' is good, too," she replied; "and I think it +describes their literature better than any other. They write +beautifully those Americans, they are witty, they are amusing, they +are entertaining, they delineate character with a master hand; they +give us an exact idea of their peculiar environment and conditions; +and the way they handle dialect is a marvel; but--they are thin; they +ring hollow; they are like sketches in pen-and-ink; there is no color, +no warmth, and above all, no perspective. I don't know that they are +even done in sharp black-and-white; to me the pervading tone is gray. +The American author depresses me; he makes me feel commonplace and new +and unballasted. I always feel as if I were the 'millionth woman in +superfluous herds'; and when one of those terrible American authors +attacks my type, and carves me up for the delectation of the public, I +shall go back to Wales, nor ever emerge from my towers again. And they +are so cool and calm and deliberate, and so horribly exact, even the +lesser lights. They always remind me of a medical student watching the +workings of the exposed nervous system of a chloroformed hare." + +Dartmouth looked at her with some intensity in his gaze. "I am glad +your ideas are so singularly like my own," he said. "It is rather +remarkable they should be, but so it is. You have even a way of +putting your thoughts that strikes me as familiar, and which, out of +my natural egotism, I find attractive. But I wish you would go back to +your old castle; the world will spoil you." + +"I shall return in a month or two now; my father is lonely without +me." + +"I suppose he spoils you," said Dartmouth, smiling. "I imagine you +were an abominable infant. Tell me of some of the outrageous things +you used to do. I was called the worst child in three counties; but, I +doubt not, your exploits discounted mine, as the Americans say." + +"Oh, mine are too bad to relate," she exclaimed, with a nervous laugh, +and coloring swiftly, as she had done the night before. "But you were +ill for a whole week, were you not? Was it anything serious?" + +Dartmouth felt a sudden impulse to tell her of his strange experience. +He was not given to making confidences, but he felt _en rapport_ with +this girl as he had never felt with man or woman before. He had a +singular feeling, when talking with or listening to her, of losing his +sense of separateness. It was not that he felt de-individualized, but +that he had an accession of personality. It was pleasant because it +was novel, but at the same time it was uncomfortable because it was +a trifle unnatural. He smiled a little to himself. Was it a case of +affinity after all? But he had no time to analyze. She was waiting for +an answer, and in a moment he found himself yielding to his impulse +and giving her a graphic account of his peculiar visitation. + +At first she merely dropped her tapestry and listened attentively, +smiling and blushing a little when he told her what had immediately +preceded the impulse to write. But gradually the delicate pink left +her face, and she began to move in the spasmodic, uncontrollable way +of a person handling an electric battery. She clasped the arms of +her chair with such force that her arms looked twisted and rigid, and +finally she bent slowly forward, gazing up into his face with eyes +expanded to twice their natural size and not a vestige of color in +her cheek or lips: she looked like a corpse still engaged in the +mechanical act of gazing on the scene of agony which had preceded +its death. Suddenly she sprang to her feet and threw out her hands. +"Stop!" she cried; "stop!" + +"What is it?" he demanded, rising to his feet in amazement; he had +been watching her with more or less surprise for some time. "I am +afraid I have frightened you and made you nervous. I had better have +kept my confidence to myself." + +"No, no," she cried, throwing back her head and clasping her hands +about it; "it is not that I am frightened--only--it was so strange! +While you were talking it seemed--oh! I cannot describe it!--as if you +were telling me something which I knew as well as yourself. When +you spoke it seemed to me that I knew and could put into words the +wonderful verse-music which was battling upward to reach your brain. +They were, they were--I know them so well. I have known them always; +but I cannot--I cannot catch their meaning!" Suddenly she stepped +backward, dropped her hands, and colored painfully. "It is all purest +nonsense, of course," she said, in her ordinary tone and manner, +except for its painful embarrasment. "It is only your strong, +picturesque way of telling it which presented it as vividly to my mind +as if it were an experience of my own. I never so much as dreamed of +it before you began to speak." + +Dartmouth did not answer her for a moment. His own mind was in +something of a tumult. In telling the story he had felt, not a +recurrence of its conditions, but a certain sense of their influence; +and the girl's manner and words were extraordinary. It could hardly +be possible, even in cold blood, to understand their meaning. She +was indisputably not acting. What she had said was very strange and +unconventional, but from whatever source the words had sprung, they +had not been uttered with the intention premeditated or spontaneous +of making an impression upon him. They carried conviction of their +sincerity with them, and Dartmouth was sensible that they produced +a somewhat uncanny but strangely responsive effect upon himself. +But what did it mean? That in some occult way she had been granted +a glimpse into the depths of his nature was unthinkable. He was not +averse to indulging a belief in affinity; and that this girl was his +was not a disagreeable idea; but his belief by no means embraced a +second, to the effect that the soul of one's antitype is as an open +book to the other. Could her mind be affected? But no. She was a very +unusual girl, possibly an eccentric one; but he flattered himself +that he knew a lunatic when he saw one. There was left then but the +conclusion that she possessed a strongly and remarkably sympathetic +nature, as yet unbridled and unblunted by the world, and that he had +made a dangerous imprint upon it. He was not unduly vain, but he was +willing to believe that she would not vibrate so violently to every +man's touch. + +This point settled to the best of his capabilities, he allowed a +second consciousness, which had been held under for the moment, +during the exercisings of his analytical instinct, to claim his +consideration. He was sensible that he was attracted as he had never +been attracted by woman before. He had felt something of this on the +night he had met her, and he had felt it more strongly on the occasion +of their second interview; but now he was aware that it had suddenly +taken the form of an overmastering desire for possession. He was by +nature an impulsive man, but he was a man of the world as well, and +he had his impulses pretty well subordinated to interest and +common-sense; nevertheless he felt very much like doing a rash and +impulsive thing at the present moment. He was a man of rapid thought, +and these reflections chased each other through his mind much more +quickly than I have been able to take them down, and Miss Penrhyn +had averted her gaze and was playing nervously with some flowers in +a basket on a pedestal beside her. She was acutely aware that she had +made a fool of herself, and imagined that his hesitation was due to +a polite desire to arrange his reply in such wise as not to make his +appreciation of the fact too crudely apparent. At the same time she +was a little exhausted under the reaction of a short but very severe +mental strain. As for Dartmouth, he hesitated a moment longer. He was +balancing several pros and cons very rapidly. He was aware that if he +asked this girl to marry him and she consented, he must, as a man of +honor, abide by the contract, no matter how much she might disappoint +him hereafter. At the same time the knowledge that he was in love +with her was growing more distinct every second. Doubtless the wisest +course would be to go away for the present and postpone any decisive +step until he knew her better. But he was not a patient man, and he +was not in the habit of putting off until to-morrow what he could do +to-day. (He considered that certain of the precepts instilled during +childhood were of admirable practical value). The best thing in life +was its morning: he did not like evening shadows and autumn twilights. +There was nothing that could compare with the sweetness and fineness +of the flavor of novelty. When it was practicable to take advantage +of one's impulses one had a brief draught of true philosopher's +happiness. And, at all events, this girl was a lady, high-born, +high-bred, intellectual, and unique. She was also plastic, and if she +had a somewhat too high-strung nature, love had been known to work +wonders before. He had mastered the difficult art of controlling +himself; he was not afraid of not being able to control any woman who +loved him. He went over to her and took her hands in his strong clasp. + +"I have known you a very short--" he began, and then paused abruptly. + +He had meant to speak calmly and not frighten her by the suddenness +of his love-making, but her touch fired him and sent the blood to his +head. He flung down her hands, and throwing his arms about her, kissed +her full on the mouth. The girl turned very white and tried to free +herself, but his arms were too strong, and in a moment she ceased to +resist. She made no attempt to define her feelings as Dartmouth had +done. She had felt the young man's remarkable magnetism the moment she +had met him: she had been aware of a certain prophetic instinct of it +some hours before, when he had stood in the window of a crowded café +above a crowded thoroughfare and speculatively returned her gaze. +And the night before, she had gone home with a very sharply outlined +consciousness that she would never again meet a man who would interest +her so deeply. To-day, this feeling had developed into one of strong +reciprocal sympathy, and he had exerted a psychological influence over +her as vaguely delightful as it was curious and painful. But all this +was no preparation for the sudden tumult of feeling which possessed +her under his kiss. She knew that it was love; and, that it had come +to her without warning, made the knowledge no less keen and sure. +Her first impulse was to resist, but purely out of that pride which +forbids a woman to yield too soon; and when his physical strength made +her powerless, she was glad that it should be so. + +"Will you marry me?" he asked. + +"Yes" she said; "I will marry you." + + + + +PART II. + +THE DISCORD. + +I. + + +Two weeks later Dartmouth had followed Weir Penrhyn to Wales. He had +written to her father at once, and Sir Iltyd had informed him in reply +that although aware of his rank and private fortune, through Lady +Langdon's intimation, and although possessing a high regard and esteem +for his father, still it was impossible for him to give any definite +answer until he had known him personally, and he therefore invited +him to come as soon as it pleased him and pay Rhyd-Alwyn a visit. Weir +accordingly, and much to Lady Langdon's disgust, had returned to Wales +at once; Dartmouth insisted upon an early marriage, and the longer +they delayed obtaining Sir Iltyd's consent the longer must the wedding +be postponed. + +Dartmouth arrived late in the afternoon at Rhyd-Alwyn--a great pile of +gray towers of the Norman era and half in ruins. He did not meet Sir +Iltyd until a few minutes before dinner was announced, but he saw Weir +for a moment before he went up-stairs to dress for dinner. His room +was in one of the towers, and as he entered it he had the pleasurable +feeling, which Weir so often induced, of stepping back into a dead and +gone century. It looked as if unnumbered generations of Penrhyns had +slept there since the hand of the furnisher had touched it. The hard, +polished, ascetic-looking floor was black with age; the tapestry on +the walls conveyed but a suggestion of what its pattern and color had +been; a huge four-posted bed heavily shrouded with curtains stood +in the centre of the room, and there were a number of heavy, carved +pieces of furniture whose use no modern Penrhyn would pretend to +explain. The vaulted ceiling was panelled, and the windows were +narrow and long and high. Sufficient light found its way through them, +however, to dress by, and there was a bright log-fire in the open +fire-place. + +"Jones," said Dartmouth, after he had admiringly examined the details +of the room and was getting into his clothes, "just throw those +curtains up over the roof of that bed. I like the antique, but I don't +care to be smothered. Give me my necktie, and look out for the bed +before you forget it." + +Jones looked doubtfully up at the canopy. "That is pretty 'igh, sir," +he said. "Hif I can find a step-ladder--" + +"A step-ladder in a Welsh castle! The ante-deluge Penrhyns would turn +in their graves, or to be correct, in their family vaults. No true +Welsh noble is guilty of departing from the creed of his ancestors to +the tune of domestic comforts. It is fortunate a man does not have +to marry his wife's castle as well as herself. Get up on to that +cabinet--it is twice as high as yourself--and you can manage the +curtains quite easily." + +Jones with some difficulty succeeded in moving the tall piece of +furniture designated to the bed-side; then with the help of a chair he +climbed to the top of it. He caught one of the tender-looking curtains +carefully between his hands, and was about to throw it over the +canopy, shutting his eyes and his mouth to exclude the possible dust, +when the cabinet beneath him suddenly groaned, swayed, and the next +moment there was a heavy crash, and he was groaning in the midst of +a dozen antique fragments. Harold sprang forward in some alarm and +picked him up. "By Jove!" he exclaimed, "I am afraid you are hurt; and +what a row I have made! I might have known better than to tell you to +trust your weight on that old thing." + +Jones shook himself slowly, extended his arms and legs, announced +himself unhurt, and Dartmouth gave his attention to the cabinet. "I +shall have to initiate myself in my prospective father-in-law's good +graces by announcing myself a spoiler of his household goods," he +exclaimed, ruefully. "And a handsome old thing like that, too; it is +a shame!" He thrust his hands into his pockets and continued looking +down at the ruins with a quizzical smile on his face. + +"By every law of romance and of precedent," he thought, "I ought to +find in that cabinet the traditional packet of old letters which would +throw a flood of light upon some dark and tragic mystery. Else why did +I tell Jones to stand upon that particular cabinet instead of that one +over there, which looks as if iron hammers could not break it; and why +did Jones blindly obey me? That it should be meaningless chance is +too flat to be countenanced. I should find the long lost Mss. of that +rhymer who took possession of me that night, and so save myself the +discomfort of being turned into a Temple of Fame a second time. Truly +there has been an element of the unusual throughout this whole affair +with Weir. Once or twice I have felt as if about to sail out of the +calm, prosaic waters of this every-day nineteenth-century life, +and embark upon the phosphorescent sea of our sensational +novelists--psychological, so-called. It is rather soon for the +cabinet to break, however. It suggests an anti-climax, which would be +inartistic. But such material was never intended to be thrown away by +a hero of romance." + +He kicked about among the fragments of the ruined cabinet, but was +rewarded by no hollow ring. It was a most undutifully matter-of-fact +and prosaic piece of furniture in its interior, however much it may +have pleased the æsthetic sense outwardly. He gave it up after a time, +and finished dressing. "Nothing in that but firewood," he announced to +Jones, who had been watching his researches with some surprise. "Pile +it up in a corner and leave it there until I have made my peace with +Sir Iltyd." + +He gave his necktie a final touch, then went down to the drawing-room, +where he found the candles lit and Sir Iltyd standing on the hearth-rug +beside his daughter. The old gentleman came forward at once and +greeted him with stately, old-fashioned courtesy, his stern, somewhat +sad features relaxing at once under Dartmouth's rare charm of manner. +He was a fine-looking man, tall and slim like his daughter, but very +fair. His head, well developed, but by no means massive, and scantily +covered with gray hair, was carried with the pride which was the bone +and fibre of his nature. Pride, in fact, albeit a gentle, chastened +sort of pride, was written all over him, from the haughty curve of his +eyebrow to the conscious wave of his small, delicate hand--pride, and +love for his daughter, for he followed her every movement with the +adoring eyes of a man for the one solace of a sad and lonely old age. + +"It is so awfully good of you to let me come up here so soon," +exclaimed Dartmouth. "But what do you suppose I have done to prove my +gratitude?" + +"Made the castle your own, I hope." + +"I have. I proceeded at once to make myself at home by smashing up +the furniture. One of your handsomest cabinets is now in ruins upon my +bedroom floor." + +Sir Iltyd looked at him with a somewhat puzzled glance. He had lived +in seclusion for nearly thirty years, and was unaccustomed to the +facetiousness of the modern youth. "Has anything happened?" he +demanded anxiously. + +Dartmouth smiled, but gave an account of the disaster in unadorned +English, and received forgiveness at once. Had he confessed to having +chopped his entire tower to pieces, Sir Iltyd would have listened +without a tightening of the lips, and with the air of a man about to +invite his guest to make a bonfire of the castle if so it pleased him. +As for Weir, her late education made her appreciate the humor of the +situation, and she smiled sympathetically at Harold over her father's +shoulder. + +They went into dinner a few moments later, and Sir Iltyd talked a +good deal. Although a man of somewhat narrow limitations and one-sided +views, as was but natural, taking into consideration the fact that his +mental horizon had not been widened out by contact with his +fellow-men for twenty-five years, he was, for a recluse, surprisingly +well-informed upon the topics of the day. Dartmouth could not forbear +making some allusion to the apparent paradox, and his host smiled and +told him that as history had been his favorite study all his life, he +could hardly be so inconsistent as to ignore the work which his more +active contemporaries were making for the future chronicler. He +then drew from Dartmouth a detailed account of that restless young +gentleman's political experience in Russia, and afterward questioned +him somewhat minutely about the American form of government. He seemed +to be pleased with the felicity of expression and the well-stored mind +of his would-be son-in-law, and lingered at the table longer than was +his habit. There were no formalities at Rhyd-Alwyn. Weir remained +with them, and when her father finally rose and went over to the +hearth-rug, as if loth to leave the society of the young people, she +went and stood beside him. He laid his arm across her shoulders, then +turned to Dartmouth with a sigh. "You would take her from me," he +said, sadly, "do you know that you will leave me to a very lonely +life?" + +"Oh, you will see enough of us," replied Harold, promptly. "We shall +be back and forth all the time. And Crumford Hall, I can assure you, +is not a bad place to come to for the shooting." + +Sir Iltyd shook his head: "I could not live out of Wales," he said; +"and I have not slept under another roof for a quarter of a century. +But it is good of you to say you would not mind coming once in a while +to this lonely old place, and it would make the separation easier to +bear." + +He left them shortly after, and as he took Harold's hand in +good-night, he retained it a moment with an approving smile, then +passed a characteristic Welsh criticism: "It is a small hand," he +said, "and a very well-shaped hand; and your feet, too. I am willing +to acknowledge to you that I am weak enough to have a horror of large +hands and feet. Good-night. I have to thank you for a very pleasant +evening." + + + + +II. + + +"Harold," said Weir, the next morning after breakfast, as the door +closed behind Sir Iltyd, "I shall entertain you until luncheon by +showing you the castle." + +"My dear girl," said Harold, smiling, "let your role of hostess sit +lightly upon you. I do not want to be entertained. I am perfectly +happy." + +"Of that I have no doubt. Nevertheless I want you to see the castle, +particularly the picture-gallery, where all my ancestors be." + +"Then, by my troth, will I go, fair Mistress Penrhyn, for a goodly +show your ancestors be, I make no doubt;" and Dartmouth plunged his +hands into his pockets and looked down at her with a broad smile. + +Weir lifted her head. "My English is quite as pure as yours," she +said. "And you certainly cannot accuse me of using what the London +girls call 'slang.'" + +This time Dartmouth laughed aloud. "No, my dear," he said, "not even +Shakespearean slang. But let us investigate the mysteries of the castle +by all means. Lead, and I will follow." + +"There are no mysteries," said Weir; "we have not even a ghost. Nor +have we a murder, or crime of any sort, to make us blush for our +family tree." + +"Happy tree! Mine has a blush for every twig, and a drop curtain for +every branch. Thank God for the Penrhyn graft! Let us hope that +it will do as much good as its fairest flower has already done the +degenerate scion of all the Dartmouths. But, to the castle! I would +get through--I mean, I would gaze upon its antiquities as soon as +possible." + +"This castle is very interesting, Mr. Dartmouth," replied Weir, +elevating her chin; "you have nothing so old in England." + +"True, nor yet in Jerusalem, O haughtiest of Welsh maidens! I esteem +it a favor that I am not put below the salt." + +Weir laughed. "What a tease you are! But you know that in your heart +your pride of family is as great as mine. Only it is the 'fad' of +the day to affect to despise birth and lineage. We of Wales are more +honest." + +"Yes, it is your sign and seal, and it sits well upon you. I don't +affect to despise birth and lineage, my dear. If I could not trace +my ancestry back to the first tadpole who loafed his life away in the +tropical forests of old, I should be miserable." + +He spoke jestingly, but he drew himself up as he spoke, his lip was +supercilious, and there was an intolerant light in his eye. At that +moment he did not look a promising subject for the Liberal side of the +House, avowedly as were his sympathies in that quarter. Weir, however, +gave him an approving smile, and then commanded him to follow her. + +She took him over the castle, from the dungeons below to the cell-like +rooms in the topmost towers. She led him through state bedrooms, +in which had slept many a warlike Welsh prince, whose bones could +scarcely be in worse order than the magnificence which once had +sheltered them. She piloted him down long galleries with arcades on +one side, like a cloister, and a row of rooms on the other wherein the +retainers of ancient princes of the house of Penrhyn had been wont to +rest their thews after a hard day's fight. She slid back panels and +conducted him up by secret ways to gloomy rooms, thick with cobwebs, +where treasure had been hid, and heads too loyal to a fallen king had +alone felt secure on their trunks. She led him to chambers hung with +tapestries wrought by fair, forgotten grandmothers, who over their +work had dreamed their eventless lives away. She showed him the +chapel, impressive in its ancient Norman simplicity and in its ruin, +and the great smoke-begrimed banqueting-hall, where wassails had been +held, and beauty had thought her lord a beast. + +"Well," she demanded, as they paused at length on the threshold of the +picture-gallery, "what do you think of my father's castle?" + +"Your father's castle is the most consistent thing I have seen for +a long time: it is an artistically correct setting for your father's +daughter. The chain of evolution is without a missing link. And +what is better, the last link is uncorroded with the rust of modern +conventions. Seriously, your castle is the most romantic I have ever +seen. The nineteenth century is forgotten, and I am a belted Knight of +Merrie England who has stormed your castle and won you by his prowess. +You stood in your window, high up in your tower, and threw me a rose, +while your father stalked about the ramparts and swore that my bones +should whiten on the beach. I raised the rose to my lips, dashed +across the drawbridge, and hurled my lance at the gates. About my head +a shower of barbs and bullets fell, but I heeded them not. Behind me +thundered my retainers, and under their onslaught the mighty gates +gave way with a crash, and the castle was ours! We trampled into +the great hall, making it ring with our shouts and the clash of our +shields. Your father's men fled before us, but he calmly descended the +staircase and confronted us with his best Welsh stare. 'I fear ye not, +villains,' he cried. 'Barbarians, English dogs! I defy ye. Do your +worst. My daughter and I for death care not. The mighty house of +Istyn-ap-Dafyd-ap-Owain-ap-Caradoc-ap-Iltyd-ap-Penrhyn knoweth not +fear of living man, nor yet of death's mysterious charnel-house.' +'Wrong me not, gentle sir,' I cried, snatching off my helmet +and trailing its plumes upon the floor; 'I come in love, not +in destruction. Give me but thy daughter, O +Dafyd-ap-Owain-ap-Istyn-ap-Caradoc-ap-Iltyd-ap-Penrhyn, and thy castle +and thy lands, thy rocks and thy sea, are thine again, even as were +they before the beauty of the Lady Weir turned my blood to lava and +my heart to a seething volcano. Give me but thy daughter's hand, and +wealth shall flow into thy coffers, and the multitude of thy retainers +shall carry terror to the heart of thy foe. What say ye, my Lord +Caradoc-ap-Owain-ap-etcetera?' Whereupon the lord of Rhyd-Alwyn unbent +his haughty brows, and placing one narrow, white, and shapely hand +upon my blood-stained baldric, spoke as follows: 'Well said, young +Briton. Spoken like a brave knight and an honorable gentleman. My +daughter thou shalt have, my son thou shalt be, thy friends shall be +my friends, and thou and all of them shall be baptized Welshmen.' And +then he himself re-ascended the staircase and sought you in your tower +and led you down and placed your hand in mine. And the drums beat, and +the shields clashed, and once more the mighty storm shook the rooks +from the roof. But we heard it not, for on your finger I had placed +the betrothal ring, then thrown my brawny arms about you and forgot +that earth existed. Excuse my eloquence," he cried, as he lifted her +up and kissed her, "but your castle and yourself are inspiring." + +"That was all very charming, however," she said, "if you only had +not such a reprehensible way of jumping from the sublime to the +ridiculous, like a meteor from world to world." + +"Prettily said, sweetheart. But, trust me, if I ever reach the sublime +I will stay there. Now, to your ancestors! Great heaven! what an +array!" + +They had entered a long, narrow room, against whose dark background +stood out darker canvasses of an army of now celestial Penrhyns; an +army whose numbers would have been a morning's task to count. The +ancient Penrhyns had been princes, like most of their ilk; and the +titles which Weir glibly recited, and the traditions of valor and +achievement which she had at her tongue's end, finally wrung from +Dartmouth a cry for mercy. + +"My dear girl!" he exclaimed, "keep the rest for another day. Those +'aps' are buzzing in my ears like an army of infuriated gnats, and +those mighty deeds are so much alike--who is that?" + +He left her side abruptly and strode down the gallery to a picture +at the end, and facing the room. It was the full-length, life-size +portrait of a woman with gown and head-dress in the style of the First +Empire. One tiny, pointed foot was slightly extended from beneath +the white gown, and--so perfect had been the skill of the artist--she +looked as if about to step from the canvas to greet her guests. + +"That is my grandmother, Sionèd, wife of Dafyd-ap-Penrhyn, who, I +would have you know, was one of the most famous diplomatists of his +day," said Weir, who had followed, and stood beside him. "She was the +daughter of the proudest earl in Wales--but I spare you his titles. I +am exactly like her, am I not? It is the most remarkable resemblance +which has ever occurred in the family." + +"Yes," said Dartmouth, "you are like her." He plunged his hands into +his pockets and stared at the floor, drawing his brows together. Then +he turned suddenly to Weir. "I have seen that woman before," he said. +"That is the reason why I thought it was your face which was familiar. +I must have seen your grandmother when I was a very young child. I +have forgotten the event, but I could never forget such a face." + +"But Harold," said Weir, elevating her brows "It is quite impossible +you could ever have seen my grandmother. She died when papa was a +little boy." + +"Are you sure?" + +"Quite sure. I have often heard him say he had no memory whatever of +his mother. And grandpapa would never talk with him about her. He was +a terribly severe old man, they say--he died long years before I was +born--but he must have loved my grandmother very much, for he could +not bear to hear her name, and he never came to the castle after her +death." + +"It is strange," said Harold, musingly, "but I have surely seen that +face before." + +He looked long at the beautiful, life-like picture before him. It +was marvellously like Weir in form and feature and coloring. But the +expression was sad, the eyes were wistful, and the whole face was +that, not of a woman who had lived, but of a woman who knew that out +of her life had passed the power to live did she bow her knee to the +Social Decalogue. As Weir stood, with her bright, eager, girlish face +upheld to the woman out of whose face the girlish light had forever +gone, the resemblance and the contrast were painfully striking. + +"I love her!" exclaimed Weir, "and whenever I come in here I always +kiss her hand." She went forward and pressed her lips lightly to the +canvas, while Dartmouth stood with his eyes fastened upon the face +whose gaze seemed to meet his own and--soften--and invite-- + +He stepped forward suddenly as Weir drew back. "She fascinates me, +also," he said, with a half laugh. "I, too, will kiss her hand." + + + + +III. + + +With the exception of the time spent in the dining-room, the young +people saw little of Sir Iltyd. That he liked Dartmouth and enjoyed +his society were facts he did not pretend to disguise. But the habits +of years were too strong, and he always wandered back to his books. He +did not trouble himself about proprieties. Weir had grown up and ruled +the castle all these years without a chaperon, and he had lived out +of the world too long to suggest the advisability of one now. His +daughter and her lover experienced no yearning for supervision, and +the free, untrammelled life was a very pleasant one, particularly to +Dartmouth, who always gave to novelty its just meed of appreciation. +At this period, in fact, Dartmouth's frame of mind left nothing to be +desired. In the first place, it was a delightful experience to find +himself able to stand the uninterrupted society of one woman from +morning till night, day after day, without a suggestion of fatigue. +And in the second, he found her a charming study. It is true that he +was very much in love, very sincerely and passionately in love; but +at the same time, his brain had been trained through too many years to +the habit of analysis; he could no more help studying Weir and drawing +her on to reveal herself than he could help loving her. She was not a +difficult problem to solve, individual as she was, because she was so +natural. Her experience with the world had been too brief to give her +an opportunity to encase herself in any shell which would not fall +from her at the first reaction to primitive conditions; and above all, +she was in love. + +In the love of a woman there is always a certain element of +childishness, which has a reflex, if but temporary action upon her +whole nature. The phenomenon is due partly to the fact that she is +under the dominant influence of a wholly natural instinct, partly to +the fact that the object of her love is of stronger make than herself, +mentally, spiritually, and physically. This sense of dependence and +weakness, and, consequently, of extreme youth, remains until she +has children. Then, under the influence of peculiarly strong +responsibilities, she gives her youth to them, and with it the +plasticity of her nature. + +At present Weir was in the stage where she analyzed herself for her +lover's benefit, and confided to him every sensation she had ever +experienced; and he encouraged her. He had frequently encouraged other +women to do the same thing, and in each case, after the first few +chapters, he had found it a good deal of a bore. The moment a woman +falls in love, that moment she becomes an object of paramount interest +in her own eyes. All her life she has regarded herself from the +outside; her wants and needs have been purely objective; consequently +she has not known herself, and her spiritual nature has claimed but +little of her attention. But under the influence of love she plunges +into herself, as it were, and her life for the time being is purely +subjective. She broadens, expands, develops, concentrates; and her +successive evolutions are a perpetual source of delight and absorbing +study. Moreover, her sense of individuality grows and flourishes, +and becomes so powerful that she is unalterably certain--until it is +over--that her experience is an isolated and wholly remarkable +one. Naturally she must talk to someone; she is teeming with her +discoveries, her excursions into the heretofore unexplored depths +of human nature; the necessity for a confidant is not one to be +withstood, and who so natural or understanding a confidant as her +lover? If the lover be a clever man and an analyst, he is profoundly +interested at first, particularly if she have some trick of mind which +gives her, or seems to give her, the smack of individuality. If he be +a true lover, and a man with any depth of feeling and of mind, he +does not tire, of course; but otherwise he eventually becomes either +oppressed or frightened; he either wishes that women would not take +themselves so seriously and forget to be amusing, or her belief in her +peculiar and absolute originality communicates itself to him, and he +does not feel equal to handling and directing so remarkable a passion. + +There was no question about the strength and verity of Dartmouth's +love for Weir, and he had yet to be daunted by anything in life; +consequently he found his present course of psychological research +without flaw. Moreover, the quaintness of her nature pervaded all +her ideas. She had an old-fashioned simplicity and directness which, +combined with a charming quality of mind and an unusual amount of +mental development, gave her that impress of originality which he had +recognized and been attracted by. He was gratified also to find that +the old-time stateliness, almost primness, which had been to him +from the first her chiefest exterior charm did not disappear with +association. She might sit on a rock muffled to her ears in furs, and +with her feet dangling in the air, and yet manage to look as dignified +as a duchess. She might race with him on horseback and clamber down a +cliff with the thoughtlessness of a child, but she always looked as +if she had been brought up on a chessboard. Dartmouth used to tell her +that her peculiarly erect carriage and lofty fashion of carrying her +head gave her the effect of surveillance over an invisible crown with +an unreliable fit, and that she stepped like the maiden in the fairy +tale who was obliged to walk upon peas. He made a tin halo one day, +and put it suddenly on her head when her back was turned, and she +avenged herself by wearing it until he went down on his knees and +begged her to take it off. When she sat in her carved high-back chair +at the head of her father's table, with the deep collar and cuffs +of linen and heavy lace to which she was addicted, and her dark, +sensuous, haughty, tender face motionless for the moment, against the +dark background of the leather, she looked like a Vandyke; and at such +times Dartmouth's artistic nature was keenly responsive, and he forgot +to chaff. + + + + +IV. + + +Dartmouth had been at Rhyd-Alwyn two weeks, when Sir Iltyd turned +to him one night as he was leaving the dining-room and asked him to +follow him into the library for a few moments. + +"I feel quite alarmed," said Harold to Weir, as the door closed behind +her father. "Do you suppose he is going to tell me that I do not give +satisfaction?" + +"Harold!" exclaimed Weir, reprovingly, "I wish you would not talk as +if you were a butler; you look much more dignified than you ever talk. +You look like an English nobleman, and you talk like any ordinary +young man about town." + +"My dearest girl, would you have me a Sir Charles Grandison? The +English nobleman of your imagination is the gentleman who perambulates +the pages of Miss Burney's novels. The present species and the young +man about town are synonymous animals." + +"There you are again! You always make me laugh; I cannot help that; +but I wish you would do yourself justice, nevertheless. You may not +know it, but if you would only put on a ruff and satin doublet and +hose and wig, and all the rest of it, you would look exactly like one +of the courtiers of the court of Queen Elizabeth. You are a perfect +type of the English aristocrat." + +"My dear Lady Jane Grey, if you had been an American girl, you would +have said a perfect gentleman, and I should never have spoken to you +again. As a matter of fact, I always feel it a sort of sacrilege that +I do not address you in blank verse; only my attempts thereat are +so very bad. But it is never too late to mend. We will read Pope +together, Shakespeare, and all the rest of the old boys. We will +saturate our minds with their rhythm, and we will thereafter +communicate in stately phrase and rolling periods." + +"It would be a great deal better than slang and 'facetiousness,' as +you call it. That is all very well for Lord Bective Hollington; it +suits him; but you should aim at a higher standard." + +Dartmouth, who was standing by the chimney-piece near the chair on +which she was sitting, put his hand under her chin and raised her +face, smiling quizzically as he did so. + +"My dear child," he said, "you are too clever to fall into the common +error of women, and idealize your lover. The tendency is a constituent +part of the feminine nature, it is true. The average woman will +idealize the old tweed coat on her lover's back. But your eyes are too +clear for that sort of thing. I am a very ordinary young man, my dear. +Becky is twice as clever--" + +"He is not!" burst in Weir, indignantly. "A man who can do nothing but +chaff and joke and talk witty nonsense!" + +"If you knew him better you would know that under all that persiflage +there is much depth of feeling and passion. I do not claim any unusual +amount of intellectuality for him, but he has a wonderful supply of +hard common-sense, and remarkably quick perceptions. And I have great +respect for his judgment." + +"That may be," said Weir, indifferently; "I care nothing about him." +She rose and stood in front of him and leaned her elbows on his +shoulders. "You may underrate yourself, if you like," she went on, +"but I know that you are capable of accomplishing anything you wish, +and of distinguishing yourself. I recall the conversations I have had +with you in your serious moments, if you do not, and I expect you to +be a great man yet." + +Dartmouth flung his cigar impatiently into the fire. "My dear girl, +my grandmother preached that same thing to me from the day I was old +enough to reason, to the day she died. But I tell you, Weir, I have +not got it in me. I have the ambition and the desire--yes; but no +marked ability of any sort. Some day, when we are ready to settle +down, I will write, and publish what I write. Men will grant me a +certain standing as a thinker, I believe, and perhaps they will also +give me credit for a certain nice use of words; I have made a study of +literary style all my life. But that is the most I shall ever attain. +I am not a man of any genius or originality, and you may as well make +up your mind to the inevitable at once." + +"Harold," said Weir, without taking the slightest notice of his +outburst, "do you remember that extraordinary experience of yours that +night in Paris? I believe you have the soul of a poet in you, only as +yet your brain hasn't got it under control. Did you ever read the life +of Alfieri? He experienced the same desire to write, over and over +again, but could accomplish nothing until after he was thirty. +Disraeli illustrated his struggles for speech in 'Contarini Fleming' +most graphically, you remember." + +"Neither Alfieri nor Contarini Fleming ever had any such experience as +mine. Their impulse to write was not only a mental concept as well as +a spiritual longing, but it was abiding. I never really experienced +a desire to write poetry except on that night. I have occasionally +wished that I had the ability, but common-sense withheld me from +brooding over the impossible. The experience of that night is one +which can be explained by no ordinary methods. I can make nothing +of it, and for that reason I prefer not to speak of it. I abominate +mysteries." + +"Well," she said, "some day I believe it will be explained. I believe +it was nothing more than an extraordinarily strong impulse to write, +and that you exaggerate it into the supernatural as you look back upon +it. I did not think so when you first told me; you were so dramatic +that you carried me off my feet, and I was an actor in the scene. But +that is the way I look at it now, and I believe I am correct." + +"It may be," said Dartmouth, moodily, "but I hope it won't affect me +that way again, that is all." He caught her suddenly to him and kissed +her. "Let us be contented as we are," he said. "Ambition is love's +worst enemy. Geniuses do not make their wives happy." + +"They do when their wives understand and are in absolute sympathy with +them," she said, returning his caress; "and that I should always be +with you. But do not imagine that I am in love with the idea of your +being a famous man. I care nothing for fame in itself. It is only that +I believe you to be capable of great things, and that you would be +happier if they were developed." + +"Well, well," he said, laughing; "have your own way, as you will in +spite of me. If ever the divine fire lays me in ashes, you may triumph +in your predictions. But I must go and interview your father; I have +kept him waiting too long already." + +They went out into the hall, and Dartmouth left her there and went to +the library. Sir Iltyd was sitting before a large table, reading by +the light of a student's lamp, which looked like an anachronism in +the lofty, ancient room. He closed his book as Dartmouth entered, and +rising, waved his hand toward a chair on the other side of the table. + +"Will you sit down?" he said; "I should like to have a little talk +with you." + +Dartmouth obeyed, and waited for the old gentleman to introduce the +subject. Sir Iltyd continued in a moment, taking up a small book and +bringing it down lengthwise on the desk at regular intervals while he +spoke: + +"Of course, you must know, Harold, that it has not taken me two weeks +to discover my personal feelings toward you. I should have liked or +disliked you on the first evening we met, and, as a matter of fact, my +sensations towards you have undergone no change since that night. If +it had happened that I disliked you, I should not have allowed the +fact to bias my judgment as to whether or not you were a suitable +husband for my daughter, but it would not have taken me two weeks +to make up my mind. As it is I have merely delayed my consent as an +unnecessary formality; but perhaps the time has come to say in so many +words that I shall be very glad to give my daughter to you." + +"Thank you," said Dartmouth. The words sounded rather bald, but it +was an unusual situation, and he did not know exactly what to say. +Something more was evidently expected of him, however, and he plunged +in recklessly: "I am sure I need not say that I am highly honored +by your regard and your confidence, nor protest that you will never +regret it. To tell you that I loved Weir with all my heart would be +trite, and perhaps it is also unnecessary to add that I am not a man +of 'veering passions'--that is, of course when my heart is engaged as +well." + +Sir Iltyd smiled. "I should imagine that the last clause was added +advisedly. I was a man of the world myself in my young days, and +I recognize one in you. Judging from your physiognomy and general +personality I should say that you have loved a good many women, and +have lived in the widest sense of the word." + +"Well--yes," admitted Dartmouth, with a laugh. "That sort of thing +leaves a man's heart untouched, however." + +"It may, and I am willing to believe that you have given your heart to +Weir for good and all." + +"I think I have," said Dartmouth. + +And then the question of settlements was broached, and when it had +been satisfactorily arranged, Dartmouth lingered a few moments longer +in conversation with his host, and then rose to go. Sir Iltyd rose +also and walked with him to the door. + +"Do you mind our being married in a month?" asked Dartmouth, as they +crossed the room. "That will give Weir all the time she wants, and we +should like to spend the spring in Rome." + +"Very well; let it be in a month. I cannot see that the date is of any +importance; only do not forget me in the summer." + +"Oh, no," said Dartmouth; "we expect you to harbor us off and on all +the year around." + +And then Sir Iltyd opened the door and bowed with his old-time +courtier-like dignity, and Dartmouth passed out and into the hall. + + + + +V. + + +He found Weir kneeling on the hearth-rug. The hall was an immense +place with a vaulted ceiling upheld by massive beams; the walls were +wainscotted almost to the top with oak which had been polished for +many a century; and the floor, polished also, was covered with rugs +which had been very handsome in their day. There were several superb +suits of armor and a quantity of massive, carved oaken furniture, +extremely uncomfortable but very picturesque. In the open fire-place, +which would have held many more than Harold and Weir within its +depths, great logs were burning. The lamps had been brought in but +had not been turned up, and save for the firelight the great cathedral +apartment was a thicket of shadows, out of which the steel warriors +gleamed, menacing guardians of the girl. + +Weir made a pretty picture kneeling on the hearth-rug, with the +fire-light playing on her dark face and pliant figure, in its +closely-fitting black gown, throwing golden flickers on her hair, +and coquetting with the lanterns in her eyes. She rose as Dartmouth +approached, and he gave her one of his brilliant, satisfied smiles. + +"We are to be married a month from to-day," he said. "A month from +to-day and we shall be knocking about Europe and pining for English +civilization." He drew her down on the cushioned seat that ran along +the wall by the chimney-piece. "We cannot go out to-night; there is a +storm coming up. Ah, did I not tell you?" as a gust of wind shrieked +and rattled the sash. + +She gave a little shiver and drew closer to him. "I hate a storm," she +said. "It always brings back--" she stopped abruptly. + +"Brings back what?" + +"Nothing," hastily. "So father has given his consent? But I knew he +would. I knew he liked you the moment you met; and when he alluded +that night to your small hands and feet I knew that the cause was won. +Had they been at fault, nothing could have persuaded him that you did +not have a broad river of red blood in you somewhere, and he never +would have approved of you had you been the monarch of a kingdom." + +Dartmouth smiled. "The men at college used to laugh at my hands, until +I nearly choked one of them to death one day, after which they never +laughed at them again. There is no doubt now about my having been +destined at birth for a Welsh maiden, and equipped accordingly. But +you know your father pretty thoroughly." + +"I have lived alone with him so long that I can almost read his mind, +and I certainly know his peculiarities." + +"It must have been a terribly lonely life for you. How old were you +when your mother died?" + +She moved with the nervous motion habitual to her whenever her +mother's name was mentioned. "I was about nine," she said. + +"_Nine_? And yet you remember nothing of her? Weir, it is impossible +that you cannot remember her." + +"I do not remember her," she said. + +"I saw her picture in the library to-night. She must have been very +beautiful, but like you only in being dark. Otherwise, there is not a +trace of resemblance. But surely you must remember her, Weir; you are +joking. I can remember when I was four years of age perfectly, and +many things that happened." + +"I remember nothing that happened before I was nine years old," she +said. + +He bent down suddenly and looked into her face. "Weir, what do you +mean? There is always an uncomfortable suggestion of mystery whenever +one speaks of your mother or your childhood. What is the reason you +cannot remember? Did you have brain fever, and when you recovered, +find your mind a blank? Such things have happened." + +"No," she said, desperately, as if she had nerved herself for an +effort. "That was not it. I have often wanted to tell you, but I +cannot bear to speak of it. The old horror always comes back when +I think of it. But I feel that I ought to tell you before we are +married, and I will do so now since we are speaking of it. I did not +have brain fever, but when I was nine years old--I died." + +"You what?" + +"Yes, it is true. They called it catalepsy, a trance; but it was not; +I was really dead. I was thrown from a horse a few months after my +mother's death, and killed instantly. They laid me in the family +vault, but my father had ice put about me and would not have me +covered, and went every hour to see me, as he told me afterward. I +remember nothing; and they say that when people are in a trance they +are conscious of everything that passes around them. I knew nothing +until one night I suddenly opened my eyes and looked about me. It was +just such a night as this, only in mid-winter; the wind was howling +and shrieking, and the terrible gusts shook the vault in which I lay. +The ocean roared like thunder, and I could hear it hurl itself in its +fury against the rocks at the foot of the castle. A lamp was burning +at my feet, and by its flickering light I could see in their niches +on every side of me the long lines of dead who had lain there for +centuries. And I was alone with them, locked in with them; no living +creature within call! And I was so deathly cold. There was a great +block of ice on my chest, and slabs of it were packed about my limbs +so tightly that I could not move. I could only feel that horrible, +glassy cold which I knew had frozen the marrow in my bones and turned +my blood to jelly; and the pain of it was something which I have no +words to describe. I tried to call out, but the ice was on my chest, +and I could hardly breathe. Then for a moment I lay trying to collect +my thoughts. I did not know where I was. I did not know that I was in +the vault of my ancestors. I only felt that I had been wandering and +wandering in some dim, far-off land looking for someone I could never +find, and that suddenly I had come into another world and found rest. +But although I did not know that I was in the vault at Rhyd-Alwyn, and +that my name was Weir Penrhyn, I knew that I was laid out as a corpse, +and that the dead were about me. Child as I was, it seemed to me that +I must go frantic with the horror of the thing, stretched out in that +ghastly place, a storm roaring about me, bound hand and foot, unable +to cry for help. I think that if I had been left there all night I +should have died again or lost my mind, but in a moment I heard a +noise at the grating and men's voices. + +"'I must go in and see her once more,' I heard a strange voice say. +'It seems cruelty to leave her alone in this storm.' And then a +man came in and bent over me. In a moment he called sharply, +'Madoc!--bring me the light.' And then another man came, and I looked +up into two strange, eager, almost terrified faces. I heard incoherent +and excited voices, then the ice was dashed off my chest and I was +caught up in a pair of strong arms and borne swiftly to the house. +They took me to a great blazing fire and wrapped me in blankets and +poured hot drinks down my throat, and soon that terrible chill began +to leave me and the congealed blood in my veins to thaw. And in a few +days I was as well as ever again. But I remembered no one. I had to +become acquainted with them all as with the veriest strangers. I had +the natural intelligence of my years, but nothing more. Between the +hour of my soul's flight from its body and that of its return it had +been robbed of every memory. I remembered neither my mother nor any +incident of my childhood. I could not find my way over the castle, +and the rocks on which I had lived since infancy were strangers to me. +Everything was a blank up to the hour when I opened my eyes and found +myself between the narrow walls of a coffin." + +"Upon my word!" exclaimed Dartmouth. "Why, you are a regular heroine +of a sensational novel." + +Weir sprang to her feet and struck her hands fiercely together, +her eyes blazing. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself," she +cried, passionately. "Can you never be serious? Must you joke about +everything? I believe you will find something to laugh at in the +marriage service. That thing I have told you is the most serious and +horrible experience of my life, and yet you treat it as if I were +acting a part in a melodrama in a third-rate theatre! Sometimes I +think I hate you." + +Dartmouth caught her in his arms and forced her to sit down again +beside him. "My dear girl," he said, "why is it that a woman can never +understand that when a man feels most he chaffs, especially if he has +cultivated the beastly habit. Your story stirred me powerfully; the +more so because such things do not happen to every-day girls--" + +"Harold!" + +"Do not wrong me; I am in dead earnest. As a plain matter of fact, I +never heard of anything so horrible. Thank heaven it happened when you +were so young! No woman's will and spirit could rise superior to such +a memory if it were a recent one. But am I forgiven?" + +"As you are perfectly incorrigible, I suppose there is no use being +angry with you," she said, still with a little pout on her lips. "But +I will forgive you on one condition only." + +"Name it." + +"You are never to mention the subject to me again after to-night." + +"I never will; but tell me, has the memory of your childhood never +come back for a moment?" + +"Never. All I remember is that sense of everlasting wandering and +looking for something. For a long while I was haunted with the idea +that there was something I still must find. I never could discover +what it was, but it has left me now. If you had not been so unkind, I +should have said that it is because I am too happy for mysterious and +somewhat supernatural longings." + +"But as it is, you won't. It was an odd feeling to have, though. +Perhaps it was a quest for the memories of your childhood--for a lost +existence, as it were. If ever it comes again, tell me, and we will +try and work it out together." + +"Harold!" she exclaimed, smiling outright this time, "you will be +trying to analyze the cobwebs of heaven before long." + +"No," he said, "they are too dense." + + + + +VI. + + +It was eleven o'clock when they parted for the night. Dartmouth went +up to his room and sat down at his desk to write a letter to his +father. In a moment he threw down the pen; he was not in a humor +for writing. He picked up a book (he never went to bed until he felt +sleepy), and crossed the room and sat down before the fire. But he +had not read two pages when he dropped it with an exclamation of +impatience: the story Weir had told him was written between every +line. She had told it so vividly and realistically that she had +carried him with her and almost curdled his blood. He had answered her +with a joke, because, in spite of the fact that he had been strongly +affected, he was angry as well. He hated melodrama, and the idea of +Weir having had an experience which read like a sensational column in +a newspaper was extremely distasteful to him. He sympathized with her +with all his heart, but he had a strong distaste for anything +which savored of the supernatural. Nevertheless, he was obliged to +acknowledge that this horrible, if commonplace experience of Weir's +had taken possession of his mind, and refused to be evicted. The scene +kept presenting itself in all its details again and again, and finally +he jumped to his feet in disgust and determined to go to the long +gallery which overhung the sea, and watch the storm. Rhyd-Alwyn was +built on a steep cliff directly on the coast, and exposed to all the +fury of the elements. In times of storm, and when the waves were high, +the spray flew up against the lower windows. + +He left his room and went down the wide hall, then turned into a +corridor, which terminated in a gallery that had been built as a sort +of observatory. The gallery was long and very narrow, and the floor +was bare. But there were seats under the windows, and on a table were +a number of books; it was a place Dartmouth and Weir were very fond of +when it was not too cold. + +It was a clear, moonlit night, in spite of the storm. There was no +rain; it was simply a battle of wind and waves. Dartmouth stood at one +of the windows and looked out over the angry waters. The billows were +piling one above the other, black, foam-crested, raging like wild +animals beneath the lash of the shrieking wind. Moon and stars gazed +down calmly, almost wonderingly, holding their unperturbed watch +over the war below. Sublime, forceful, the sight suited the somewhat +excited condition of Dartmouth's mind. Moreover, he was beginning to +feel that one of his moods was insidiously creeping upon him: not an +attack like the last, but a general feeling of melancholy. If he could +only put that wonderful scene before him into verse, what a solace +and distraction the doing of it would be! He could forget--he pulled +himself together with something like terror. In another moment there +would be a repetition of that night in Paris. The best thing he could +do was to go back to his room and take an anodyne. + +He turned to leave the gallery, but as he did so he paused suddenly. +Far down, at the other end, something was slowly coming toward him. +The gallery was very long and ill-lighted by the narrow, infrequent +windows, and he could not distinguish whom it was. He stood, however, +involuntarily waiting for it to approach him. But how slowly it came, +as one groping or one walking in a dream! Then, as it gradually +neared him, he saw that it was a woman, dimly outlined, but still +unmistakably a woman. He spoke, but there was no answer, nothing but +the echo of his voice through the gallery. Someone trying to play a +practical joke upon him! Perhaps it was Weir: it would be just like +her. He walked forward quickly, but before he had taken a dozen +steps the advancing figure came opposite one of the windows, and the +moonlight fell about it. Dartmouth started back and caught his breath +as if someone had struck him. For a moment his pulses stood still, and +sense seemed suspended. Then he walked quickly forward and stood in +front of her. + +"Sionèd!" he said, in a low voice which thrilled through the room. +"Sionèd!" He put out his hand and took hers. It was ice-cold, and its +contact chilled him to the bone; but his clasp grew closer and his +eyes gazed into hers with passionate longing. + +"I am dead," she said. "I am dead, and I am so cold." She drew closer +and peered up into his face. "I have found you at last," she went on, +"but I wandered so far. There was no nook or corner of Eternity in +which I did not search. But although we went together, we were hurled +to the opposite poles of space before our spiritual eyes had met, and +an unseen hand directed us ever apart. I was alone, alone, in a great, +gray, boundless land, with but the memory of those brief moments of +happiness to set at bay the shrieking host of regrets and remorse +and repentance which crowded about me. I floated on and on and on for +millions and millions of miles; but of you, my one thought on earth, +my one thought in Eternity, I could find no trace, not even the +whisper of your voice in passing. I tossed myself upon a hurrying wind +and let it carry me whither it would. It gathered strength and haste +as it flew, and whirled me out into the night, nowhere, everywhere. +And then it slackened--and moaned--and then, with one great sob, it +died, and once more I was alone in space and an awful silence. And +then a voice came from out the void and said to me, 'Go down; he +is there;' and I knew that he meant to Earth, and for a moment I +rebelled. To go back to that terrible--But on Earth there had been +nothing so desolate as this--and if you were there! So I came--and I +have found you at last." + +She put her arms about him and drew him down onto the low window-seat. +He shivered at her touch, but felt no impulse to resist her will, and +she pressed his head down upon her cold breast. Then, suddenly, all +things changed; the gallery, the moonlight, the white-robed, ice-cold +woman faded from sense. The storm was no longer in his ears nor +were the waves at his feet. He was standing in a dusky Eastern room, +familiar and dear to him. Tapestries of rich stuffs were about him, +and the skins of wild animals beneath his feet. Beyond, the twilight +stole through a window, but did not reach where he stood. And in his +close embrace was the woman he loved, with the stamp on her face +of suffering, of desperate resolution, and of conscious, welcomed +weakness. And in his face was the regret for wasted years and +possibilities, and a present, passionate gladness; _that_ he could see +in the mirror of the eyes over which the lids were slowly falling.... +And the woman wore a clinging, shining yellow gown, and a blaze of +jewels in her hair. What was said he hardly knew. It was enough to +feel that a suddenly-born, passionate joy was making his pulses leap +and his head reel; to know that heaven had come to him in this soft, +quiet Southern night. + + * * * * * + + + + +VII. + + +Dartmouth opened his eyes and looked about him. The storm had died, +the waves were at rest, and he was alone. He let his head fall back +against the frame of the window, and his eyes closed once more. What a +dream!--so vivid!--so realistic! Was it not his actual life? Could +he take up the threads of another? He felt ten years older; and, +retreating down the dim, remote corridors of his brain, were trooping +memories of a long, regretted, troubled, eventful past. In a moment +they had vanished like ghosts and left no trace; he could recall none +of them. He opened his eyes again and looked down the gallery, and +gradually his perceptions grasped its familiar lines, and he was +himself once more. He rose to his feet and put his hand to his head. +That woman whom he had taken for the ghost of one dead and gone had +been Weir, of course. She had arisen in her sleep and attired herself +like the grandmother whose living portrait she was; she had piled up +her hair and caught her white gown up under her bosom; and, in the +shadows and mystery of night, small wonder that she had looked as if +the canvas in the gallery below had yielded her up! But what had her +words meant?--her words, and that dream?--but no--they were not what +he wanted. There had been something else--what was it? He felt as if a +mist had newly arisen to cloud his faculties. There had been something +else which had made him not quite himself as he had stood there with +his arms about the woman who had been Weir, and yet not Weir. Above +the pain and joy and passion which had shaken him, there had been +an unmistakable perception of--an attribute--a quality--of another +sort--of a power, of which he, Harold Dartmouth, had never been +conscious--of--of--ah, yes! of the power to pour out at the feet of +that woman, in richest verse, the love she had awakened, and make them +both immortal. What were the words? They had been written legibly in +his brain; he remembered now. He had seen and read them--yes, at last, +at last! "Her face! her form!" No! no! not that again. Oh, why would +they not come? They had been there, the words; the sense must be +there, the inspiration, the battling for voice and victory. They were +ready to pour through his speech in a flood of song, but that iron +hand forced them back--down, down, setting blood and brain on fire. +Ah! what was that? Far off, at the end of some long gallery, there +was a sweet, dying strain of music, and there were words--gathering in +volume; they were rolling on; they were coming; they were thundering +through his brain in a mighty chorus! There! he had grasped them--No! +that iron hand had grasped them--and was hurling them back. In another +moment it would have forced them down into their cell and turned +the key! He must catch and hold one of them! Yes, he had it! Oh! +victory!--"Her eyes, her hair." + +Dartmouth thrust out his hands as if fighting with a physical enemy, +and he looked as if he had been through the agonies of death. The +conflict in his brain had suddenly ceased, but his physical strength +was exhausted. He turned and walked uncertainly to his room; then he +collected his scattered wits sufficiently to drop some laudanum and +take it, that he might ward off, if possible, the attack of physical +and spiritual prostration which had been the result of a former +experience of a similar kind. Then, dressed as he was, he flung +himself on the bed and slept. + + + + +VIII. + + +When Dartmouth awoke the next day, the sun was streaming across the +bed and Jones's anxious face was bending over him. + +"Oh, Mr. 'Arold," exclaimed Jones, "you've got it again." + +Dartmouth laughed aloud. "One would think I had delirium tremens," he +said. + +He put his hand over his eyes, and struggled with the desire to have +the room darkened. The melancholy had fastened itself upon him, and he +knew that for three or four days he was to be the victim of one of +his unhappiest moods. The laudanum had lulled his brain and prevented +violent reaction after its prolonged tension; but his spirits were at +zero, and his instinct was to shut out the light and succumb to his +enemy without resistance. If he had been anywhere but at Rhyd-Alwyn +he would not have thought twice about it; but if he shut himself up +in his room, not only would Weir be frightened and unhappy, but it +was probable that Sir Iltyd would question the desirability of a +son-in-law who was given to prolonged and uncontrollable attacks of +the blues. He dressed and went down-stairs, but Weir was nowhere to be +found, and after a search through the various rooms and corners of the +castle which she was in the habit of frequenting, he met her maid +and was informed that Miss Penrhyn was not well and would not come +down-stairs before dinner. The news was very unwelcome to Dartmouth. +Weir at least would have been a distraction. Now he must get through a +dismal day, and fight his enemy by himself. To make matters worse, it +was raining, and he could not go out and ride or hunt. He went into +Sir Iltyd's library and talked to him for the rest of the morning. Sir +Iltyd was not exciting, at his best, and to-day he had a bad cold; so +after lunch Dartmouth went up to his tower and resigned himself to his +own company. He sat down before the fire, and taking his head between +his hands allowed the blue devils to triumph. He felt dull as well as +depressed; but for a time he made an attempt to solve the problem of +the phenomenon to which he had been twice subjected. That it was a +phenomenon he did not see any reason to doubt. If he had spent his +life in a vain attempt to write poetry and an unceasing wish for the +necessary inspiration, there would be nothing remarkable in his mind +yielding suddenly to the impetus of accumulated pressure, wrenching +itself free of the will's control, and dashing off on a wild excursion +of its own. But he had never voluntarily taken a pen in his hand +to make verse, nor had he even felt the desire to possess the gift, +except as a part of general ambition. He may have acknowledged the +regret that he could not immortalize himself by writing a great poem, +but the regret was the offspring of personal ambition, not of yearning +poetical instinct. But the most extraordinary phase of the matter was +that such a tempest could take place in a brain as well regulated +as his own. He was eminently a practical man, and a good deal of a +thinker. He had never been given to flights of imagination, and even +in his attacks of melancholy, although his will might be somewhat +enfeebled, his brain could always work clearly and cleverly. The +lethargy which had occasionally got the best of him had invariably +been due to violent nervous shock or strain, and was as natural as +excessive bodily languor after violent physical effort. Why, then, +should his brain twice have acted as if he had sown it with eccentric +weeds all his life, instead of planting it with the choicest seeds he +could obtain, and watering and cultivating them with a patience and an +interest which had been untiring? + +But the explanation of his attempt to put his unborn poem into words +gave him less thought to-day than it had after its first occurrence; +there were other phases of last night's experience weirder and +more unexplainable still. Paramount, of course, was the vision or +dream--which would seem to have been induced by some magnetic property +possessed and exerted by Weir. Such things do not occur without +cause, and he was not the sort of man to yield himself, physically and +mentally, his will and his perceptions, to the unconscious caprice +of a somnambulist. And the scene had cut itself so deeply into the +tablets of his memory that he found himself forgetting more than once +that it was not an actual episode of his past. He wished he could see +Weir, and hear her account of her mental experiences of those hours. +If her dream should have been a companion to his, then the explanation +would suggest itself that the scene might have been a vagary of her +brain; that in some way which he did not pretend to explain, she had +hypnotized him, and that his brain had received a photographic imprint +of what had been in hers. It would then be merely a sort of telepathy. +But why should she have dreamed a dream in which they both were so +unhappily metamorphosed? and why should it have produced so powerful +an impression upon his waking sense? And why, strangest of all, had +he, without thought or self-surprise, gone to her, and with his soul +stirred to its depths, called her "Sionèd"? True, she had almost +disguised herself, and had been the living counterfeit of Sionèd +Penrhyn; but that was no reason why he should have called a woman who +had belonged to his grandmother's time by her first name. Could +Weir, thoroughly imbued with the character she was unconsciously +representing, have exercised her hypnotic power from the moment she +entered the gallery, and left him without power to think or feel +except through her own altered perceptions? He thrust out his foot +against the fender, almost overturning it, and, throwing back his +head, clasped his hands behind it and scowled at the black ceiling +above him. He was a man who liked things explained, and he felt both +sullen and angry that he should have had an experience which baffled +his powers of analysis and reason. His partial solution gave him no +satisfaction, and he had the uncomfortable sense of actual mystery, +and a premonition of something more to come. This, however, he was +willing to attribute to the depressed condition of his spirits, which +threw its gloom over every object, abstract and concrete, and +which induced the tendency to exaggerate any strange or unpleasant +experience of which he had been the victim. It was useless to try to +think of anything else; his brain felt as if it had resolved itself +into a kaleidoscope, through which those three scenes shifted +eternally. Finally, he fell asleep, and did not awaken until it was +time to dress for dinner. Before he left his room, Weir's maid knocked +at his door and handed him a note, in which the lady of Rhyd-Alwyn +apologized for leaving him to himself for an entire day, and announced +that she would not appear at dinner, but would meet him in the +drawing-room immediately thereafter. Dartmouth read the note through +with a puzzled expression: it was formal and stilted, even for Weir. +She was gone when he came to his senses in the gallery the night +before. Had she awakened and become conscious of the situation? It was +not a pleasant reminiscense for a girl to have, and he felt honestly +sorry for her. Then he groaned in spirit at the prospect of an hour's +tête-à -tête with Sir Iltyd. He liked Sir Iltyd very much, and thought +him possessed of several qualifications valuable in a father-in-law, +among them his devotion to his library; but in his present frame of +mind he felt that history and politics were topics he would like to +relegate out of existence. + +He put the best face on the situation he could muster, however, and +managed to conceal from Sir Iltyd the fact that his spirits were in +other than their normal condition. The old baronet's eyes were not +very sharp, particularly when he had a cold, and he was not disposed +to notice Harold's pallor and occasional fits of abstraction, so long +as one of his favorite topics was under discussion. When Dartmouth +found that he had got safely through the dinner, he felt that he +had accomplished a feat which would have rejoiced the heart of his +grandmother, and he thought that his reward could not come a moment +too soon. Accordingly, for the first time since he had been at +Rhyd-Alwyn, he declined to sit with Sir Iltyd over the wine, and went +at once in search of Weir. + +As he opened the door of the drawing-room he found the room in +semi-darkness, lighted only by the last rays of the setting sun, which +strayed through the window. He went in, but did not see Weir. She was +not in her accustomed seat by the fire, and he was about to call her +name, when he came to a sudden halt, and for the moment every faculty +but one seemed suspended. A woman was standing by the open window +looking out over the water. She had not heard him, and had not turned +her head. Dartmouth felt a certain languor, as of one who is dreaming, +and is half-conscious that he is dreaming, and therefore yields +unresistingly to the pranks of his sleeping brain. Was it Weir, or was +it the woman who had been a part of his vision last night? She wore a +long, shining yellow dress, and her arms and neck were bare. Surely it +was the other woman! She turned her head a little, and he saw her face +in profile; there was the same stamp of suffering, the same pallor. +Weir had never looked like that; before he had known her she had had, +sometimes, a little expression of sadness and abstraction which had +made her look very picturesque, but which had borne no relationship +to suffering or experience. And the scene! the room filled with dying +light, the glimpse of water beyond, the very attitude of the woman at +the casement--all were strangely and deeply familiar to him, although +not the details of the vision of last night. The only things that were +wanting were the Eastern hangings to cover the dark wainscotted old +walls, and the skins on the black, time-stained floor. + +With a sudden effort of will he threw off the sense of mystery which +had again taken possession of him, and walked forward quickly. As Weir +heard him, she turned her head and met his eyes, and although a closer +look at her face startled him afresh, his brain was his own again, +and he was determined that it should remain so. He might yield to +supernatural impressions when unprepared, but not when both brain and +will were defiantly on the alert. That she was not only unaccountably +altered, but that she shrank from him, was evident; and he was +determined to hear her version of last night's adventure without +delay. He believed that she would unconsciously say something which +would throw a flood of light on the whole matter. + +"Where did you get that dress?" he said, abruptly. + +She started sharply, and the color flew to the roots of her hair, +then, receding, left her paler than before. "Why do you ask me that?" +she demanded, with unconcealed, almost terrified suspicion in her +tones. + +"Because," he said, looking straight into her eyes, "I had a peculiar +dream last night, in which you wore a dress exactly like this. It is +rather a remarkable coincidence that you should put it on to-night." + +"Harold!" she cried, springing forward and catching his arm +convulsively in both her hands, "what has happened? What is it? And +how can you talk so calmly when to me it seems--" + +He put his arm around her. "Seems what?" he said, soothingly. "Did +_you_ have a dream, too?" + +"Yes," she said, her face turning a shade paler, "I had a dream." + +"And in it you wore this dress?" + +"Yes." + +"Tell me your dream." + +"No!" she exclaimed, "I cannot." + +Dartmouth put his hand under her chin and pushed her head back +against his shoulder, upturning her face. "You must tell me," he said, +quietly; "every word of it! I am not asking you out of curiosity, but +because the dream I had was too remarkable to be without meaning. I +cannot reach that meaning unassisted; but with your help I believe I +can. So tell me at once." + +"Oh, Harold!" she cried, throwing her arms suddenly about him and +clinging to him, "I have no one else to speak to but you: I cannot +tell my father; he would not understand. No girl ever felt so horribly +alone as I have felt to-day. If it had not been for you I believe I +should have killed myself; but you are everything to me, only--_how_ +can I tell you?" + +He tightened his arms about her and kissed her. + +"Don't kiss me," she exclaimed sharply, trying to free herself. + +"Why not?" he demanded, in surprise. "Why should I not kiss you?" + +She let her head drop again to his shoulder. "True," she said; "why +should you not? It is only that I forget that I am not the woman I +dreamed I was; and for her--it was wrong to kiss you." + +"Weir, tell me your dream at once. It is for your good as well as +mine that I insist. You will be miserable and terrified until you take +someone into your confidence. I believe I can explain your dream, as +well as give you the comfort of talking it over with you." + +She slipped suddenly out of his arms and walked quickly to the end +of the room and back, pausing within a few feet of him. The room was +growing dark, and he could distinguish little of her beyond the tall +outline of her form and the unnatural brilliancy of her eyes, but he +respected her wish and remained where he was. + +"Very well," she said, rapidly. "I will tell you. I went to +sleep without much terror, for I had told my maid to sleep in my +dressing-room. But I suppose the storm and the story I had told you +had unsettled my nerves, for I soon began to dream a horrid dream. +I thought I was dead once more. I could feel the horrible chill and +pain, the close-packed ice about me. I was dead, but yet there was a +spirit within me. I could feel it whispering to itself, although it +had not as yet spread its fire through me and awakened me into life. +It whispered that it was tired, and disheartened, and disappointed, +and wanted rest; that it had been on a long, fruitless journey, and +was so weary that it would not take up the burden of life again just +yet. But its rest could not be long; there was someone it must find, +and before he had gone again to that boundless land, whose haunting +spirits were impalpable as flecks of mist. And then it moaned and +wept, and seemed to live over its past, and I went back with it, or +I was one with it--I cannot define. It recalled many scenes, but +only one made an impression on my memory; I can recall no other." She +paused abruptly, but Dartmouth made no comment; he stood motionless +in breathless expectancy. She put her hand to her head, and after a +moment continued haltingly: + +"I--oh--I hardly know how to tell it. I seemed to be standing with +you in a room more familiar to me than any room in this castle; a room +full of tapestries and skins and cushions and couches; a room which +if I had seen it in a picture I should have recognized as Oriental, +although I have never seen an Oriental room. I have always had an +indescribable longing to see Constantinople, and it seemed to me in +that dream as if I had but to walk to the window and look down upon +it--as if I had looked down upon it many times and loved its beauty. +But although I was with you, and your arms were about me, we were not +as we are now--as we were before the dream: we had suffered all that a +man and a woman can suffer who love and are held apart. And you looked +as you do now, yet utterly different. You looked years older, and you +were dressed so strangely. I do not know how I looked, but I know how +I felt. I felt that I had made up my mind to commit a deadly sin, and +that I gloried in it. I had suffered because to love you was a sin; +but I only loved you the more for that reason. Then you slowly drew +me further into the room and pressed me more closely in your arms and +kissed me again, and then--I--oh--I do not know--it is all so vague I +don't know what it meant--but it seemed as if the very foundations of +my life were being swept away. And yet--oh, I cannot explain! I do not +know, myself." And she would have thrown herself headlong on the sofa +had not Dartmouth sprang forward and caught her. + +"There, never mind," he said, quickly. "Let that go. It is of no +consequence. A dream like that must necessarily end in a climax of +incoherence and excitement." + +He drew her down on the sofa, and for a moment said nothing further. +He had to acknowledge that she had deepened the mystery, and given no +key. A silence fell, and neither moved. Suddenly she raised her head. +"What was your dream?" she demanded. + +"The same. I don't pretend to explain it. And I shall not insult your +understanding by inventing weak excuses. If it means anything we will +give the problem no rest until we have solved it. If we cannot solve +it, then we are justified in coming to the conclusion that there is +nothing in it. But I believe we shall get to the bottom of it yet." + +"Perhaps," she said, wearily; "I do not know. I only feel that I shall +never be myself again, but must go through life with that woman's +burden of sin and suffering weighing me down." She paused a moment, +and then continued: "In that dream I wore a dress like this, and that +is the reason I put it on to-night. I was getting some things in Paris +before I left, and I bought it thinking you would like it; I had heard +you say that yellow was your favorite color. When my maid opened +the door of my wardrobe to-night to take out a dress, and I saw this +hanging there, it gave me such a shock that I caught at a chair to +keep from falling. And then I felt irresistibly impelled to put it on. +I felt as if it were a shroud, vivid in color as it is; but it had +an uncanny fascination for me, and I experienced a morbid delight in +feeling both spirit and flesh revolt, and yet compelling them to do +my will. I never knew that it was in me to feel so, but I suppose I am +utterly demoralized by so realistically living over again that awful +experience of my childhood. If it happened again I should either be +carried back to the vault for good and all, or end my days in the +topmost tower of the castle, with a keeper, and the storms and +sea-gulls for sole companions." + +She sat up in a moment, and putting her hand on his shoulder, looked +him full in the face for the first time. "It seems to me that I know +you now," she said, "and that I never knew you before. When I first +saw you to-night I shrank from you: why, I hardly know, except that +the personality of that woman had woven itself so strongly into mine +that for the moment I felt I had no right to love you. But I have +never loved you as I do to-night, because that dream, however little +else I may have to thank it for, did for me this at least: it seemed +to give me a glimpse into every nook and corner of your character; I +feel now that my understanding of your strange nature is absolute. +I had seen only one side of it before, and had made but instinctive +guesses at the rest; but as I stood with you in that dream, I had, +graven on my memory, the knowledge of every side and phase of your +character as you had revealed it to me many times; and that memory +abides with me. I remember no details, but that makes no difference; +if I were one with you I could not know you better." She slipped her +arms about his neck and pressed her face close to his. "You have one +of your attacks of melancholy to-night," she murmured. "You tried +to conceal it, and the effort made you appear cold. It was the first +thing I thought of when I turned and saw you, in spite of all I felt +myself. And although you had described those attacks before, the +description had conveyed little to me; that your moods were different +from other people's blues had hardly occurred to me, we had been +so happy. But now I understand. I pay for the knowledge with a high +price; but that is life, I suppose." + + + + +IX. + + +Two Days later Dartmouth received a despatch from the steward of his +estates in the north of England announcing that there was serious +trouble among his tenantry, and that his interests demanded he should +be on the scene at once. The despatch was brought to his room, and he +went directly down to the hall, where he had left Weir, and told +her he must leave her for a few days. She had been standing by the +fire-place warming her foot on the fender, but she sat suddenly +down on a chair as he explained to her the nature of the telegram. +"Harold," she said, "if you go you will never come back." + +"My dear girl," he said, "that speech is unworthy of you. You are not +the sort of woman to believe in such nonsense as presentiments." + +"Presentiments may be supernatural," she said, "but not more so +than the experience we have had. So long as you are with me I feel +comparatively untroubled, but if you go I know that something will +happen." + +He sat down on the arm of her chair and took her hand. "You are +low-spirited yet," he said, "and consequently you take a morbid view +of everything. That is all. I am beginning to doubt if the dream we +had was anything more than the most remarkable dream on record; if it +were otherwise, two such wise heads as ours would have discovered the +hidden meaning by this time. And, granting that, you must also grant +that if anything were going to happen, you could not possibly know it; +nor will predicting it bring it about. I will be with you in two days +from this hour, and you will only remember how glad you were to get +rid of me." + +"I hope so," she said. "But--is it absolutely necessary for you to +go?" + +"Not if you don't mind living on bread and cheese for a year or two. +The farms of my ancestral home make a pretty good rent-roll, but if my +tenants become the untrammelled communists my steward predicts, we may +have to camp out on burnt stubble for some time to come. It is in the +hope of inducing them to leave me at least the Hall to take a bride to +that I go to interview them at once. I may be too late, but I will do +my best." + +"You will always joke, I suppose," she said, smiling a little; "but +come back to me." + +He left Rhyd-Alwyn that evening and arrived at Crumford Hall the next +morning. He slept little during the journey. His mood was still upon +him, and without consideration for Weir as an incentive it was more +difficult to fight it off, indeed, it was almost a luxury to yield to +it. Moreover, although it had been easy enough to say he would think +no more about his vision and its accompanying incidents, it was not +so easy to put the determination into practice, and he found himself +spending the night in the vain attempt to untangle the web, and in +endeavoring to analyze the subtle, uncomfortable sense of mystery +which those events had left behind them. Toward morning he lost all +patience with himself, and taking a novel out of his bag fixed his +mind deliberately upon it; and as the story was rather stupid, it had +the comfortable effect of sending him to sleep. + +When he arrived at his place he found that the trouble was less +serious than his steward had represented. The year had been +unproductive, and his tenants had demanded a lowering of their rents; +but neither flames nor imprecations were in order. Dartmouth was +inclined to be a just man, and, moreover, he was very much in love, +and anxious to get away; consequently, after a two days' examination +of the situation in all its bearings, he acceded in great part to +their demands and gave his lieutenant orders to hold the reins lightly +during the coming year. + +On the second night after his arrival he went into his study to write +to Weir. He had been so busy heretofore that he had sent her but a +couple of lines at different times, scribbled on a leaf of his note +book, and he was glad to find the opportunity to write her a letter. +He had hoped to return to her instead, but had found several other +matters which demanded his attention, and he preferred to look into +them at once, otherwise he would be obliged to return later on. + +His study was a comfortable little den just off the library, and its +four walls had witnessed the worst of his moods and the most roseate +of his dreams. In it he had frequently sat up all night talking +with his grandmother, and the atmosphere had vibrated with some hot +disputes. There was a divan across one end, some bookshelves across +the other, and on one side was a desk with a revolving chair before +it. Above the desk hung a battle-axe which he had brought from +America. Opposite was a heavily curtained window, and near it a door +which led into his private apartments. Between was a heavy piece of +furniture of Byzantine manufacture. As he entered the little room +for the first time since his arrival, he stood for a moment with a +retrospective smile in his eyes. He almost fancied he could see his +grandmother half-reclining on one end of the divan, with a pillow +beneath her elbow, her stately head, with its tower of white hair, +thrown imperiously, somewhat superciliously back, as her eyes flashed +and her mouth poured forth a torrent of overwhelming argument. "Poor +old girl!" he thought; "why do women like that have to die? How she +and Weir would have--argued, to put it mildly. I am afraid I should +have had to put a continent between them. But I would give a good deal +to see her again, all the same." + +He shut the door, sat down before his desk, and took a bunch of keys +from his pocket. As he did so, his eyes fell upon one of curious +workmanship, and he felt a sudden sense of pleasant anticipation. That +key opened the Byzantine chest opposite, somewhere in whose cunningly +hidden recesses lay, he was convinced, the papers which he had once +seen in his grandmother's clenched hands. He did not believe she had +destroyed them; she had remarked a few days before her death--which +had been sudden and unexpected--that she must soon devote an +unpleasant hour to the burning of old letters and papers. She +had spoken lightly, but there had been a gleam in her eyes and a +tightening of her lips which had suggested the night he had seen her +look as if she wished that the papers between her fingers were a human +throat. Should he find those papers and pass away a dull evening? +There was certainly nothing but the obstinacy of the chest to prevent, +and she would forgive him more than that. He had always had a strong +curiosity in regard to those papers, but his curiosity so far had been +an inactive one; he had never before been alone at the Hall since +his grandmother's death. He wheeled about on his chair and looked +whimsically at the divan. "Have I your permission, O most fascinating +of grandmothers?" he demanded aloud. "No answer. That means I have. So +be it." + +He wrote to Weir, then went over and kneeled on one knee before the +chest. It looked outwardly like a high, deep box, and was covered +with heavy Smyrna cloth, and ornamented with immense brass handles +and lock. Dartmouth fitted the key into a small key-hole hidden in +the carving on the side of the lock, and the front of the chest fell +outward. He let it down to the floor, then gave his attention to the +interior. It was as complicated as the exterior was plain. On one side +of the central partition were dozens of little drawers, on the other +as many slides and pigeon-holes and alcoves. On every square inch of +wood was a delicate tracery, each different, each telling a story. The +handles of the drawers, the arcades of the alcoves, the pillars of +the pigeon-holes--all were of ivory, and all were carved with the +fantastic art of the Mussulman. It was so beautiful and so intricate +that for a time Dartmouth forgot the papers. He had seen it before, +but it was a work of art which required minute observation and study +of its details to be appreciated. After a time, however, he recurred +to his quest and took the drawers out, one by one, laying them on the +floor. They were very small, and not one of them contained so much as +a roseleaf. At the end of each fourth shelf which separated the rows +of drawers, was a knob. Dartmouth turned one and the shelf fell from +its place. He saw the object. Behind each four rows of drawers was a +room. Each of these rooms had the dome ceiling and Byzantine +pillars of a mosque, and each represented a different portion of the +building--presumably that of St. Sophia. The capitals of the pillars +were exquisite, few being duplicated, and the shafts were solid +columns of black marble, supported on bases of porphyry. The floor was +a network of mosaics, and the walls were a blaze of colored marbles. +The altar, which stood in the central room, was of silver, with +trappings of gold-embroidered velvet, and paraphernalia of gold. +Dartmouth was entranced. He had a keen love of and appreciation +for art, but he had never found anything as interesting as this. He +congratulated himself upon the prospect of many pleasant hours in its +company. + +He let it go for the present and pressed his finger against every inch +of the walls and floor and ceilings of the mosque, and of the various +other apartments. It was a good half-hour's work, and the monotony and +non-success induced a certain nervousness. His head ached and his hand +trembled a little. When he had finished, and no panel had flown back +at his touch, he threw himself down on one hand with an exclamation of +impatience, and gazed with a scowl at the noncommittal beauty before +him. He cared nothing for its beauty at that moment. What he wanted +were the papers, and he was determined to find them. He stood up and +examined the top of the chest. There was certainly a space between the +visible depths of the interior and the back wall. He rapped loudly, +but the wood and the stuff with which it was covered were too thick; +there was no answering ring. He recalled the night when he had +cynically examined the fragments of the broken cabinet at Rhyd-Alwyn. +He felt anything but cynical now; indeed, he was conscious of a +restless eagerness and a dogged determination with which curiosity had +little to do. He would find those papers if he died in the attempt. + +He knelt once more before the chest, and once more pressed his +finger along its interior, following regular lines. Then he shook the +pillars, and inserted his penknife in each most minute interstice of +the carving; he prodded the ribs of the arches, and brought his fist +down violently on the separate floors of the mosque. At the end of an +hour he sprang to his feet with a smothered oath, and cutting a slit +in the cover of the chest with his penknife, tore it off and examined +the top and sides as carefully as his strained eyes and trembling +hands would allow. He was ashamed of his nervousness, but he was +powerless to overcome it. His examination met with no better success, +and he suddenly sprang across the room and snatched the battle-axe +from the wall. He walked quickly back to the chest. For a moment he +hesitated, the thing was so beautiful! But only for a moment. The +overmastering desire to feel those papers in his hands had driven out +all regard for art. He lifted the axe on high and brought it down on +the top of the chest with a blow which made the little room echo. He +was a powerful man, and the axe was imbedded to its haft. He worked it +out of the tough wood and planted another blow, which widened the rift +and made the stout old chest creak like a falling tree. The mutilated +wood acted upon Dartmouth like the smell of blood upon a wolf: the +spirit of destruction leaped up and blazed within him, a devouring +flame, and the blows fell thick and fast. He felt a fierce delight +in the havoc he was making, in the rare and exquisite beauty he was +ruining beyond hope of redemption. He leaned down, and swinging the +axe outward, sent it straight through the arcades and pillars, the +mosques and images, shattering them to bits. Then he raised the axe +again and brought it down on the seam which joined the back to the +top. The blow made but little impression, but a succession of blows +produced a wide gap. Harold inserted the axe in the rift, and kneeling +on the chest, attempted to force the back wall outward. For a time it +resisted his efforts, then it suddenly gave way, and Dartmouth dropped +the axe with a cry. From a shelf below the roof a package had sprung +outward with the shock, and a small object had fallen with a clatter +on the prostrate wall. Dartmouth picked it up in one hand and the +papers in the other, his fingers closing over the latter with a joy +which thrilled him from head to foot. It was a joy so great that it +filled him with a profound peace; the excitement of the past hour +suddenly left him. He went over to his desk and sat down before it. +With the papers still held firmly in his hand, he opened the locket. +There were two pictures within, and as he held them up to the light he +was vaguely conscious that he should feel a shock of surprise; but he +did not. The pictures were those of Lady Sionèd Penrhyn and--himself! +With the same apparent lack of mental prompting as on the night in the +gallery when he had addressed Weir with the name of her grandmother, +he raised the picture of the woman to his lips and kissed it fondly. +Then he laid it down and opened the packet. Within were a thick piece +of manuscript and a bundle of letters. He pressed his hand lovingly +over the closely written sheets of the manuscript, but laid them down +and gave his attention to the letters. They were roughly tied into a +bundle with a bit of string. He slipped the string off and glanced at +the address of the letter which lay uppermost. The ink, though faded, +was legible enough--"Lady Sionèd-ap-Penrhyn, Constantinople." He +opened the letter and glanced at the signature. The note was signed +with the initials of his grandfather, Lionel Dartmouth. They were +peculiarly formed, and were in many of the library books. + +He turned back to the first page. As he did so he was aware of a +new sensation, which seemed, however, but a natural evolution in his +present mental and spiritual exaltation. It was as if the page were a +blank sheet and he were wielding an invisible pen. Although, before +he took up the letter, he had had no idea of its contents beyond +a formless, general intuition, as soon as he began to read he was +clearly aware of every coming word and sentence and sentiment in it. +So strong was the impression, that once he involuntarily dropped the +note and, picking up a pen, began hastily writing what he knew was on +the unread page. But his mind became foggy at once, and he threw down +the pen and returned to the letter. Then the sense of authorship and +familiarity returned. He read the letters in the order in which they +came, which was the order of their writing. Among them were some pages +of exquisite verse: and verses and letters alike were the words of a +man to a woman whom he loved with all the concentration and intensity +of a solitary, turbulent, passionate nature; who knew that in this +love lay his and her only happiness; and who would cast aside the +orthodoxy of the world as beneath consideration when balanced against +the perfecting of two human lives. They reflected the melancholy, +ill-regulated nature of the man, but they rang with a tenderness and +a passion which were as unmistakable as the genius of the writer; and +Harold knew that if the dead poet had never loved another woman he +had loved Sionèd Penrhyn. Or had he loved her himself? Or was it Weir? +Surely these letters were his. He had written them to that beautiful +dark-eyed woman with the jewels about her head. He could read the +answers between the lines; he knew them by heart; the passionate words +of the unhappy woman who had quickened his genius from its sleep. Ah, +how he loved her, his beautiful Weir!--No--Sionèd was her name, Sionèd +Penrhyn, and her picture hung in the castle where the storms beat upon +the grey Welsh cliffs thousands of miles away.... + +If he had but met her earlier--he might to-day be one of that +brilliant galaxy of poets whose music the whole world honored. Oh! the +wasted years of his life, and his half-hearted attempts to give to +the world those wonderful children of his brain! He had loved and been +jealous of them, those children, and they had multiplied until it had +seemed as if they would prove stronger than his will. But he had let +them sing for himself alone; he would give the world nothing until +one day in that densely peopled land of his brain there should go up +a paean of rejoicing that a child, before which their own glory paled, +had been born. And above the tumult should rise the sound of such a +strain of music as had never been heard out of heaven; and before it +the world should sink to its knees.... + +And it had come to pass at last, this dream. This woman had awakened +his nature from its torpor, and with the love had come, leaping, +rushing, thundering, a torrent of verse such as had burst from no +man's brain in any age. + +And to her he owed his future, his fame, and his immortal name. And +she would be with him always. She had struggled and resisted and +refused him speech, but the terrible strength of her nature had +triumphed over dogmas and over the lesser duties she owed to others; +of her free will she had sent for him. He would be with her in an +hour, and to-morrow they would have left codes and conventions behind +them. There was a pang in leaving this beautiful room where his +poem had been born, and beneath which lay such a picture as man sees +nowhere else on earth. But to that which was to come, what was this? +He would write a few lines to the woman who bore his name, and +then the time would have come to go. She too was a beautiful and a +brilliant woman, but her nature was narrow and cold, and she had never +understood him for a moment. There! he had finished, and she would be +happier without him. She had her world and her child--that beautiful +boy!--But this was no time for pangs. He had chosen his destiny, and a +man cannot have all things. It was time to go. Should he take one last +glance at the boy laughing in the room beyond? He had but to push the +tapestry aside, yes--there--God! + +Ah, it was grateful to get into the cool air of the street, and before +him, only a short distance away, were the towers of the Embassy. Would +he never reach them? The way had been so long--could it be that his +footsteps were already echoing on the marble floor which led to that +chamber? Yes, and the perfume of that jasmine-laden room was stealing +over his senses, and the woman he loved was in his arms. How the +golden sunset lay on the domes and minarets below! How sonorous +sounded the voices of the muezzins as they called the people to +prayer! There was music somewhere, or was it the wails for the dead +down in Galata? It was all like a part of a dream, and the outlines +were blurred and confused--What was that? A thunderclap? Why were he +and Sionèd lying prostrate there, she with horror in her wide open, +glassy eyes, he with the arms which had held her lying limply on +the blood stained floor beside him? He seemed to see them both as he +hovered above. It was death? Well, what matter? She had gone out with +him, and in some cloud-walled castle, murmurous with harmonies of +quiring spheres, and gleaming with their radiance, they would dwell +together. Human vengeance could not reach them there, and for love +there is no death. The soul cannot die, and love, its chiefest +offspring, shares its immortality. It persists throughout the ages, +like the waves of music that never cease. He would take her hand and +lead her upward--Where was she? Surely she must be by his side. But he +could see no one, feel no presence. God! had he lost her? Had she +been borne upward and away, while he had lingered, fascinated with +the empty clay that a moment since had been throbbing with life +and keenest happiness? But he would find her--even did he go to the +confines of Eternity. But where was he? He could see the lifeless +shells no longer. He was roaming--on--on--in a vast, grey, pathless +land, without light, without sound, unpeopled, forsaken. These were +the plains of Eternity!--the measureless, boundless, sun-forgotten +region, whose monarch was Death, and whose avenging angel--Silence! An +eternal twilight more desolate than the blackness of night, a twilight +as of myriads of ghostly lanterns shedding their colorless rays upon +an awful, echoless solitude He would never find her here The dead of +ages were about him--the troubled spirits who had approached the pale, +stern gates of the Hereafter with rapture, and found within their +portals not rest, but a ceaseless, weary, purposeless wandering, the +world tired souls of aged men pursuing their never-ending quest in +meek, faltering wonder, and longing for the goal which surely they +must reach at last, the white, unquestioning souls of children +floating like heavenly strains of unheard music in the void immensity, +but one and all invisible imponderable. They were there, the monarchs +of buried centuries and the thousands who had knelt at their thrones, +the high and the low, the outcast and the shrived, but each as alone +as if the solitary inhabitant of all Space And _he_, who would have +fled from his fellow-men on earth, must long in vain for the sound of +human voice or the rapture of human touch He must go on--on--in these +colorless, shadowless, haunted plains, until the last trumpet-blast +should awaken the echoes of the Universe and summon him to confront +his Maker and be judged Oh! if but once more he could see the earth he +had scorned! Was it spinning on its way still, that dark, tiny ball? +How long since he had given that last glance of farewell? It must +be years and years and years, as reckoned by the time of men, for in +Eternity there is no time. And Sionèd--where was she? Desolate and +abandoned, shrieked at by sudden winds, flying terrified and helpless +over level, horizonless plains only to fling herself upon the grey +waves of Death's noiseless ocean? Oh, if he could but find her and +make her forget! Together, what would matter death and silence and +everlasting unrest? All would be forgot, all but the exquisite pain of +the regret for the years he had wasted on earth, and for the solitary +heritage he had left the world. Those children of his brain! They were +with him still. Would that he had left them below to sing his name +down through the ages! They were a torment to him here, in their +futility and inaction. They could not sing to these shapeless ghosts +about him; their voices would be unheeded music; nor would any strain +sweep downward to that world whose tears he might have drawn, whose +mirth provoked, whose passions played upon at his will. The one grand +thing he had done must alone speak for him. There was in it neither +pathos nor mirth; it had sprung to the cloud-capped point of human +genius, and its sublimity would prove its barrier to the world's +approval. But it would give him fame when--God! what was that thought? +The manuscript of that poem had lain in the room where he had met +his death. Had the hand that had slain him executed a more terrible +vengeance still? Oh, it could not be! No man would be so base. And +yet, what mercy had he the right to expect? And the nature of the +man--cold--relentless--To consign the man who had wronged him to +eternal oblivion--would he not feel as he watched the ashes in the +brazier, that such vengeance was sweeter than even the power to +kill? And he was impotent! He was a waif tossed about in the chaos +of eternity, with no power to smite the man whose crime +had--perhaps--been greater than the thrusting of two lives from +existence a few years before their time. He was as powerless as the +invisible beggar who floated at his side. And that man was on earth +yet, perchance, coldly indifferent in his proud position, inwardly +gloating at the fullness of his revenge.... + +Years, years, years! They slipped from his consciousness like water +from the smooth surface of a rock. And yet each had pressed more +heavily and stung more sharply than the last. Oh, if he could but +know that his poem had been given to the world--that it had not been +blotted from existence! This was what was meant by Hell. No torture +that man had ever pictured could approach the torments of such regret, +such uncertainty, such pitiable impotence. Truly, if his sin had been +great, his punishment was greater. + +But why was he going downward? What invisible hand was this which was +resistlessly guiding him through the portals of the shadow land, past +the great sun and worlds of other men, and down through this quivering +ether? What? He was to be born again? A bit of clay needed an atom of +animate force to quicken it into life, and he must go again? And it +was to the planet Earth he was going? Ah! his poem! his poem! He +could write it again, and of what matter the wasted generations? And +Sionèd--they would meet again. Sooner or later, she too must return, +and on Earth they would find what had been denied them above. What +was that? His past must become a blank? His soul must be shorn of its +growth? He must go back to unremembering, unforseeing infancy, and +grow through long, slow years to manhood again? Still, his genius +and his intelligence in their elements would be the same, and with +development would come at last the fruition of all his fondest hopes. +And Sionèd? He would know her when they met. Their souls must be +the same as when the great ocean of Force had tossed them up; and +evolution could work no essential change. Ah! they had entered the +blue atmosphere. And, yes--there lay the earth below them. How he +remembered its green plains and white cities and blue waters! And that +great island--yes, it was familiar enough. It was the land which had +given him birth, and which should have knelt at his feet and granted +him a resting-place amidst its illustrious dead. And this old castle +they were descending upon? He did not remember it. Well, he was to be +of the chosen of earth again. He would have a proud name to offer +her, and this time it should be an unsullied one. This time the world +should ring with his genius, not with his follies. This time--Oh, +what was this? Stop! Stop! No; he could not part with it. The grand, +trained intellect of which he had been so proud--the perfected genius +which had been his glory--they should not strip them from him--they +were part of himself; they were his very essence; he would not give +them up! Oh, God! this horrible shrinking! This was Hell; this was +not re-birth. Physical torture? The words were meaningless beside +this warping, this tearing apart of spirit and mind--those precious +children of his brain--limb from limb. Their shrieks for +help!--their cries of anguish and horror! their clutches! their last +spasmodic--despairing--weakening embrace! He _would_ hold them! His +clasp would defy all the powers of Earth and Air! No, they should not +go--they should not. Oh! this cursed hand, with its nerves of steel. +It would conquer yet, conquer and compress him down into an atom +of impotence--There! it had wrenched them from him; they were +gone--gone--forever. But no, they were there beside him; their moans +for help filled the space about him; yes, moans--they were cries +no longer--and they were growing fainter--they were +fading--sinking--dying--and he was shrinking-- + + + + +X. + + +Harold opened his eyes. The night had gone; the sun was struggling +through the heavy curtains; the lamps and the fire had gone out, and +the room was cold. He was faint and exhausted. His forehead was damp +with horror, and his hands were shaking. That terrible struggle in +which intellect and its attainments had been wrenched apart, in which +the spirit and its memories had been torn asunder! He closed his eyes +for a moment in obedience to his exhausted vitality. Then he rose +slowly to his feet, went into his bedroom, and looked into the glass. +Was it Harold Dartmouth or the dead poet who was reflected there? He +went back, picked up the locket, and returned to the glass. He looked +at the picture, then at his own face, and again at the picture. They +were identical; there was not a line or curve or tint of difference. +He returned to his chair and rested his head on his hand. Was he this +man re-born? Did the dead come back and live again? Was it a dream, or +had he actually lived over a chapter from a past existence? He was a +practical man-of-the-world, not a vague dreamer--but all nature was +a mystery; this would be no stranger than the general mystery of life +itself. And he was not only this man reproduced in every line +and feature; he had his nature as well. His grandmother had never +mentioned her husband's name, but the Dartmouths had been less +reticent. They were fond of reiterating anecdotes of Lionel +Dartmouth's lawless youth, of his moody, melancholy temperament, and +above all, of the infallible signs he had shown of great genius. That +his genius had borne no fruit made no difference in their estimate; he +had died too soon, that was all--died of fever in Constantinople, the +story ran; there had never been a suggestion of scandal. And he had +come back to earth to fulfill the promise of long ago, and to give to +the world the one splendid achievement of that time. It had triumphed +over death and crime and revenge--but--He recalled those nights +of conflict in his mind. Would will and spirit ever conquer that +mechanical defect in his brain which denied his genius speech? + +He drew his hand across his forehead; he was so tired. He pushed the +manuscript and letters into a drawer of the desk, and turning the +key upon them, opened the window and stepped out into the air. +His vitality was at as low an ebb as if from physical overwork and +fasting. He made no attempt to think, or to comment on the events +just past. For the moment they lost their interest, and he strolled +aimlessly about the park, his exhausted forces slowly recuperating. +At the end of an hour he returned to the house and took a cold +shower-bath and ate his breakfast. Then he felt more like himself. He +had a strong desire to return to his study and the lost manuscript, +but, with the wilful and pleasing procrastination of one who knows +that satisfaction is within his grasp, he put the temptation aside +for the present, and spent the day riding over his estates with his +steward. He also gave his business affairs a minute attention which +delighted his servant. After dinner he smoked a cigar, then went into +his study and locked the door. He sat down before the desk, and for +a moment experienced a feeling of dread. He wanted no more visions: +would contact with those papers induce another? He would like to read +that poem with the calm criticism of a trained and cultivated mind; he +had no desire to be whirled back into his study at Constantinople, his +brain throbbing and bursting with what was coming next. He shrugged +his shoulders. It was a humiliating confession, but there were forces +over which he had no control; there was nothing to do but resign +himself to the inevitable. + +He opened the drawer and took out the manuscript. To his unspeakable +satisfaction he remained calm and unperturbed. He felt merely a +cold-blooded content that he had balked his enemies and that his +ambition was to be gratified. Once, before he opened the paper, he +smiled at his readiness to accept the theory of reincarnation. It had +taken complete possession of him, and he felt not the slightest desire +to combat it. Did a doubt cross his mind, he had but to recall the +park seen by his spiritual eyes, as he descended upon it to be born +again. It was the park in which he, Harold Dartmouth, had played as +a child during his annual visits to his parents; the park surrounding +the castle in which he had been born, and which had belonged to his +father's line for centuries. For the first time in his life he did +not reason. It seemed to him that there was no corner or loophole +for argument, nothing but a cold array of facts which must be +unconditionally accepted or rejected. + +He spread out the poem. It was in blank verse, and very long. He was +struck at once with its beauty and power. Although his soul responded +to the words as to the tone of a dear but long unheard voice, still he +was spared the mental exaltation which would have clouded his judgment +and destroyed his pleasure. He leaned his elbows on the desk, and, +taking his head between his hands, read on and on, scarcely drawing +breath. Poets past and present had been his familiar friends, but in +them he had found no such beauty as this. The grand sweep of the poem, +the depth of its philosophy, the sublimity of its thought, the melody +of its verse, the color, the radiant richness of its imagery, +the sonorous swell of its lines, the classic purity of its +style--Dartmouth felt as if an organ were pealing within his soul, +lifting the song on its notes to the celestial choir which had sent it +forth. Heavenly fingers were sweeping the keys, heavenly voices were +quiring the melody they had with wanton hand flung into a mortal's +brain. As Harold read on he felt that his spirit had dissolved and was +flowing through the poem, to be blended, unified with it forever. +He seemed to lose all physical sensation, not from the causes of +the previous night, but from the spiritual exaltation and absorption +induced by the beauty and grandeur of the theme. When he had finished, +he flung out his arms upon the desk, buried his head in them, and +burst into tears. The tears were the result, not so much of extreme +nervous tension, as of the wonder and awe and ecstacy with which his +own genius had filled him. In a few moments his emotion had subsided +and was succeeded by a state less purely spiritual. He stood up, and +leaning one hand on the desk, looked down at the poem, his soul filled +with an exultant sense of power. Power was what he had gloried in all +his life. His birth had given it to him socially, his money had lent +its aid, and his personal fascination had completed the chapter. But +he had wanted something more than the commonplace power which fate +or fortune grants to many. He had wanted that power which lifts a man +high above his fellow-men, condemning him to solitude, perhaps, but, +in that fiercely beating light, revealing him to all men's gaze. If +life had drifted by him, it had been because he was too much of a +philosopher to attempt the impossible, too clever to publish his +incompetence to the world. + +His inactivity had not been the result of lack of ambition, and yet, +as he stood there gazing down upon his work, it seemed to him that he +had never felt the stirrings of that passion before. With the power to +gratify his ambition, ambition sprang from glowing coals into a mighty +flame which roared and swept about him, darted into every corner +and crevice of his being, pulsated through his mind and spirit, and +temporarily drove out every other instinct and desire. He threw back +his head, his eyes flashing and his lips quivering. For the moment +he looked inspired, as he registered a vow to have his name known in +every corner of the civilized world. That he had so far been unable +to accomplish anything in his present embodiment gave him no +uneasiness at the moment. Sooner or later the imprisoned song would +force its way through the solid masonry in which it was walled up--He +gave a short laugh and came down to earth; his fancy was running away +with him. + +He folded the poem compactly and put it in his breast pocket, +determined that it should never leave him again until a copy was in +the hands of the printer. It should be sent forth from Constantinople. +The poem must be the apparent offspring of his present incarnation; +and as he had never been in Constantinople he must go there and remain +for several months before publication. + +He went into the library and sat down before the fire. He closed +his eyes and let his head fall back on the soft cushion, a pleasant +languor and warmth stealing through his frame. What a future! Power, +honor, adoration--the proudest pedestal a man can stand upon. And, as +if this were not enough, an unquestioned happiness with the woman he +loved with his whole heart. To her advent into his life he owed his +complete and final severance from the petty but infinite distractions +and temptations of the world. His present without flaw, and his future +assured, what was to prevent his gifts from flowering thickly +and unceasingly in their peaceful soil and atmosphere of calm? He +remembered that his first irresistible impulse to write had come +on the night he had met her. Would he owe to her his final power to +speak, as he had owed to that other-- + +He sat suddenly erect, then leaned forward, gazing at the fire with +eyes from which all languor had vanished. He felt as if a flash of +lightning had been projected into his brain. That other? Who was that +other?--why was she so marvellously like Weir? Her grandmother? Yes, +but why had he felt for Weir that sense of recognition and spiritual +kinship the moment he had seen her? + +He sprang to his feet and strode to the middle of the room. Great +God! Was Weir reëmbodied as well as himself? Lady Sionèd Penrhyn was +indisputably the woman he had loved in his former existence--that was +proved once for all by the scene in the gallery at Rhyd-Alwyn and +by the letters he had found addressed to her. He recalled Weir's +childhood experience. Had she really died, and the desperate, +determined spirit of Sionèd Penrhyn taken possession of her body? +Otherwise, why that sense of affinity, and her strange empire over him +the night of their mutual vision? There was something more than racial +resemblance in form and feature between Sionèd and Weir Penrhyn; there +was absolute identity of soul and mind. + +He strode rapidly from one end of the room to the other. Every +nerve in his body seemed vibrating, but his mind acted rapidly and +sequentially. He put the links together one by one, until, from the +moment of his last meeting with Sionèd Penrhyn at Constantinople to +the climax of his vision in his study, the chain was complete. Love, +then, as well as genius, had triumphed over the vengeance of Dafyd +Penrhyn and Catherine Dartmouth. In that moment he felt no affection +for his grandmother. She had worshipped and spoilt him, and had shown +him only her better side; but the weakness and evil of her nature had +done him incalculable injury, and he was not prepared to forgive her +at once. + +He returned to his seat. Truly they all were the victims of inexorable +law, but the law was just, and if it took to-day it gave to-morrow. If +he and Sionèd Penrhyn had been destined to short-lived happiness and +tragic death in that other existence, there was not an obstacle or +barrier between them in the present. And if--He pushed his chair +suddenly back and brought his brows together. A thought had struck him +which he did not like. He got up and put another log on the fire. Then +he went over to the table and took up a book--a volume of Figuier. He +sat down and read a few pages, then threw down the book, and drawing +writing materials toward him, wrote a half-dozen business letters. +When they were finished, together with a few lines to Weir, and no +other correspondence suggested itself, he got up and walked the length +of the room several times. Suddenly he brought his fist violently down +on the table. + +"I am a fool," he exclaimed. "The idea of a man with my experience +with women--" And then his voice died away and his hand relaxed, an +expression of disgust crossing his face. He sank into a chair by the +table and leaned his head on his hand. It was true that he was a +man of the world, and that for conventional morality he had felt the +contempt it deserved. Nevertheless, in loving this girl the finest and +highest instincts of his nature had been aroused. He had felt for her +even more of sentiment than of passion. When a man loves a girl whose +mental purity is as absolute as her physical, there is, intermingled +with his love, a leavening quality of reverence, and the result is +a certain purification of his own nature. That Dartmouth had +found himself capable of such a love had been a source of keenest +gratification to him. He had been lifted to a spiritual level which he +had never touched before, and there he had determined to remain. + +And to have this pure and exquisite love smirched with the memory of +sin and vulgar crime! To take into his arms as his wife the woman on +whose soul was written the record of temptation and of sin! It was +like marrying one's mistress: as a matter of fact, what else was it? +But Weir Penrhyn! To connect sin with her was monstrous. And yet, the +vital spark called life--or soul, or intelligence, or personal force; +whatever name science or ignorance might give it--was unchanged in +its elements, as his own chapter of memories had taught him. Every +instinct in Sionèd's nature was unaltered. If these instincts were +undeveloped in her present existence, it was because of Weir's +sheltered life, and because she had met him this time before it was +too late. + +He sprang to his feet, almost overturning the chair. "I can think no +more to-night," he exclaimed. "My head feels as if it would burst." + +He went into his bedroom and poured out a dose of laudanum. When he +was in bed he drank it, and he did not awake until late the next day. + + + + +XI. + + +In the life of every man there comes a time when he is brought face +to face with the great problem of morality. The murderer undoubtedly +comprehends the problem in all its significance when he is about to +mount the scaffold, the faithless wife when she is dragged through the +divorce court, and her family and friends are humbled to the dust. + +Dartmouth worked it out the next night as he sat by his library fire. +He had given the afternoon to his business affairs, but when night +threw him back into the sole companionship of his thoughts, he +doggedly faced the question which he had avoided all day. + +What was sin? Could anyone tell, with the uneven standard set up by +morality and religion? The world smiled upon a loveless marriage. What +more degrading? It frowned upon a love perfect in all but the sanction +of the Church, if the two had the courage to proclaim their love. It +discreetly looked another way when the harlot of "Society" tripped +by with her husband on one hand and her lover on the other. A man +enriched himself at the expense of others by what he was pleased to +call his business sharpness, and died revered as a philanthropist; the +common thief was sent to jail. + +Dartmouth threw back his head and clasped his hands behind it. Of +what use rehearsing platitudes? The laws of morality were concocted to +ensure the coherence and homogeneity of society; therefore, whatever +deleteriously affected society was crime of less or greater magnitude. +He and Sionèd Penrhyn had ruined the lives and happiness of two +people, had made a murderer of the one, and irrevocably hardened the +nature of the other: Catherine Dartmouth had lived to fourscore, and +had died with unexpiated wrong on her conscience. They had left two +children half-orphaned, and they had run the risk of disgracing two +of the proudest families in Great Britain. Nothing, doubtless, but the +cleverness and promptitude of Sir Dafyd Penrhyn, the secretive nature +of Catherine Dartmouth, the absence of rapid-news transit, and the +semi-civilization of Constantinople at that time, had prevented the +affair from becoming public scandal. Poor Weir! how that haughty head +of hers would bend if she knew of her grandmother's sin, even did she +learn nothing of her own and that sin's kinship! + +Dartmouth got up and walked slowly down the long room, his hands +clasped behind him, his head bent. Heaven knew his "sins" had been +many; and if disaster had never ensued, it had been more by good luck +than good management. And yet--he could trace a certain punishment in +every case; the woman punished by the hardening of her nature and +the probability of complete moral dementia; the man by satiety and an +absolute loss of power to value what he possessed. Therefore, for the +woman a sullen despair and its consequences; for the man a feverish +striving for that which he could never find, or, if found, would have +the gall in the nectar of having let slip the ability to unreservedly +and innocently enjoy. + +And if sin be measured by its punishment! He recalled those years in +eternity, with their hell of impotence and inaction. He recalled the +torment of spirit, the uncertainty worse than death. And Weir? Surely +no two erring mortals had ever more terribly reaped the reward of +their wrong-doing. + +What did it signify? That he was to give her up? that a love which had +begun in sin must not end in happiness? But his love had the strength +of its generations; and the impatient, virile, control-disdaining +nature of the man rebelled. Surely their punishment had been severe +enough and long enough. Had they not been sent back to earth and +almost thrown into each other's arms in token that guilt was expiated +and vengeance satisfied? Dartmouth stopped suddenly as this solution +presented itself, then impatiently thrust a chair out of his way +and resumed his walk. The consciousness that their affection was the +perpetuation of a lustful love disheartened and revolted him. Until +that memory disappeared his punishment would not be over. + +He stopped and leaned his hand on the table. "I thought I was a big +enough man to rise above conventional morality," he said. "But I doubt +if any man is when circumstances have combines to make him seriously +face the question. He might, if born a red Indian, but not if +saturated in his plastic days with the codes and dogmas of the world. +They cling, they cling, and reason cannot oust them. The society in +whose enveloping, penetrating atmosphere he has lived his life decrees +that it is a sin to seduce another man's wife or to live with a woman +outside the pale of the Church. Therefore sin, down in the roots of +his consciousness, he believes it; therefore, to perpetuate a sinful +love--I am becoming a petty moralist," he broke off impatiently; "but +I can't help it. I am a triumph of civilization." + +He stood up and threw back his shoulders. "Let it go for the present," +he said. "At another time I may look at it differently or reason +myself out of it. Now I will try--" + +He looked towards his study door with a flash in his eyes. He half +turned away, then went quickly into the little room and sat down +before the desk. Every day he would make the attempt to write, and +finally that obstinate wedge in his brain would give way and his soul +be set free. + +He drew paper before him and took up a pen. For an hour he sat +motionless, bending all his power of intellect, all the artistic +instincts of his nature to the luring of his song-children from that +closed wing in his brain. But he could not even hear their peremptory +knocks as on the nights when he had turned from those summonses in +agony and terror. He would have welcomed them now and dragged the +visitants into the sunlight of his intelligence and forced the song +from their throats. + +He took the poem from his pocket and read it over. But it gave him no +inspiration, it dulled his brain, rather, and made him feel baffled +and helpless. But he would not give up; and dawn found him still with +his pen in his hand. Then he went to bed and slept for a few hours. +That day he gave little attention to his affairs. His melancholy, held +at bay by the extraordinary experience through which he had passed, +returned and claimed him. He shut himself up in his library until the +following morning, and alternated the hours with fruitless attempts to +write and equally fruitless attempts to solve the problem in regard +to Weir. The next day and night, with the exception of a few hours' +restless sleep, were spent in the same way. + +At the end of the third day not a word had flowed from his pen, not +a step nearer had he drawn to Weir. A dull despair took possession +of him. Had those song-children fled, discouraged, and was he to be +withheld from the one consolation of earthly happiness? He pushed back +the chair in which he had been sitting before his desk and went into +the library. He opened one of the windows and looked out. How quiet it +was! He could hear the rising wind sighing through the yews, but all +nature was elsewise asleep. What was she doing down at Rhyd-Alwyn? +Sleeping calmly, or blindly striving to link the past with the +present? He had heard from her but once since he left. Perhaps she too +had had a revelation. He wondered if it were as quiet there as here, +or if the waves at the foot of the castle still thundered unceasingly +on. He wondered if she would shrink from him when the truth came to +her. Doubtless, for she had been reared in the most rigid of moral +conventions, and naturally catholic-minded as she was, right, to her, +was right, and wrong was wrong. He closed the window and, throwing +himself on a sofa, fell asleep. But his dreams were worse than his +waking thoughts. He was wandering in eternal darkness looking for +someone lost ages ago, and a voice beside him was murmuring that he +would never find her, but must go on--on--forever; that the curse +of some crime committed centuries ago was upon him, and that he must +expiate it in countless existences and eternal torment. And far off, +on the very confines of space, floated a wraith-like thing with +the lithe grace of a woman whom he had loved on earth. And she was +searching for him, but they described always the same circle and never +met. And then, finally, after millions of years, an invisible hand +clutched him and bore him upward onto a plane, hitherto unexplored, +then left him to grope his way as he could. All was blackness and +chaos. Around him, as he passed them, he saw that dark suns were +burning, but there was nothing to conduct their light, and they shed +no radiance on the horrors of their world. Below him was an abyss in +which countless souls were struggling, blindly, helplessly, until they +should again be called to duty in some sphere of material existence. +The stillness at first was deathlike, oppressive; but soon he became +aware of a dull, hissing noise, such as is produced on earth by the +fusion of metals. The invisible furnaces were lost in the impenetrable +darkness, but the heat was terrific; the internal fires of earth or +those of the Bible's hell must be sickly and pale in comparison with +this awful, invisible atmosphere of flame. Now and then a planet, +which, obeying Nature's laws even here, revolved around its mockery +of a sun, fell at his feet a river of fire. There was stillness +no longer. The roaring and the exploding of the fusing metals, or +whatever it might be, filled the vast region like the hoarse cries +of wild beasts and the hissing of angry serpents. It was deafening, +maddening. And there was no relief but to plunge into that abyss and +drown individuality. He flew downward, and as he paused a moment on +the brink, he looked across to the opposite bank and saw a figure +about to take the leap like himself. It was a dim, shadowy shape, but +even in the blackness he knew its waving grace. And she pointed down +into the abyss of blind, helpless, unintelligent torment, and then-- + + + + +XII. + + +Dartmouth suddenly found himself standing upright, his shoulders +clutched in a pair of strong hands, and Hollington's anxious face a +few inches from his own. + +"What the devil is the matter with you, Hal?" exclaimed Hollington. +"Have you set up a private lunatic asylum, or is it but prosaic +dyspepsia?" + +"Becky!" exclaimed Dartmouth, as he grasped the situation. "I _am_ so +glad to see you. Where did you come from?" + +"You frightened your devoted Jones to death with one of your +starvation moods, and he telegraphed for me. The idea of a man having +the blues in the second month of his engagement to the most charming +girl in Christendom!" + +"Don't speak to me of her," exclaimed Dartmouth, throwing himself into +a chair and covering his face with his hands. + +"Whew! What's up? You haven't quarrelled already? Or won't the +governor give his consent?" + +"No," said Dartmouth, "that's not it." + +"Then what the devil is the matter? Is--is she dead?" + +"No." + +"Was she married to some other man before?" + +"No!" + +"I beg your pardon; I was merely exhausting the field of conjecture. +Will you kindly enlighten me?" + +"If I did, you would say I was a lunatic." + +"I have been inclined to say so occasionally before--" + +"Becky, Weir Penrhyn is my--" And then he stopped. The ludicrous side +of the matter had never appealed to him, but he was none the less +conscious of how ridiculous the thing would appear to another. + +"Your what? Your wife? Are you married to her already, and do you want +me to break it to the old gentleman? What kind of a character is he? +Shall I go armed?" + +"She is not my wife, thank God! If she were--" + +"For heaven's sake, Harold, explain yourself. Can it be possible that +Miss Penrhyn is like too many other women?" + +Dartmouth sprang to his feet, his face white to the lips. + +"How dare you say such a thing?" he exclaimed. "If it were any other +man but you, I'd blow out his brains." + +Hollington got up from the chair he had taken and, grasping Dartmouth +by the shoulders, threw him back into his chair. + +"Now look here, Harold," he said; "let us have no more damned +nonsense. If you will indulge in lugubrious hints which have but +one meaning, you must expect the consequences. I refuse to listen to +another word unless you come out and speak plain English." + +He resumed his seat, and Dartmouth clasped his hands behind his head +and stared moodily at the fire. In a few moments he turned his eyes +and fixed them on Hollington. + +"Very well," he said, "I will tell you the whole story from beginning +to end. Heaven knows it is a relief to speak; but if you laugh, I +believe I shall kill you." + +"I will not laugh," said Hollington. "Whatever it is, I see it has +gone hard with you." + +Dartmouth began with the night of the first attempt of his +suppressed poetical genius to manifest itself, and gave Hollington a +comprehensive account of each detail of his subsequent experiences, +down to the reading of the letters and the spiritual retrospect they +had induced. He did not tell the story dramatically; he had no +fire left in him; he stated it in a matter-of-fact way, which was +impressive because of the speaker's indisputable belief in his own +words. Hollington felt no desire to laugh; on the contrary, he was +seriously alarmed, and he determined to knock this insane freak of +Harold's brain to atoms, if mortal power could do it, and regardless +of consequences to himself. + +When Dartmouth had finished, Hollington lit a cigar and puffed at it +for a moment, meditatively regarding his friend meanwhile. Then he +remarked, in a matter-of-fact tone: + +"So you are your own grandfather, and Miss Penrhyn is her own +grandmother." + +Dartmouth moved uneasily. "It sounds ridiculous--but--don't chaff." + +"My dear boy, I was never more serious in my life. I merely wanted to +be sure that I had got it straight. It is A.B.C. by this time to you, +but it has exploded in my face like a keg of gunpowder, and I am a +trifle dazed. But, to come down to deadly earnest, will you allow me +to speak to you from the medical point of view? You know I had some +idea at one time of afflicting the community with one more physician, +until we stumbled on those coal mines, and my prospective patients +were spared premature acquaintance with the golden stairs. May I +speak as an unfledged doctor, but still as one burdened with unused +knowledge?" + +"You can say what you like." + +"Very well, then. You may or may not be aware that what you are +pleased to call the blues, or moods, are, in your case, nothing more +or less than melancholia. When they are at their worst they are the +form known as melancholia attonita. In other words, you are not only +steeped in melancholy, but your brain is in, a state of stupor: +you are all but comatose. These attacks are not frequent, and are +generally the result of a powerful mental shock or strain. I +remember you had one once after you had crammed for two months for an +examination and couldn't pull through. You scared the life out of +the tutors and the boys, and it was not until I threatened to put +you under the pump that you came to. Your ordinary attacks are not so +alarming to your friends, but when indulged in too frequently, they +are a good deal more dangerous." + +He paused a moment, but Dartmouth made no reply, and he went on. + +"Any man who yields habitually to melancholia may expect his brain, +sooner or later, to degenerate from its original strength, and relax +the toughness and compactness of its fibre. Absolute dementia may not +be the result for some years, but there will be occasional and +painful indications of the end for a long space before it arrives. The +indications, as a rule, will assume the form of visions and dreams and +wild imaginings of various sorts. Now do you understand me?" + +"You mean," said Dartmouth, wheeling about and looking him directly in +the eyes, "you mean that I am going mad?" + +"I mean, my dear boy, that you will be a raving maniac inside of a +month, unless you dislodge from your brain this horrible, unnatural, +and ridiculous idea." + +"Do I look like a madman?" demanded Dartmouth. + +"Not at the present moment, no. You look remarkably sane. A man with +as good a brain as yours does not let it go all at once. It will slide +from you imperceptibly, bit by bit, until one day there will be a +climax." + +"I am not mad," said Dartmouth; "and if I were, my madness would be an +effect, not a cause. What is more, I know enough about melancholia to +know that it does not drift into dementia until middle age at least. +Moreover, my brain is not relaxed in my ordinary attacks; my +spirits are prostrate, and my disgust for life is absolute, but my +brain--except when it has been over-exerted, as in one or two climaxes +of this experience of mine--is as clear as a bell. I have done some of +my best thinking with my hand on the butt of a pistol. But to return +to the question we are discussing. You have left one or two of the +main facts unexplained. What caused Weir's vision? She never had an +attack of melancholia in her life." + +"Telepathy, induction, but in the reverse order of your solution of +the matter. Your calling her by her grandmother's name was natural +enough in your condition--you have acknowledged that your melancholia +had already taken possession of you. Miss Penrhyn had, for some reason +best known to her sleeping self, got herself up to look like her +grandmother, and, she being young and pretty, her semi-lunatic +observer addressed her as Sionèd instead of heaven knows what +jaw-breaking Welsh title. Then you went ahead and had the vision, +which was quite in keeping with your general lunar condition. I +believe you said there was a moon." + +Dartmouth frowned. "I asked you not to chaff," he said. "What is more, +I have had melancholia all my life, but delusion never before. But let +that pass. The impulse to write--what do you say to that?" + +"The impulse was due to the genius which you have undoubtedly +inherited from your grandfather. The inability to put your ideas +into verbal form is due to amnesic aphasia. The portion of your brain +through which your genius should find speech is either temporarily +paralyzed or else deficient in composition. You had better go up and +see Jackson. He can cure you if anyone can." + +"Do you believe I can be cured?" + +"You can certainly make the attempt." + +Dartmouth threw back his head and covered his face with his hands. "O +God!" he exclaimed, "if you knew the agony of the longing to feel the +ecstasy of spiritual intoxication, and yet to feel as if your brain +were a cloud-bank--of knowing that you are divinely gifted, that the +world should be ringing with your name, and yet of being as mute as if +screwed within a coffin!" + +"My dear boy, it will all come out right in the end. Science and your +own will can do much, and as for the rest, perhaps Miss Penrhyn +will do for you what those letters intimate Sionèd did for your +grandfather." + +Dartmouth got up and leaned his elbow on the mantelpiece. + +"I do not know that I shall marry Weir Penrhyn," he said. + +"Why not? Because your grandfather had an intrigue with her +grandmother?--which, by the way, is by no means clearly proved. That +there was a plan on foot to that end the letters pretty well show, +but--" + +"I don't care a hang about the sins of my ancestors, or of Weir's +either--if that were all. If I do not marry her it will be because I +do not care to shatter an ideal into still smaller bits. I loved her +with what little good was left in me. I placed her on a pedestal and +rejoiced that I was able so to do. Now she is the woman whose guilty +love sent us both to our death. I could never forget it. There would +always be a spot on the sun." + +"My God, Harold," exclaimed Hollington, "you _are_ mad. Of all the +insane, ridiculous, idiotic speeches that ever came from man's lips, +that is the worst." + +"I can't help it, Becky. The idea, the knowledge, is my very life and +soul; and when you think it all over you will see that there are many +things that cannot be explained--Weir's words in the gallery, for +instance. They coincide exactly with the vision I had four nights +later. And a dozen other things--you can think them out for yourself. +When you do, you will understand that there is but one light in which +to look at the question: Weir Penrhyn and I are Lionel Dartmouth and +Sionèd Penrhyn reborn, and that is the end of the matter." + +Hollington groaned, and threw himself back in his chair with an +impatient gesture. + +"Well," he said, after a few moments' silence, "accepting your +remarkable premisses for the sake of argument, will you kindly +enlighten me as to since when you became so beautifully complete +and altogether puerile a moralist? Suppose you did sin with her some +three-quarters of a century ago, have not time and suffering purified +you both--or rather her? I suppose it does not make so much difference +about you." + +"It is not that. It is the idea that is revolting--that this girl +should have been my mistress at any time--" + +"But, great heaven! Harold, such a sin is a thing of the flesh, not of +the spirit, and the physical part of Sionèd Penrhyn has enriched the +soil of Constantinople these sixty years. She has committed no sin in +her present embodiment." + +"Sin is an impulse, a prompting, of the spirit," said Dartmouth. + +Hollington threw one leg over the arm of the chair, half turning his +back upon Dartmouth. + +"Rot!" he said. + +"Not at all. Otherwise, the dead could sin." + +"I am gratified to perceive that you are still able to have the last +word. All I can say is, that you have done what I thought no living +man could do. I once read a novel by a famous American author in which +one of the characters would not ask the heroine to marry him after her +husband's death because he had been guilty of the indelicacy of loving +her (although mutely, and by her unsuspected) while she was a married +woman. I thought then that moral senility could go no further, but you +have got ahead of the American. Allow me to congratulate you." + +"You can jibe all you like. I may be a fool, but I can't help it. +I have got to that point where I am dominated by instinct, not by +reason. The instincts may be wrong, because the outgrowth of a false +civilization, but there they are, nevertheless, and of them I am the +product. So are you, and some day you will find it out. I do not say +positively that I will not marry Weir Penrhyn. I will talk it over +with her, and then we can decide." + +"A charming subject to discuss with a young girl. It would be kinder, +and wiser, and more decent of you never to mention the matter to her. +Of what use to make the poor girl miserable?" + +"She half suspects now, and it would come out sooner or later." + +"Then for heaven's sake do it at once, and have it over. Don't stay +here by yourself any longer, whatever you do. Go to-morrow." + +"Yes," said Dartmouth, "I will go to-morrow." + + + + +XIII. + + +When Dartmouth entered the drawing-room at Rhyd-Alwyn the next +evening, a half hour after his arrival, he found Sir Iltyd alone, and +received a warm greeting. + +"My dear boy," the old gentleman exclaimed, "I am delighted to see +you. It seems an age since you left, and your brief reports of +your ill-health have worried me. As for poor Weir, she has been ill +herself. She looks so wretched that I would have sent for a physician +had she not, in her usual tyrannical fashion, forbidden me. I did not +tell her you were expected to-night; I wanted to give her a pleasant +surprise. Here she is now." + +The door was pushed open and Weir entered the room. Dartmouth checked +an involuntary exclamation and went forward to meet her. She had on a +long white gown like that she had worn the morning he had asked her to +marry him, but the similarity of dress only served to accentuate the +change the intervening time had wrought. It was not merely that +she had lost her color and that her face was haggard; it was an +indefinable revolution in her personality, which made her look ten +years older, and left her without a suggestion of girlishness. She +still carried her head with her customary hauteur, but there was +something in its poise which suggested defiance as well, and which was +quite new. And the lanterns in her eyes had gone out; the storms had +been too heavy for them. All she needed was the costume of the First +Empire to look as if she had stepped out of the locket he had brought +from Crumford Hall. + +As she saw Dartmouth, the blood rushed over her face, dyeing it to the +roots of her hair, then receded, leaving it whiter than her gown. When +he reached her side she drew back a little, but he made no attempt to +kiss her; he merely raised her hand to his lips. As he did so he could +have sworn he saw the sun flashing on the domes beneath the window; +and over his senses stole the perfume of jasmine. The roar without was +not that of the ocean, but of a vast city, and--hark!--the cry of the +muezzin. How weird the tapestry looked in the firelight, and how the +figures danced! And he had always liked her to wear white, better even +than yellow. He roused himself suddenly and offered her his arm. The +butler was announcing dinner. + +They went into the dining-room, and Dartmouth and Sir Iltyd talked +about the change of ministry and the Gladstone attitude on the Irish +question for an hour and a quarter. Weir neither talked nor ate, but +sat with her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Dartmouth understood +and sympathized. He felt as if his own nerves were on the rack, as if +his brain had been rolled into a cord whose tension was so strained +that it might snap at any moment. But Sir Iltyd was considerate. +He excused himself as soon as dessert was removed, on the plea of +finishing an important historical work just issued, and the young +people went directly to the drawing-room. As Dartmouth closed the door +Weir turned to him, the color springing into her face. + +"Tell me," she said, peremptorily; "have you discovered what it +meant?" + +He took her hand and led her over to the sofa. She sat down, but stood +up again at once. "I cannot sit quietly," she said, "until I _know_. +The enforced repression of the past week, the having no one to speak +to, and the mystery of that dream have driven me nearly mad. It was +cruel of you to stay away so long--but let that pass. There is only +one thing I can think of now--do you know anything more than when you +left?" + +He folded his arms and looked down. "Why should you think I could +have learned anything at Crumford Hall?" he demanded, with apparent +evasion. + +"Because of the restraint and sometimes incoherence of your letters. +I knew that something had happened to you; you seemed hardly the same +man. You seemed like--Oh, I do not know. For heaven's sake, tell me +what it is." + +"Weir," he said, raising his head and looking at her, "what do you +think it is?" + +She put up her hands and covered her face. "I do not know," she said, +uncertainly. "If there is to be any explanation it must come from you. +With me there is only the indefinable but persistent feeling that I +am not Weir Penrhyn but the woman of that dream; that I have no right +here in my father's castle, and no right to the position I hold in the +world. To me sin has always seemed a horrible thing, and yet I feel +as if my own soul were saturated with it; and what is worse, I feel no +repentance. It is as if I were being punished by some external power, +not by my own conscience. As if--Oh, it is all too vague to put into +words--Harold, _what_ is it?" + +"Let us sit down," he said, "and talk it over." + +She allowed him to draw her down onto the sofa, and he looked at her +for a moment. Then, suddenly, the purely human love triumphed. He +forgot regret and disgust. He forgot the teachings of the world, and +the ideal whose shattering he had mourned. He remembered nothing but +that this woman so close to him was dearer than life or genius or +ambition; that he loved her with all the strength and passion of +which a man is capable. The past was gone, the future a blank; nothing +remained but the glorious present, with its impulses which sprang +straight from the heart of nature and which no creed could root out. +He flung his arms about her, and the fierce joy of the moment thrilled +and shook him as he kissed her. And for the moment she too forgot. + +Then his arms slowly relaxed and he leaned forward, placing his elbow +on his knee and covering his face with his hand. For a few moments he +thought without speaking. He decided that he would tell her something +to-night, but not all. He would give her a clue, and when she was +alone she might work the rest out for herself. Then, together, they +would decide what would be best to do. He took her hand. + +"I have something to tell you," he said. "I did not tell you before +I left because I thought it best not, but things have occurred since +which make it desirable you should know. You do not know, I suppose, +that on the night of our dream you got up in your sleep and wandered +about the castle." + +She leaned suddenly forward. "Yes?" she said, breathlessly. "I walked +in my sleep? You saw me? Where?" + +"In the gallery that overhangs the sea. I had gone there to watch the +storm, and was about to return to my room when I saw you coming toward +me. At first I thought you were the spirit of your grandmother--of +Sionèd Penrhyn. In your sleep you had dressed yourself like the +picture in the gallery, and the resemblance was complete. Then, +strangely enough, I walked up to you and took your hand and called you +'Sionèd'--" + +"Go on!" + +"Then you told me that you were dead, and had been wandering in the +hereafter and looking for me; that you could not find me there, and so +had come back to earth and entered into the body of a dead child, and +given it life, and grown to womanhood again, and found me at last. And +then you put your cold arms about me and drew me down onto a seat. I +suddenly lost all consciousness of the present, and we were together +in a scene which was like a page from a past existence. The page was +that of the dream we have found so difficult a problem, and you read +it with me, not alone in your room--Weir! What is the matter?" + +She had pushed him violently from her and sprung to her feet, and she +stood before him with wide-open, terror-stricken eyes, and quivering +in every limb. She tried to speak, but no words came; her lips were +white and shrivelled, and her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth. +Then she threw up her arms and fell heavily to the floor. + + + + +XIV. + + +After Weir had been carried up-stairs, and he had ascertained that she +was again conscious, Dartmouth went to his own room, knowing he could +not see her again that night. He did not go to bed; there was +no possibility of sleep for hours, and he preferred the slight +distraction of pacing up and down the room. After a time he paused +in front of the fireplace, and mechanically straightened one of the +andirons with his foot. What had affected Weir so strangely? Had the +whole thing burst suddenly upon her? He had hardly told her enough for +that; but what else could it be? Poor child! And poor Sir Iltyd! How +should he explain to him? What story could he concoct to satisfy him? +It would be absurd to attempt the truth; no human being but himself +and Weir could comprehend it; Sir Iltyd would only think them both +mad. He unconsciously drew in a long breath, expelling the air again +with some violence, like a man whose chest is oppressed. And how his +head ached! If he could only get a few hours sleep without that cursed +laudanum. Hark! what was that? A storm was coming up. It almost shook +the castle, solid and of stone as it was. But he was glad. A storm was +more in tune with his mood than calm. He would go out into the gallery +and watch it. + +He left his room and went to the gallery to which he had gone to watch +a storm a little over a week ago. A week? It seemed so remote that for +the moment he could not recall the events of that last visit; his +head ached so that everything but physical suffering was temporarily +insignificant. There was no moon to-night. The sky was covered with +black, scurrying clouds, and he could only hear the angry, boiling +waters, not see them. He felt suffocated. He had felt so all the +evening. Besides the pain in his head there was a pressure on his +brain; he must have air; and he pulled open one of the windows and +stood within it. The wind beat about his head, the sea-gulls screamed +in his ears, and the roar of the sea was deafening; but it exhilarated +him and eased his head for the moment. What a poem it would make, that +black, storm-swept sky, those mighty, thundering waters, that granite, +wind-torn coast! How he could have immortalized it once! And he had +it in him to immortalize it now, only that mechanical defect in his +brain, no--that cruel iron hand, would not let him tell the world that +he was greater than any to whom its people bent their knees. Ah, there +it was at last! It had reawakened, and it was battling and struggling +for speech as before. Perhaps this time it would succeed! It was +strong enough to conquer in the end, and why should not the end have +come? Surely the fire in his brain must have melted that iron hand. +Surely, far away, _they_ were singing again. Where were they? Within +his brain?--or battling with the storm to reach him? What were those +wraith-like things--those tiny forms dancing weirdly on the roaring +waters? Ah, he knew. They were the elfins of his brain that had +tormented him with their music and fled at his approach. They +had flown from their little cells, and were holding court on the +storm-waves like fairies on the green. It was like them to love the +danger and the tumult and the night. It was like them to shout and +bound with the intoxication of the hour, to scream with the gale, and +to kiss with frantic rapture the waves that threatened them. Each was +a Thought mightier than any known to living man, and in the bosom of +maddened nature it had found its element. And they had not deserted +him--they had fled but for the hour--they had turned suddenly and were +holding out their arms to him. Ah! he would meet them half-way-- + +A pair of arms, strong with terror, were suddenly thrown about him, +and he was dragged to the other side of the gallery. + +"Harold!" cried Weir; "what is the matter with you? Are you mad?" + +"I believe I am," he cried. "Come to the light. I have something to +tell you." + +He caught her by the wrists and pulled her down the gallery until they +were under the lantern which burned in one of the windows on nights +like this as a warning to mariners. She gave a faint scream of terror, +and struggled to release herself. + +"You look so strange," she cried. "Let me go." + +"Not any more strange than you do," he said, rapidly. "You, too, have +changed since that night in here, when the truth was told to both of +us. You did not understand then, nor did I; but I know all now, and I +will tell you." + +And then, in a torrent of almost unintelligible words, he poured +forth the tale of his discovery: what had come to him in the study at +Crumford Hall, the locket he had found, the letters he had read, the +episode of his past he had lived over, the poem which had swept him +up among the gods in its reading--all the sequence of facts whose +constant reiteration during every unguarded moment had mechanically +forced themselves into lasting coherence. She listened with head bent +forward, and eyes through which terror, horror, despair, chased each +other, then returned and fought together. "It is all true," he cried, +in conclusion. "It is all true. Why don't you speak? Cannot you +understand?" + +She wrenched her hands from his grasp and flung her arms above her +head. "Yes," she cried, "I understand. I am a woman for whose sin Time +has no mercy; you are a madman, and I am alone!" + +"What are you saying?" he demanded, thickly. "You are alone? There is +no hope, then?" + +"No, there is no hope," she said, "nor has the worst--" She sprang +suddenly forward and caught him about the neck. "Oh, Harold!" she +cried, "you are not mad. It cannot be! I cannot think of the sin, or +care; I only know that I love you! love you! love you! and that if we +can be together always the past can go; even--Oh, Harold, speak to me; +don't look at me in that way!" + +But his arms hung inertly at his sides, and he looked down into her +agonized face with a smile. "No hope!" he whispered. + +The poor girl dropped in a heap to the floor, as if the life had +suddenly gone out of her. Harold gave a little laugh. "No hope!" he +said. + +She sprang to her feet and flew down the gallery. But he stood where +she had left him. She reached the open window, then turned and for +a moment faced him again. "No," she cried, "no hope, and no rest or +peace;" and then the storm and the night closed over her. + +He moved to the window after a moment, and leaning out, called her +name. There was no answer but the shrieking of the storm. The black +waters had greedily embraced her, and in their depths she would find +rest at last. How would she look down there, in some quiet cave, +with the sea-weed floating over her white gown, and the pearls in her +beautiful hair? How exquisite a thing she would be! The very monsters +of the deep would hold their breath as they passed, and leave her +unmolested. And the eye of mortal man would never gaze upon her again. +There was divinest ecstacy in the thought! Ah! how lovely she was! +What a face--what a form! + +He staggered back from the window and gave a loud laugh. At last it +had been vanquished and broken--that iron hand. He had heard it snap +that moment within his brain. And it was pouring upward, that river of +song. The elfins had come back, and were quiring like the immortals. +She would hear them down there, in her cold, nameless grave, with the +ceaseless requiem of the waters above her, and smile and rejoice +that death had come to her to give him speech. His brain was the very +cathedral of heaven, and there was music in every part of it. The +glad shout was ringing throughout nave and transept like the glorious +greeting of Christmas morning. "Her face! Her form!" No, no; not +that again. They were no part of the burning flood of song which was +writhing and surging in his brain. They were not the words which would +tell the world--Ah! what was it? "Her face! Her form!--" + +He groped his way to and fro like a blind man seeking some object to +guide him. "Her eyes! Her hair!" No, no. Oh, what was this? Why was he +falling--falling?--What was that terror-stricken cry? that wild, white +face of an old man above him? Where had this water come from that was +boiling and thundering in his ears? What was that tossed aloft by the +wave beyond? If he could but reach her!--She had gone! Cruel Night had +caught her in its black arms and was laughing at his efforts to reach +her. That mocking, hideous laughter! how it shrieked above the storm, +its dissonance as eternal as his fate! There she was again!--Sionèd! +No, she had gone, and he was beating with impotent fury those +devouring--But who was this bending over him?--the Night Queen, with +the stars in her hair? And what was she pressing into his arms? At +last! Sionèd! Sionèd! + + +THE END. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of What Dreams May Come +by Gertrude Franklin Horn Atherton + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12833 *** diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b3472cf --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #12833 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/12833) diff --git a/old/12833-8.txt b/old/12833-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2dbc5ef --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12833-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4821 @@ +Project Gutenberg's What Dreams May Come, by Gertrude Franklin Horn Atherton + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: What Dreams May Come + +Author: Gertrude Franklin Horn Atherton + +Release Date: July 6, 2004 [EBook #12833] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHAT DREAMS MAY COME *** + + + + +Produced by Cathy Smith and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + +WHAT DREAMS MAY COME. + +by Frank Lin (pseud. of Gertrude Franklin Horn Atherton) + + +Dedicated to Muriel Atherton + + + + +WHAT DREAMS MAY COME. + +THE OVERTURE. + + +Constantinople; the month of August; the early days of the century. It +was the hour of the city's most perfect beauty. The sun was setting, +and flung a mellowing glow over the great golden domes and minarets +of the mosques, the bazaars glittering with trifles and precious with +elements of Oriental luxury, the tortuous thoroughfares with their +motley throng, the quiet streets with their latticed windows, and +their atmosphere heavy with silence and mystery, the palaces whose +cupolas and towers had watched over so many centuries of luxury and +intrigue, pleasure and crime, the pavilions, groves, gardens, kiosks +which swarmed with the luxuriance of tropical growth over the hills +and valleys of a city so vast and so beautiful that it tired the brain +and fatigued the senses. Scutari, purple and green and gold, blended +in the dying light into exquisite harmony of color; Stamboul gathered +deeper gloom under her overhanging balconies, behind which lay hidden +the loveliest of her women; and in the deserted gardens of the Old +Seraglio, beneath the heavy pall of the cypresses, memories of a +grand, terrible, barbarous, but most romantic Past crept forth and +whispered ruin and decay. + +High up in Pera the gray walls of the English Embassy stood out +sharply defined against the gold-wrought sky. The windows were thrown +wide to invite the faint, capricious breeze which wandered through +the hot city; but the silken curtains were drawn in one of the smaller +reception-rooms. The room itself was a soft blaze of wax candles +against the dull richness of crimson and gold. Men and women were +idling about in that uneasy atmosphere which precedes the announcement +of dinner. Many of the men wore orders on their breasts, and the +uniforms of the countries they represented, and a number of Turks +gave a picturesque touch to the scene, with their jewelled turbans and +flowing robes. The women were as typical as their husbands; the wife +of the Russian Ambassador, with her pale hair and moonlight eyes, her +delicate shoulders and jewel-sewn robe; the Italian, with her lithe +grace and heavy brows, the Spanish beauty, with her almond, +dreamy eyes, her chiselled features and mantilla-draped head; the +Frenchwoman, with her bright, sallow, charming, unrestful face; the +Austrian, with her cold repose and latent devil. In addition were the +Secretaries of Legation, with their gaily-gowned young wives, and +one or two English residents; all assembled at the bidding of Sir +Dafyd-ap-Penrhyn, the famous diplomatist who represented England at +the court of the Sultan. + +Sir Dafyd was standing between the windows and underneath one of the +heavy candelabra. He was a small but striking-looking man, with a +great deal of head above the ears, light blue eyes deeply set and far +apart, a delicate arched nose, and a certain expression of brutality +about the thin lips, so faint as to be little more than a shadow. He +was blandly apologizing for the absence of his wife. She had dressed +to meet her guests, but had been taken suddenly ill and obliged to +retire. + +As he finished speaking he turned to a woman who sat on a low chair +at his right. She was young and very handsome. Her eyes were black +and brilliant, her mouth was pouting and petulant, her chin curved +slightly outward. Her features were very regular, but there was +neither softness nor repose in her face. She looked like a statue that +had been taken possession of by the Spirit of Discontent. + +"I am sorry not to see Dartmouth," said the great minister, affably. +"Is he ill again? He must be careful; the fever is dangerous." + +Mrs. Dartmouth drew her curved brows together with a frown which did +not soften her face. "He is writing," she said, shortly. "He is always +writing." + +"O, but you know that is a Dartmouth failing--ambition," said Sir +Dafyd, with a smile. "They must be either in the study or dictating to +the King." + +"Well, I wish my Fate had been a political Dartmouth. Lionel sits in +his study all day and writes poetry--which I detest. I shall bring up +my son to be a statesman." + +"So that his wife may see more of him?" said Sir Dafyd, laughing. "You +are quite capable of making whatever you like of him, however, for you +are a clever woman--if you are not poetical. But it is hard that you +should be so much alone, Catherine. Why are not you and Sionèd more +together? There are so few of you here, you should try and amuse +each other. Diplomatists, like poets, see little of their wives, and +Sionèd, I have no doubt, is bored very often." + +Dinner was announced at the moment, and Mrs. Dartmouth stood up and +looked her companion full in the eyes. "I do not like Sionèd," she +said, harshly. "She, too, is poetical." + +For a moment there was a suspicion of color in Sir Dafyd's pale face, +and the shadow on his mouth seemed to take shape and form. Then he +bowed slightly, and crossing the room offered his arm to the wife of +the Russian Ambassador. + + * * * * * + +The sun sank lower, Constantinople's richer tints faded into soft opal +hues, and the muezzin called the people to prayer. From a window in a +wing of the Embassy furthest from the banqueting hall, and overlooking +the city, a woman watched the shifting panorama below. She was more +beautiful than any of her neglected guests, although her eyes were +heavy and her face was pale. Her hair was a rich, burnished brown, and +drawn up to the crown of her head in a loose mass of short curls, held +in place by a half-coronet of diamonds. In front the hair was parted +and curled, and the entire head was encircled by a band of diamond +stars which pressed the bronze ringlets low over the forehead. The +features were slightly aquiline; the head was oval and admirably +poised. But it was the individuality of the woman that made her +beauty, not features or coloring. The keen, intelligent eyes, with +their unmistakable power to soften, the spiritual brow, the strong, +sensuous chin, the tender mouth, the spirited head, each a poet's +delight, each an artist's study, all blended, a strange, strong, +passionate story in flesh and blood--a remarkable face. Her neck and +arms were bare, and she wore a short-waisted gown of yellow satin, +which fell in shining lines from belt to hem. + +Pale as she was she assuredly did not look ill enough to justify her +desertion of her guests. As a matter of fact she had forgotten both +guests and excuse. When a woman has taken a resolution which flings +her suddenly up to the crisis of her destiny she is apt to forget +state dinners and whispered comment. To-morrow state dinners would +pass out of her life, and they would go unregretted. She turned +suddenly and picked up some loose sheets of manuscript which lay on a +table beside her--a poem which would immortalize the city her window +overlooked. A proud smile curved her mouth, then faded swiftly as she +pressed the pages passionately to her lips. She put them back on +the table and turning her head looked down the room with much of the +affection one gives a living thing. The room was as Oriental as any +carefully secluded chamber in the city below. The walls were hung +with heavy, soft Eastern stuffs, dusky and rich, which shut out all +suggestion of doors. The black marble floor was covered with a strange +assortment of wild beasts' skins, pale, tawny, sombre, ferocious. +There were deep, soft couches and great piles of cushions, a few rare +paintings stood on easels, and the air was heavy with jasmine. The +woman's lids fell over her eyes, and the blood mounted slowly, making +her temples throb. Then she threw back her head, a triumphant light +flashing in her eyes, and brought her open palm down sharply on the +table. "If I fall," she said, "I fall through strength, not +through weakness. If I sin, I do so wittingly, not in a moment of +overmastering passion." + +She bent suddenly forward, her breath coming quickly. There were +footsteps at the end of the marble corridor without. For a moment she +trembled from head to foot. Remorse, regret, horror, fear, chased each +other across her face, her convulsed features reflecting the emotions +which for weeks past had oppressed heart and brain. Then, before the +footsteps reached the door, she was calm again and her head erect. +The glory of the sunset had faded, and behind her was the short grey +twilight of the Southern night; but in her face was that magic light +that never was on sea or land. + +The heavy portière at the end of the room was thrust aside and a man +entered. He closed the door and pushed the hanging back into place, +then went swiftly forward and stood before her. She held out her hand +and he took it and drew her further within the room. The twilight had +gone from the window, the shadows had deepened, and the darkness of +night was about them. + + * * * * * + +In the great banqueting-hall the stout mahogany table upheld its +weight of flashing gold and silver and sparkling crystal without a +groan, and solemn, turbaned Turks passed wine and viand. Around +the board the diplomatic colony forgot their exile in remote +Constantinople, and wit and anecdote, spicy but good-humored political +discussion, repartee and flirtation made a charming accompaniment +to the wonderful variety displayed in the faces and accents of the +guests. The stately, dignified ministers of the Sultan gazed at the +fair faces and jewel-laden shoulders of the women of the North, and +sighed as they thought of their dusky wives; and the women of the +North threw blue, smiling glances to the Turks and wondered if it were +romantic to live in a harem. + +At the end of the second course Sir Dafyd raised a glass of wine to +his lips, and, as he glanced about the table, conversation ceased for +a moment. + +"Will you drink to my wife's health?" he said. "It has caused me much +anxiety of late." + +Every glass was simultaneously raised, and then Sir Dafyd pushed back +his chair and rose to his feet. "If you will pardon me," he said, "I +will go and see how she is." + +He left the room, and the wife of the Spanish Ambassador turned to +her companion with a sigh. "So devot he is, no?" she murmured. "You +Eenglish, you have the fire undere the ice. He lover his wife very +moocho when he leaver the dinner. And she lover him too, no?" + +"I don't know," said the Englishman to whom she spoke. "It never +struck me that Penrhyn was a particularly lovable fellow. He's so +deuced haughty; the Welsh are worse for that than we English. He's as +unapproachable as a stone. I don't fancy the Lady Sionèd worships the +ground he treads upon. But then, he's the biggest diplomate in Great +Britain; one can't have everything." + +"I no liker all the Eenglish, though," pursued the pretty Spaniard. +"The Señora Dar-muth, I no care for her. She looker like she have the +tempere--how you call him?--the dev-vil, no? And she looker like she +have the fire ouside and the ice in." + +"Oh, she's not so bad," said the Englishman, loyally. "She has +some admirable traits, and she's deuced clever, but she has an +ill-regulated sort of a nature, and is awfully obstinate and +prejudiced. It's a sort of vanity. She worries Dartmouth a good deal. +He's a born poet, if ever a man was, and she wants him to go into +politics. Wants a _salon_ and all that sort of thing. She ought to +have it, too. Political intrigue would just suit her; she's diplomatic +and secretive. But Dartmouth prefers his study." + +The lady from Spain raised her sympathetic, pensive eyes to the +Englishman's. "And the Señor Dar-muth? How he is? He is nice fellow? I +no meeting hime?" + +"The best fellow that ever lived, God bless him!" exclaimed the young +man, enthusiastically. "He has the temperament of genius, and he isn't +always there when you want him--I mean, he isn't always in the right +mood; but he's a splendid specimen of a man, and the most likeable +fellow I ever knew--poor fellow!" + +"Why you say 'poor fel-low'? He is no happy, no?" + +"Well, you see," said the young man, succumbing to those lovely, +pitying eyes, and not observing that they gazed with equal tenderness +at the crimson wine in the cup beside her plate--"you see, he and his +wife are none too congenial, as I said. It makes her wild to have him +write, not only because she wants to cut a figure in London, and he +will always live in some romantic place like this, but she's in love +with him, in her way, and she's jealous of his very desk. That makes +things unpleasant about the domestic hearthstone. And then she doesn't +believe a bit in his talent, and takes good care to let him know it. +So, you see, he's not the most enviable of mortals." + +"Much better she have be careful," said the Spanish woman; "some day +he feel tire out and go to lover someone else. Please you geeve me +some more clarette?" + +"Here comes Sir Dafyd," said the Englishman, as he filled her glass. +"It has taken him a long time to find out how she is." + +The shadow had wholly disappeared from Sir Dafyd's mouth, a faint +smile hovering there instead. As he took his seat the Austrian +Ambassador leaned forward and inquired politely about the state of +Lady Sionèd's health. + +"She is sleeping quietly," said Sir Dafyd. + + + + +PART I. + +THE MELODY. + +I. + + +The Hon. Harold Dartmouth was bored. He had been in Paris three months +and it was his third winter. He was young. He possessed a liberal +allowance of good looks, money, and family prestige. Combining these +three conditions, he had managed to pretty thoroughly exhaust the +pleasures of the capital. At all events he believed he had exhausted +them, and he wanted a new sensation. He had "done" his London until it +was more flavorless than Paris, and he had dawdled more or less in the +various Courts of Europe. While in St. Petersburg he had inserted +a too curious finger into the Terrorist pie, and had come very +near making a prolonged acquaintance with the House of Preventative +Detention; but after being whisked safely out of the country under +cover of a friend's passport, he had announced himself cured of +further interest in revolutionary politics. The affair had made him +quite famous for a time, however; Krapotkin had sought him out and +warmly thanked him for his interest in the Russian Geysers, and begged +him to induce his father to abjure his peace policy and lend his hand +to the laudable breaking of Czarism's back. But Lord Cardingham, who +was not altogether ruled by his younger son, had declined to expend +his seductions upon Mr. Gladstone in the cause of a possible laying of +too heavy a rod upon England's back, and had recommended his erratic +son to let the barbarism of absolutism alone in the future, and try +his genius upon that of democracy. Dartmouth, accordingly, had spent +a winter in Washington as Secretary of Legation, and had entertained +himself by doling out such allowance of diplomatic love to the fair +American dames as had won him much biographical honor in the press +of the great republic. Upon his father's private admonition, that it +would be as well to generously resign his position in favor of some +more needy applicant, with a less complex heart-line and a slight +acquaintance with international law, he had, after a summer at +Newport, returned to Europe and again devoted himself to winning a +fame not altogether political. And now there was nothing left, and he +felt that fate had used him scurrilously. He was twenty-eight, and had +exhausted life. He had nothing left but to yawn through weary years +and wish he had never been born. + +He clasped his hands behind his head and looked out on the brilliant +crowd from his chair in the Café de la Cascade in the Bois. He was +handsome, this blasé young Englishman, with a shapely head, poised +strongly upon a muscular throat. Neither beard nor moustache hid the +strong lines of the face. A high type, in spite of his career, his +face was a good deal more suggestive of passion than of sensuality. +He was tall, slight, and sinewy, and carried himself with the indolent +hauteur of a man of many grandfathers. And indeed, unless, perhaps, +that this plaything, the world, was too small, he had little to +complain of. Although a younger son, he had a large fortune in his own +right, left him by an adoring grandmother who had died shortly before +he had come of age, and with whom he had lived from infancy as adopted +son and heir. This grandmother was the one woman who had ever shone +upon his horizon whose disappearance he regretted; and he was wont +to remark that he never again expected to find anything beneath +a coiffure at once so brilliant, so fascinating, so clever, so +altogether "filling" as his lamented relative. If he ever did he would +marry and settle down as a highly respectable member of society, and +become an M.P. and the owner of a winner of the Derby; but until then +he would sigh away his tired life at the feet of beauty, Bacchus, or +chance. + +"What is the matter, Hal?" asked Bective Hollington, coming up behind +him. "Yawning so early in the day?" + +"Bored," replied Dartmouth, briefly. "Don't expect me to talk to you. +I haven't an idea left." + +"My dear Harold, do not flatter yourself that I came to you in search +of ideas. I venture to break upon your sulky meditations in the cause +of friendship alone. If you will rouse yourself and walk to the window +you may enrich your sterile mind with an idea, possibly with ideas. +Miss Penrhyn will pass in a moment." + +"The devil!" + +"No, not the devil; Miss Penrhyn." + +"And who the devil is Miss Penrhyn?" + +"The new English, or rather, Welsh beauty, Weir Penrhyn," replied +Hollington. "She came out last season in London, and the Queen +pronounced her the most beautiful girl who had been presented at Court +for twenty years. Such a relief from the blue-eyed and 'golden-bronze' +professional! She will pass in a moment. Do rouse yourself." + +Dartmouth got up languidly and walked to the window. After all, a new +face and a pretty one was something; one degree, perhaps, better than +nothing. "Which is she?" he asked. "The one in the next carriage, with +Lady Langdon, talking to Bolton." + +The carriage passed them, and Harold's eyes met for a moment those +of a girl who was lying back chatting idly with a man who rode on +horseback beside her. She was a beautiful creature, truly, with a +rich, dark skin, and eyes like a tropical animal's. A youthful face, +striking and unconventional. + +"Well?" queried Hollington. + +"Yes, a very handsome girl," said Dartmouth. "I have seen her before, +somewhere." + +"What! you have seen that woman before and not remembered her? +Impossible! And then you have not been in England for a year." + +"I am sure I have seen her before," said Dartmouth. "Where could it +have been?" + +"Her father is a Welsh baronet, and your estates are in the North, so +you could hardly have known her as a child. She was educated in the +utmost seclusion at home; no one ever saw her or heard of her until +the fag end of the last London season, and she only arrived in Paris +two days ago, and made her first appearance in public last night at +the opera, where you were not. So where could you have seen her?" + +"I cannot imagine," said Dartmouth, meditatively. "But her face is +dimly familiar, and it is a most unusual one. Tell me something about +her;" and he resumed his seat. + +"She is the daughter of Sir Iltyd-ap-Penrhyn," said Hollington, +craning his neck to catch a last glimpse of the disappearing beauty. +"Awfully poor, but dates back to before Chaos. Looks down with scorn +upon Sir Watkin Wynn, who hangs up the flood on the middle branch of +his family tree. They live in a dilapitated old castle on the coast, +and there Sir Iltyd brought up this tropical bird--she is an only +child--and educated her himself. Her mother died when she was very +young, and her father, with the proverbial constancy of mankind, has +never been known to smile since. Lively for the tropical bird, was +it not? Lady Langdon, who was in Wales last year, and who was an old +friend of the girl's mother, called on her and saw the professional +possibilities, so to speak. She gave the old gentleman no peace +until he told her she could take the girl to London, which she did +forthwith, before he had time to change his mind. She has made a +rousing sensation, but she is a downright beauty and no mistake. Lady +Langdon evidently intends to hold on to her, for I see she has her +still." + +"I could not have known her, of course; I have never put my foot in +Wales. But I suppose I shall meet her now. Is she to be at the Russian +Legation to-night?" + +"Yes; I have it from the best authority--herself. You had better go. +She is worth knowing, I can tell you." + +"Well, I'll think of it," said Dartmouth. "I must be off now; I have +no end of letters to write. I'll rely upon you to do the honors if I +go!" and he took up his hat and sauntered out. + +He went directly to his apartments on the Avenue Champs Élysées, and +wrote a few epistles to his impatient and much-enduring relatives in +Britain; then, lighting a cigar, he flung himself upon the sofa. The +room accorded with the man. Art and negligence were hand-in-hand. +The hangings were of dusky-gold plush, embroidered with designs which +breathed the fervent spirit of Decorative Art, and the floor was +covered with the oldest and oddest of Persian rugs. There were +cabinets of antique medallions, cameos, and enamels; low brass +book-cases, filled with volumes bound in Russian leather, whose +pungent odor filled the room; a varied collection of pipes; a case of +valuable ceramics, one of the collection having a pedigree which +no uncelestial mind had ever pretended to grasp, and which had been +presented to Lord Cardingham, while minister to China, by the Emperor. +That his younger son had unblushingly pilfered it he had but recently +discovered, but demands for its return had as yet availed not. There +were a few valuable paintings, a case of rare old plates, many with +the coats of arms of sovereigns upon them, strangely carved chairs, +each with a history, all crowded together and making a charming nest +for the listless, somewhat morbid, and disgusted young man stretched +out upon a couch, covered with a rug of ostrich feathers brought from +the Straits of Magellan. Over the onyx mantel was a portrait of his +grandmother, a handsome old lady with high-piled, snow-white hair, and +eyes whose brilliancy age had not dimmed. The lines about the mouth +were hard, but the face was full of intelligence, and the man at her +feet had never seen anything of the hardness of her nature. She had +blindly idolized him. + +"I wish she were here now," thought Dartmouth regretfully, as he +contemplated the picture through the rings of smoke; "I could talk +over things with her, and she could hit off people with that tongue of +hers. Gods! how it could cut! Poor old lady! I wonder if I shall ever +find her equal." After which, he fell asleep and forgot his sorrows +until his valet awakened him and told him it was time to dress for +dinner. + + + + +II. + + +I hope I have not conveyed to the reader the idea that our hero is +frivolous. On the contrary, he was considered a very brilliant young +man, and he could command the respect of his elders when he chose. +But, partly owing to his wealth and independent condition, partly to +the fact that the world had done its best to spoil him, he had led a +very aimless existence. He was by no means satisfied with his life, +however; he was far too clever for that; and he had spent a good deal +of time, first and last, reviling Fate for not having endowed him with +some talent upon which he could concentrate his energies, and with +which attain distinction and find balm for his ennui. His grandmother +had cherished the conviction that he was an undeveloped genius; but +in regard to what particular field his genius was to enrich, she had +never clearly expressed herself, and his own consciousness had not +been more explicit. He had long ago made up his mind, indeed, that +his grandmother's convictions had been the fond delusions of a doting +parent, and that the sooner he unburdened himself of that particular +legacy the better. The unburdening, however, had been accomplished +with a good deal of bitterness, for he was very ambitious and very +proud, and to be obliged to digest the fact that he was but a type of +the great majority was distinctly galling. True, politics were left. +His father, one of the most distinguished of England's statesmen, and +a member of the present cabinet, would have been delighted to assist +his career; but Harold disliked politics. With the exception of his +passing interest in the Russian socialists--an interest springing from +his adventurous nature--he had never troubled himself about any party, +faction, or policy, home or foreign. He would like to write a great +poem, but he had never felt a second's inspiration, and had never +wasted time in the endeavor to force it. Failing that, he would like +to write a novel; but, fluently and even brilliantly as he sometimes +talked, his pen was not ready, and he was conscious of a conspicuous +lack of imagination. To be sure, one does not need much in these +days of realistic fervor; it is considered rather a coarse and +old-fashioned article; but that one needs some sort of a plot is +indisputable, and Dartmouth's brain had consistently refused to evolve +one. Doubtless he could cultivate the mere habit of writing, +and achieve reputation as an essayist. His critical faculty was +pronounced, and he had carefully developed it; and it was possible +that when the world had completely palled upon him, he would shut +himself up at Crumford Hall and give the public the benefit of his +accumulated opinions, abstract and biographical. But he was not ready +for that yet; he needed several years more of experience, observation, +and assiduous cultivation of the habit of analysis; and in the +meantime he was in a condition of cold disgust with himself and with +Fate. It may also have been gathered that Mr. Dartmouth was a young +man of decidedly reckless proclivities. It is quite true that he never +troubled himself about any question of morals or social ethics; he +simply calculated the mathematical amount of happiness possible to the +individual. That was all there was in life. Had he lived a generation +or two earlier, he would have pursued his way along the paths of the +prohibited without introspective analysis; but being the intellectual +young man of the latter decades of the 19th century, it amused him +to season his defiance of certain conventional codes with the salt of +philosophy. + +Miss Penrhyn reached the Legation a few moments after Dartmouth's +arrival, and he watched her as she entered the ballroom. She wore +a simple white gown, embroidered about the corsage with silver +crescents; and her richly-tinted brown hair was coiled about her head +and held in place by a crescent-shaped comb. She was a tall, slim, +shapely girl, with an extreme grace of carriage and motion, and a neck +and arms whose clear olive was brought out with admirable effect +by the dead white of her gown. Her face, somewhat listless and +preoccupied as she entered, quickly brightened into animation as a +number of men at once surrounded her. Dartmouth continued to watch her +for a few moments, and concluded that he would like to know her, even +if she were a girl and an _ingenue_. She was fascinating, apart from +her beauty; she looked different from other women, and that was +quite enough to command his interest. It would be too much trouble +to struggle for an introduction at present, however, and he allowed +himself to be taken possession of by his cousin, Margaret Talbot, +who, with the easy skill of a spoiled beauty, dismissed several other +cavaliers upon his approach. They wandered about for a time, and +finally entered a tiny boudoir fitted up to represent a bird's nest in +tufted blue satin, with an infinite number of teacups so arranged as +to be cunningly suggestive of eggs whose parents had been addicted to +Decorative Art. + +"What do you think of the new beauty?" demanded Mrs. Talbot, as they +established themselves upon an extremely uncomfortable little sofa +upheld between the outstretched wings of the parent bird, which was +much too large for the eggs. + +"She does very well," replied Harold, who was wise in his generation. + +Mrs. Talbot put her handkerchief suddenly to her face and burst into +tears. Dartmouth turned pale. + +"What is it, Margaret?" he said. "Do not cry here; people will notice, +and make remarks." + +She made no reply, and he got up and moved restlessly about the room; +then returning he stood looking moodily down upon her. + +Some years before, just about the time he was emerging from +knickerbockers, he had been madly in love with this golden-haired, +hazel-eyed cousin of his, and the lady, who had the advantage of him +in years, being unresponsive, he had haunted a very large and very +deep ornamental pond in his grandmother's park for several weeks with +considerable persistency. Had the disease attacked him in summer it is +quite probable that this story would never have been written, for his +nature was essentially a high-strung and tragic one; but fortunately +he met his beautiful cousin in mid-winter, and 'tis a despairing lover +indeed who breaks the ice. Near as their relationship was, he had not +met her again until the present winter, and then he had found that +years had lent her additional fascination. She was extremely unhappy +in her domestic life, and naturally she gave him her confidence and +awoke that sentiment which is so fatally akin to another and sometimes +more disastrous one. + +Dartmouth loved her with that love which a man gives to so many women +before the day comes wherein he recognizes the spurious metal from the +real. It was not, as in its first stage, the mad, unreasoning fancy +of an unfledged boy, but that sentiment, half sympathy, half passion, +which a woman may inspire who is not strong enough to call out the +highest and best that lies hidden in a man's nature. This feeling for +his cousin, if not the supremest that a woman can command, bore +one characteristic which distinguished it from any of his previous +passions. For the first time in his life he had resisted a +temptation--principally because she was his cousin. With the instinct +of his caste he acknowledged the obligation to avert dishonor in his +own family where he could. And, aside from family pride, he had a +strong personal regard for his cousin which was quite independent of +that sentiment which, for want of a better name, he called love. She +was young, she was lonely, she was unhappy, and his calmer affection +prompted him to protect her from himself, and not, after a brief +period of doubtful happiness, to leave her to a lifetime of tormenting +memories and regrets. She loved him, of course; and reckless with the +knowledge of her ruined life, her hopeless future, and above all the +certainty that youth and its delicious opportunities were slipping +fast, she would doubtless have gone the way of most women under +similar circumstances, had not Harold, for once in his life, been +strong. Perhaps, if he had really loved her, he would not have been so +self-sacrificing. + +After her paroxysm of tears had partly subsided, he took her hand. +"What is the matter?" he asked, kindly. "Is there any more trouble?" + +"It is the same," she said. "You know how unhappy I am; it was foolish +of me to break down here, but I could not help it. Besides, there is +another thing--I wish you would go away." + +He walked to the end of the room, then returned and bent over her, +placing his hand on the back of the sofa. "Very well," he said, "I +will go. I should have gone before. I would have done so, but I hated +to leave you alone." + +He lifted her face and kissed her. She laid her head against his +shoulder, then she suddenly pushed him from her with a low cry, and +Dartmouth, following her gaze, turned his head in time to meet the +scornful eyes of Miss Penrhyn as she dropped the portière from her +hand. Dartmouth kicked aside a footstool with an exclamation of +anger. He was acutely conscious of having been caught in a ridiculous +position, and moreover, he would not be the chief sufferer. + +"Oh, Harold! Harold!" gasped Margaret, "I am ruined. You know what +women are. By this time to-morrow that girl will have told the story +all over Paris." + +The words made Dartmouth forget his personal annoyance for the moment. +"Do not cry any more," he said, kindly; "I am awfully sorry, but I +will see what I can do. I will make a point of meeting the girl, and +I will see that--do not worry. I will go at once, and you had better +remain here for the present. There is no danger of anyone intruding +upon you: this room was never intended for three." He paused a moment. +"Good-bye, Margaret!" he said. + +She started sharply, but rose to her feet and put out her hand: +"Good-bye," she said. + +He lifted her hand to his lips, then the portière fell behind him and +she was alone. + +He went directly to the ball-room and asked Hollington to present him +to Miss Penrhyn. She was standing with her back to him and did not +notice his approach, and his name was pronounced while her eyes were +still on the face of the man to whom she was talking. She gave him a +glance of swift scorn, bent her head haughtily, and all but turned her +back upon him. But Dartmouth, indolent and lazy as he was, was not the +man to be lightly disposed of when once roused to action. + +"Bolton," he said, to her companion, "they are waiting for you in the +billiard-room; you have an engagement to play a game with our host +at twelve. It is now exactly the hour. I will take charge of Miss +Penrhyn;" and before the bewildered Bolton could protest, or Miss +Penrhyn realize his purpose, he had drawn the girl's arm through his +own and was half-way down the room. + +"Where have I met you before?" he demanded, when they were safely lost +in the crowd. "Surely, we are not altogether strangers." + +"I do not know," haughtily; "I have never met you before that I am +aware of." + +"It is strange, but I cannot get rid of the idea that I have seen you +elsewhere," continued Dartmouth, unmoved. "And yet, if I had, I most +assuredly could not have forgotten it." + +"You are flattering, but I must ask you to excuse me. I am engaged for +the next dance, and I see my partner looking for me." + +"Indeed, I shall do nothing of the kind. I have no idea of resigning +you so lightly." And he calmly led her into a small withdrawing-room +and seated her behind a protecting screen. He took the chair beside +her and smiled down into her angry face. Her eyes, which had a +peculiar yellow flame in them, now within, now just without the iris, +as if from a tiny lantern hidden in their depths, were blazing. + +"Well?" he said, calmly; "of what are you thinking?" + +"That you are the rudest and the most impertinent man I have ever +met," she replied, hotly. + +"You are unkind; I have been unfortunate enough to incur your +disapproval, but you judge me cruelly. I am undoubtedly a very +reprehensible character, Miss Penrhyn, but I don't think that I am +worse than most men." He recognized at once that it would be folly to +tell the usual lie: she would simply laugh in his face. He must accept +the situation, plead guilty and make a skilful defense. Later, when +he had established himself in her confidence, he would exonerate his +cousin. + +Miss Penrhyn's lip curled disdainfully. "I am not aware that I have +asked you to justify yourself," she said. "It is of no possible +interest to me whether you are better or worse than most men. It is +quite possible, however," she added, hastily and unwillingly, "that +in this case, as in others, there may be the relief of an exception to +prove the rule." + +Dartmouth saw his advantage at once. She was not merely disgusted; +she was angry; and in her anger she forgot herself and condescended to +sarcasm. There was one barrier the less to be broken down. "We are a +bad lot, I am afraid, Miss Penrhyn," he replied, quietly; "but keep +your illusions while you can. You are happier for them, and I would be +the last to dispel them." + +"You are considerate," she retorted: "it is more than possible you +will not dispel my illusions; there will not be--" + +"You mean to imply, delicately," he interrupted her, "that you do not +consider me worthy of being added to the list of your acquaintances?" + +"I really have given the matter no thought, and I do not see what +advantage either side could derive from further acquaintance." But +she colored slightly as she spoke, and turned to him an angrily severe +profile. + +"Don't you think," he said--and his calm, drawling tone formed a +contrast to her own lack of control which she could not fail to +appreciate--"don't you think that you judge me with exaggerated +harshness? Do you think the life of any one of these men who have +surrounded you to-night, and upon whom you certainly did not frown, +would bear inspection? It would almost appear as if I had personally +incurred your displeasure, you are so very hard upon me. You forget +that my offense could not have any individual application for you. Had +I known you, you might reasonably have been indignant had I gone from +you, a young girl, to things which you held to be wrong. But I did not +know you; you must remember that. And as for the wrong itself, I hope +the knowledge of greater wrong may never come to you. When you have +lived in the world a few years longer, I am very much afraid you will +look upon such things with an only too careless eye." + +The cruel allusion to her youth told, and the girl's cheek flushed, +as she threw back her head with a spirited movement which delighted +Dartmouth, while the lanterns in her eyes leaped up afresh. Where had +he seen those eyes before? + +"I don't know what your ideas of honor may be in regard to the young +ladies of your acquaintance," she said, with an additional dash of +ice in her voice, "but it seems to me a peculiar kind of honor which +allows a man to insult his hostess by making love to a married woman +in her house." + +"Pret-ty good for a baby!" thought Dartmouth. "She could not have +done that better if she had been brought up Lady Langdon's daughter, +instead of having been under that general's tuition, and emancipated +from a life of seclusion, just about six months. Decidedly, she is +worth cultivating." He looked at her reflectively. That he was in +utter disgrace admitted of not a doubt. Women found little fault with +him, as a rule. They had shown themselves willing, with an aptitude +which savored of monotony, to take him on any terms; and to be sat in +judgment upon by a penniless girl with the face and air of an angry +goddess, had a flavor of novelty about it decidedly thrilling. +He determined to conquer or die. Clever as she was, she was still +absolutely a child, and no match for him. He placed his elbow on his +knee and leaned his head on his hand. + +"Your rebuke is a very just one," he said, sadly. "And I have only the +poor excuse to offer that in this wicked world of ours we grow very +callous, and forget those old codes of honor which men were once so +strict about, no matter what the irregularities of their lives might +be. I am afraid it is quite true that I am not fit to touch your hand; +and indeed," he added hastily, "it is a miserable business all round, +and God knows there is little enough in it." + +She turned and regarded him with something less of anger, something +more of interest, in her eyes. + +"Then why do not you reform?" she asked, in a matter-of fact tone. +"Why do you remain so bad, if you regret it?" + +"There is nothing else to do," gloomily "Life is such a wretched bore +that the only thing to do is to seize what little spice there is in +it, and the spice, alas! will never bear analysis." + +"Are you unhappy?" she demanded. Her eyes were still disapproving, but +her voice was a shade less cold. + +He smiled, but at the same time he felt a little ashamed of +himself, the weapons were so trite, and it was so easy to manage an +unworldly-wise and romantic girl. There was nothing to do but go on, +however. "No, I am not unhappy, Miss Penrhyn," he said; "that is, not +unhappy in the sense you would mean. I am only tired of life. That is +all--but it is enough." + +"But you are very young," she said, innocently. "You cannot yet be +thirty." + +He laughed shortly. "I am twenty-eight, Miss Penrhyn--and I am--forty +five. You cannot understand, and it is well you should not. But this +much I can tell you. I was born with a wretched load of _ennui_ on my +spirits, and all things pall after a brief experience. It has been so +since the first hour I can remember. My grandmother used to tell +me that I should wake up some day and find myself a genius, that I +rejoiced in several pointed indications toward that desirable end; +that I had only to wait, and ample compensation for the boredom of +life would come But, alas! I am twenty-eight, and there are no signs +of genius yet. I am merely a commonplace young man pursuing the most +commonplace of lives--but I am not going to bore you by talking about +myself any longer. I never do. I do not know why I do so to-night. But +there is something about you which is strangely sympathetic, in spite +of your"--he hesitated--"your unkindness." + +She had kept her eyes implacably on the opposite wall, but when he +finished she turned to him suddenly, and he saw that her face had +perceptibly relaxed. + +"You impress me very strangely," she said, abruptly. "I am willing to +tell you that frankly, and I hardly understand it. You are doubtless +correct when you say I have no right to be angry with you, and I +suppose it is also true that you are no worse than other men. When I +pushed aside that portière to-night I felt an unreasoning anger which +it would be hard to account for. Had it been Lord Bective Hollington +or Mr. Bolton I--I should not have cared. I should not have been +angry, I am sure of it. And yet I never saw you before to-day, and +had no possible interest in you. I do not understand it. I hardly know +whether I like you very much or hate you very much." + +He bent his head and looked down sharply into her eyes. He was so used +to the coquetry and finesse of women! Was she like the rest? But the +eyes she had turned to him were sincere to disquiet, and there was not +a suggestion of coquetry about her. + +"Do not hate me," he said, softly, "for I would give more for your +good opinion than for that of any woman I know. No, I do not mean that +for idle flattery. You may not realize it, but you are very different +from other women--Oh, bother!"--this last under his breath, as their +retreat was invaded by two indignant young men who insisted upon the +lawful rights of which Dartmouth had so unblushingly deprived them. +There was nothing to do but resign himself to his fate. + +Knowing that a second uninterrupted conversation would be impossible +with her that night, he left the house shortly after, not, however, +before a parting word had assured him that though she still might +disapprove, he would have many future opportunities to plead his +cause, and, furthermore, that she would not risk the loss of his +admiration by relating what she had seen. When he reached his +apartment he exchanged his coat for a smoking-jacket, lit a cigar, and +throwing himself down on a sofa, gave himself up to thoughts of Miss +Penrhyn. + +"A strange creature," he mentally announced. "If one can put one's +trust in physiognomy, I should say she had about ten times more in +her than dwells in ordinary women. She has no suspicion of it herself, +however; she will make that discovery later on. I should like to have +the power to render myself invisible; but no, I beg pardon, I should +like to be present in astral body when her nature awakens. I have +always wanted to study the successive psychological evolutions of a +woman in love. Not of the ordinary compound of the domestic and the +fashionable; there is nothing exciting in that; and besides, +our realistic novelists have rendered such researches on my part +superfluous; but of a type, small, but each member of which is built +up of infinite complexities--like this girl. The nature would awaken +with a sudden, mighty shock, not creep toward the light with slow, +well-regulated steps--but, bah! what is the use of indulging in +boneless imaginings? One can never tell what a woman of that sort will +think and feel, until her experience has been a part of his own. And +there is no possibility of my falling in love with her, even did I +wish it, which I certainly do not. The man who fascinates is not the +man who loves. Pardon my modesty, most charming of grandmothers, if +your soul really lurks behind that wonderful likeness of yours, as +I sometimes think it does, but a man cannot have the double power of +making many others feel and of feeling himself. At least, so it seems +to me. Love lightly roused is held as lightly, and one loses one's +respect for even the passion in the abstract. Of what value can a +thing be which springs into life for a trick of manner, an atom or two +more of that negative quality called personal magnetism, while wiser +and better men pass by unnoticed? One naturally asks, What is love? +A spiritual enthusiasm which a cold-blooded analyst would call +sentimentality, or its correlative, a fever of the senses? Neither is +a very exalted set of conditions. I have been through both more +than once, and if my attacks have been light, I have been the better +enabled to study my fair inspiration. I never discovered that she +felt more deeply; simply more strongly, more tempestuously, after the +nature of women. Her feelings were not more complex, they were merely +more strongly accentuated. A woman in love imagines that she is the +pivot on which the world revolves. A general may immortalize himself, +an emperor be assassinated and his empire plunged into a French +Revolution, and her passing interest is not roused; nor is she +unapt to wonder how others can be interested in matters so purely +impersonal. She thinks she loves as no woman ever loved before, and +sometimes she succeeds in making the man think so too. But when a +man has gone through this sort of thing a couple of dozen times, he +becomes impressed with the monotony, the shallowness, and the racial +resemblance, so to speak, of the divine passion; and his own capacity +for indulging in it diminishes in proportion. If Miss Penrhyn is +capable of anything wider and deeper and higher than her average +sister, I have met her too late to be inspired with anything beyond +passing curiosity. In fact, I doubt if I could be capable of so much +as indulging in the surmise had I never known my grandmother. _There_ +was a woman unique in her generation. So strong was her individuality +that I was forced to appreciate it, even in the days when I used +to make her life a burden by planting her silver spoons in the +rose-garden and re-setting her favorite cuttings wrong side up. I wish +she had lived longer; it would have been both a pleasure and a profit +to have studied and analyzed her. And how I should like to know her +history! That she had one there is no doubt. The lines of repression +in her face were the strongest I have ever seen, to say nothing of +the night I found her standing over the Byzantine chest with her hands +full of yellow papers. There were no lines of repression in her face +just then; she looked fairly murderous. She did not see me, and I left +with a brevity worthy of its cause. I should like to know who wrote +those letters. I looked for them after her death, but she had either +destroyed them or else that old Byzantine chest has a secret drawer. +If it has I'll discover it some day when time hangs heavily. + +"No," he continued, settling himself down more comfortably among his +pillows, and tossing the end of his cigar into the grate, "I shall +marry some day, undoubtedly, but I must find a woman with the brains +and charm of my grandmother. This girl, they say, is brilliant, and +certainly she cut me up sharply enough to-night; but she would +be altogether too much to handle for a lifetime. It would be very +pleasant for a time, but a deuced bore later on. What a beauty she is, +though! I cannot get her out of my mind. She has been posing before my +mental vision all the time I have been trying to think about something +else. Those eyes--gods! And what a figure! What--" + +With a nervous, precipitate motion, he rose to his feet and drew in +his breath, as if to throw a sudden load from his chest. He stood +irresolute for a moment, then revolving slowly on his heel, walked, as +if independently of his own volition, over to his desk. He felt very +strangely; he did not remember to have ever felt so strangely before. +His head had become suddenly confused, but at the same time he was +aware that his brain had thrown open its doors to a new arrival, and +that the visitor was trying to make itself heard. It appeared to be a +visitor of great importance, and Dartmouth was conscious that it had +presented itself to his perceptions in the form of an extraordinarily +strong impulse, a great and clamorous Desire. He had been aware of the +same desire before, but only in an abstract way, a general purposeless +longing; but now this peremptory, loudly-knocking consciousness was +vaguely suggesting another--just behind. It would almost seem, if it +were not too preposterous a supposition, as if that second struggling +consciousness were trying to announce itself under the high-sounding +title of--what? He could not formulate it. If his brain were only not +so confused! What could so suddenly have affected him? He was always +so clear-headed and logical. Was he going to be ill? When he reached +his desk he sat down before it and mechanically took up his pen. +He leaned his head on his hand, like a man in a state of mental +exhaustion, and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he opened them +wide, with an exclamation which was almost a cry; and of his usual +calm repose there was not a trace remaining. He leaned forward +breathlessly and put his pen to the paper. "Her eyes! Her skin! Her +form!" he muttered uncertainly. "Her--her--her--Oh! _what_ is it? +_Why_ cannot I say it? It has come at last--_she_ was right after +all--but the words--the words--why will not they come? The music is +there--a great rhythm and harmony--but the words are floating about +like wraiths of mist. If I could only grasp and crystallize them, and +set them to that wonderful music, the world--the world would rise at +last and call me great! Her eyes--her hair--oh, my God, _what_ is it?" +He threw down his pen and staggered to his feet. His face was blanched +and drawn, and his eyes had lost their steady light. He grasped the +chair to save himself from falling; he had lost over himself both +physical and mental control. It seemed to him that two beings, two +distinct entities, were at war within his brain--that new, glorious +consciousness, and a tangible power above, which forced it down with +an iron hand--down--down--into the depths of his mind, where its cries +for speech came up in faint, inarticulate murmurs. And it tried and +tried, that strange new thing, to struggle from its dungeon and reach +the wide, free halls of his thought, but it could not; it beat against +that unrelaxing iron hand only to fall back again and again. And it +sang and sang and sang, in spite of its struggles and captivity. The +faint, sweet echo came up--if he could but catch the words! If he +could but dash aside that iron hand, and let his brain absorb them! +Surely a word or two must force their way--yes! yes! they had come! +"Her face! her form!"--He tore open his waistcoat; his lungs felt as +if they had been exhausted. Then, how he never knew, he managed to +reach his sofa, and fell face downward upon it; and the next morning, +when his valet came in and drew aside the curtains and let in the +light of mid-day, he found him there as he had fallen. + + + + +III. + + +Harold Dartmouth came of a family celebrated throughout its history +for producing men of marked literary and political ability. Few +generations had passed without a Dartmouth distinguishing himself, +and those members of the family less gifted were not in the habit +of having their fine intellectual qualities called to account. The +consequence was that their young descendant, who inherited all the +family cleverness, although as yet he had betrayed the possession of +none of its higher gifts, paid the penalty of his mental patrimony. +His brain was abnormally active, both through conditions of heredity +and personal incitement; and the cerebral excitation necessarily +produced resulted not infrequently in violent reaction, which took the +form of protracted periods of melancholy. These attacks of melancholy +had begun during his early school-days, when, a remarkably bright +but extremely wild boy, he had been invariably fired with ambition as +examinations approached, and obliged to cram to make up for lost time. +As years went by they grew with his growth, and few months passed +without an attack of the blues more or less violent, no matter +how brief. They came after hours of brooding over his desire to +distinguish himself, and his fatal want of ability; they came during +his intervals of purely intellectual disgust with himself and with +life; but more frequently still they came upon him from no apparent +cause whatever. They were a part of his personality, just as humor, +or light, unthinking gaiety, or a constantly bubbling wit may form the +predominating characteristic of another man. + +For a week after the night of his futile impulse to put into shape +the nebulous verse which had tormented his brain, no one saw Harold +Dartmouth. The violent shock and strain had induced an attack of +mental and spiritual depression which amounted to prostration, and +he lay on his sofa taking no notice of the days as they slipped by, +eating little and speaking to no one. At first Jones, his man-servant, +was not particularly disturbed. He had brought Dartmouth up, and +had come to look upon his moods as a matter of course. He therefore +confined himself to forcing his master to take his food and to +parrying the curiosity of the French servants; he knew Dartmouth's +temper too well to venture to call a doctor, and he hoped that in a +few days the mood would wear itself out. But at the end of a week +he became seriously alarmed. He had spent the last day but one in a +desperate and fruitless attempt to rouse Dartmouth, and had used every +expedient his ingenuity could suggest. Finally, at his wits' end, he +determined to call in the help of Lord Bective Hollington, who was +Dartmouth's most intimate friend, and had lived with him and his moods +for months together. He came to this decision late on the night of the +seventh day, and at eleven the next morning he presented himself at +Hollington's apartments in the Rue Lincoln. Hollington was still in +bed and reading the morning paper, but he put it down at once. + +"Send him in," he said. "Something is the matter with Harold," he +continued to himself. "Something unusual has been the matter with him +all the week, when he wouldn't even see me. Well, Jones, what is it?" +as that perturbed worthy entered. "You are an early visitor." + +"Oh! my Lord!" exclaimed Jones, tearfully; "something dreadful hails +Master 'Arold." + +"What is it?" demanded Hollington, quickly. "Is he ill?" + +Jones shook his head. "No, my Lord; I wish 'ee was. 'Ee's worse than +hill. 'Ee's got one of 'is moods." + +"Poor Harold! I thought he had got over all that since he had given +himself over to the distractions of wine, woman, and song. I haven't +seen him in one of his moods for three or four years." + +"Ah, sir, I 'ave, then. 'Ee don't 'ave them so frequent like before he +begun to travel, but hevery wunst in a while 'ee will be terrible for +two hor three days; but I never see hanything like this before, heven +at Crumford 'All. 'Ee 'as never spoke for a week; not since the night +of the ball hat the Russian Legation." + +"By Jove! you don't mean it. I thought he was on a 'private tear,' as +the Americans say; but I don't like this at all. Just clear out, and +I'll be dressed and over in his rooms in less than half an hour." And +he sprang out of bed before Jones had closed the door. + +He was but a few moments dressing, as he had promised, and was at +Dartmouth's apartment before Jones had time to become impatient, +nervous as he was. He pulled aside the portière of the salon and +looked in. The curtains were drawn and the room was dark, but on a +sofa near the window he saw his friend lying. He picked his way over +through the studiously disordered furniture and touched Dartmouth on +the shoulder. + +"Hal!" he said, "Hal!" + +Dartmouth opened his eyes and looked up. "Is it you, Becky?" he +said, languidly. "Go away and let me alone." But his words and manner +indicated that the attack was at last "wearing itself out." + +"I will do nothing of the sort," replied Hollington. "Get up off that +sofa this moment. A week! I am ashamed of you. What would the old lady +say?" + +"She would understand," murmured Dartmouth. "She always understood. I +wish she were here now." + +"I wish she were. She would soon have you out of this. Get up. Don't +be a fool." + +"I am not a fool. I have got one of the worst of the old attacks, and +I can't shake it off; that is all. Go away, and let me fight it out by +myself." + +"I will not move from this room, if I stay here for six months, until +you go with me. So make up your mind to it." And he threw himself into +an easy-chair, and lighting a cigar, proceeded leisurely to smoke it. + +Dartmouth turned uneasily once or twice. "You know I can't bear anyone +near me," he said; "I want to be alone." + +"You have been alone long enough. I will do as I have said." + +There was silence for a few moments, and Dartmouth's restlessness +increased. Hollington watched him closely, and after a time handed him +a cigar and offered him a light. Dartmouth accepted both mechanically, +and for a time the two men smoked in silence. When Dartmouth finished +he rose to his feet. + +"Very well," he said, "have your own way. Wait until I dress and I +will go out with you." He went into his dressing-room and returned +about an hour later, during which time Hollington had thrown back the +curtains and written a couple of letters. Dartmouth was still haggard +and very pale, but his face had been shaved and he looked something +like himself once more. Hollington rose and threw down his pen at +once. + +"I will drop in on our way back and finish this letter," he said. "You +must get out of the house as quickly as possible. By Jove! how bad you +look!" He put his hand on his friend's shoulder and looked at him a +moment. He was the average Englishman in most of his details, +tall, well-built, with a good profile, and a ruddy Saxon face. His +individual characteristics were an eternal twinkle in his eye, a +forehead with remarkably well-developed reflectives, and a very square +chin and jaw. Just now the twinkle was less aggressive and his face +had softened noticeably. "There is no help for it, I suppose, Hal, is +there?" he said. + +Dartmouth looked back at him with a smile, and a good deal of +affection in his eyes. "No, old fellow," he replied; "I am afraid +there is not. But they are rarely as bad as this last. And--thank you +for coming." + +They went out together and walked to the Café Anglais on the Boulevard +des Italiens. The air was keen and cold, the walk a long one, and +Dartmouth felt like another man by the time he sat down to breakfast. +One or two other men joined them. Hollington was unusually witty, the +conversation was general and animated, and when Dartmouth left the +café the past week seemed an ugly dream. In the afternoon he met the +wife of the American Consul-General, Mrs. Raleigh, in the Bois, and +learned from her that Margaret Talbot had left Paris. This left him +free to remain; and when Mrs. Raleigh reminded him that her doors were +open that evening, he asked permission at once to present himself. +Mrs. Raleigh not only had a distinguished and interesting salon, but +she casually remarked that she expected Miss Penrhyn, and Dartmouth +felt a strong desire to see the girl again. + + + + +IV. + + +When, a few hours later, Dartmouth entered Mrs. Raleigh's salon, he +saw Miss Penrhyn surrounded by some half-dozen men, and talking +with the abandon of a pleased child, her eyes sparkling, her cheeks +flushed. As he went over to her the flush faded slightly, but she held +out her hand and smiled up into his eyes. + +"You have been ill," she murmured, sympathetically. "You look so +still." + +"Yes," he said, "I have been ill; otherwise I should have made an +effort to see you before. I suppose I cannot get a word with you +to-night May I call on you to morrow morning?" + +"Yes, you may come." + +"Thank you. And there will not be a dozen other men there?" + +She smiled. "I do not think there will be anyone else. I rarely +receive in the morning." + +"But are you sure?" + +He had a long sweep of black lash, through which the clear blue of his +eyes had a way of shining with a pleading, softening lustre, immensely +effective. It was an accepted fact that when Mr. Dartmouth turned +on this battery of eyes and lash, resistance was a forgotten art and +protest a waste of time. Miss Penrhyn did not prove an exception to +the rule. She hesitated, then answered, with a little laugh, as if +amused at herself, "Well, yes, I am sure." + +"Very well, then, remember, I look upon that as a promise. And I will +try to get a word with you later, but there is no hope now." + +He moved off and, leaning against the opposite wall, covertly watched +her, while ostensibly listening with due sympathy to the hopes and +fears of an old friend and embryo author. In a moment he made a +discovery--of his friend's confidence I regret to say he heard not one +word--she did not treat him as she treated other men. Well bred as she +was, there was a perceptible embarrassment in her manner whenever he +addressed her, but with these other men she was talking and smiling +without a trace of effort or restraint. He knew what it meant. He was +thoroughly aware that he was a man of extraordinary magnetism, and he +had seen his power over a great many women. Ordinarily, to a man so +sated with easy success as Harold Dartmouth, the certainty of conquest +would have strangled the fancy, but there was something about this +girl which awakened in him an interest he did not pretend to define, +except that he found her more beautiful, and believed her to be +more original, than other women. He was anxious to have a longer +conversation with her, and ascertain whether or not he was correct in +his latter supposition. He did not want to marry, and she was too +good to flirt with, but platonics were left. And platonics with Miss +Penrhyn suggested variety. + +He also made another discovery. Someone played an interminable piece +of classic music. During its recital it was not possible for Miss +Penrhyn to talk with the men about her, and as the animation faded +from her face, he noticed the same preoccupied look overspread it +which had characterized it the night she had entered the ball-room at +the Legation. Something troubled her, but to Dartmouth's quick eye +it was not an active trouble, it was more like a shadow which took +possession of her face in its moments of repose with the quiet +assurance of a dweller of long standing. Possibly she herself was +habitually forgetful of its cause; but the cause had struck deep +into the roots of her nature, and its shadow had become a part of +her beauty. Dartmouth speculated much and widely, but rejected the +hypothesis of a lover. She had never loved for a moment; and in spite +of his platonic predilections, this last of his conclusions held a +very perceptible flavor of satisfaction. When the classic young lady +had gracefully acknowledged the raptures she had evoked, and tripped +back to her seat, Miss Penrhyn was asked to sing, and then Dartmouth +saw his opportunity; he captured her when she had finished, and bore +her off to the conservatory before anyone could interfere. + +"You sing charmingly," he said. "Will you sing for me to-morrow?" + +"If you can stretch flattery to that extent, with Patti at the Grand +Opera House." + +"I have been listening to Patti for fifteen years, and man loves +variety. I wish I could tell where I have seen you before," he +continued, abruptly. "Do you look like your mother? I may have seen +her in my youth." + +Her face flushed a sudden, painful red, and then turned very pale. "I +do not remember my mother," she stammered. "She died when I was quite +young." + +"Poor thing!" thought Dartmouth. "How girls do grieve for an unknown +mother!" "But you have seen her picture?" he said, aloud. + +"Yes, I have seen her pictures. They are dark, like myself. But that +is all." + +"You must have had a lonely childhood, brought up all by yourself in +that gloomy old castle I have heard described." + +She colored again and crushed a fern-leaf nervously between her +fingers. "Yes, it was lonesome. Yes--those old castles always are." + +"By the way--I remember--my mother spent a summer down there once, +some twelve or thirteen years ago, and--it comes back to me now--I +remember having heard her speak of Rhyd-Alwyn as the most picturesque +castle in Wales. She must have known your mother, of course. And you +must have known the children. _Why_ was I not there?" + +"I do not remember," she said, rising suddenly to her feet, and +turning so pale that Dartmouth started to his in alarm. "Come; let us +go back to the salon." + +"There is some mystery," thought Dartmouth. "Have I stumbled upon a +family skeleton? Poor child!" But aloud he said, "No, do not go yet; +I want to talk to you." And when he had persuaded her to sit down +once more, he exerted himself to amuse her, and before long had the +satisfaction of seeing that she had forgotten her agitation. It did +not take him long to discover that she had read a great deal and that +her favorite reading had been travels, and he entertained her with +graphic recitals of such of his own varied experience as he thought +most likely to interest her. She listened with flattering attention +and a natural and keen sense of humor, and he was stimulated to a good +deal more effort than habit prompted. "You will enjoy travelling," he +said, finally; "and you will not travel like other women. You will see +something besides picture-galleries, and churches, and _Bons marchés_. +I believe that you would realize what it is to be an atom of to-day in +the presence of twenty centuries." + +She smiled up at him with quick sympathy. "Yes," she said, "I believe +one must more frequently be awed than pleased, or even enraptured. And +I can imagine how even the most self-content of men, if he absorb the +meaning of Europe, must feel his insignificance. If he has wit enough +to reflect that all these represented ages, with their extraordinary +results, abstract and concrete, have come and gone with no aid of his; +that no prophet ever whispered his name among the thousands of great +in every conceivable destiny; that he is, mentally and physically, +simply a result of evolution and civilization, not, in any way worth +mentioning, a cause, he will be apt to reflect as well upon how many +men, all told, have ever heard of his existence or who besides his +grandchildren will remember him a generation hence. He will probably +wish that arithmetic had never been invented. Or if he be one of the +great of earth, he is only one after all, and, if he be in danger of +bursting from inflation, he can be grateful for a timely reminder that +there are several millions on the globe who have never heard of him, +and a few millions more who do not and never will take the faintest +interest in him or his career. But it needs the presence of twenty +centuries to bring the fact of man's individual insignificance home to +most of us." + +"She is clever," thought Dartmouth, as he dismissed his brougham +a little later and walked home alone. "Very un-modern and most +reprehensibly unconventional, in so much as she thinks, and develops +her mental muscles; but very charming, notwithstanding. There is an +incongruity about her, however, which is almost absurd. She has been +brought up in such seclusion--and under the sole tuition of a man not +only a pedant, but who has never stepped through the gates of the last +generation--that she reminds one of those fair English dames who used +to prowl about their parks with the Phaedo under their arm and long +for a block on which to float down to prosperity; Plato had quite +enough to do to sail for himself. And upon this epitomized abstraction +of the sixteenth century, this mingling of old-time stateliness, of +womanly charm, of tougher mental fibre, are superimposed the shallow +and purely objective attributes of the nineteenth-century belle and +woman of fashion. It is almost a shock to hear her use our modern +vernacular, and when she relapses into the somewhat stilted language +in which she is still accustomed to think, it is a positive relief. +She is conscious that she is apt to be a little high-flown, and when +she forgets herself and is natural, she quickly pulls herself in with +a round turn, which is an apology in itself. Upon such occasions a +man wants to get his fingers about the throat of the world. She has +acquired all the little arts and mannerisms of the London drawing-room +girl, and although they do not sit ungracefully upon her, because +she is innately graceful, and too clever to assume a virtue which +she cannot assimilate, still it is like a foreigner who speaks your +language to perfection in all but accent, and whom you long to hear in +his own tongue. Put her back in her Welsh castle, and the scales +would fall from her as from a mermaid who loves. If she returns to +her father at the end of the season, I think I will call upon her six +months later. She should go now, though; scales are apt to corrode. +But what is the mystery about the mother? Did she elope with the +coachman? But, no; that is strictly a modern freak of fashion. Perhaps +she died in a mad-house. Not improbable, if she had anything of the +nature of this girl in her, and Sir Iltyd sowed the way with thorns +too sharp. Poor girl! she is too young for mysteries, whatever it is. +I shall like to know her better, but she is so intense that she makes +me feel frivolous. I am never intense except when I have the blues, +and intensity, with my peculiar mental anatomy, is a thing to be +avoided. In what is invariably the last chapter of those attacks of +morbid dissatisfaction I shall some day feel an intense desire to blow +out my brains, and shall probably succumb. I wonder if she will induce +another rhyming attack to-night. Was that night a dream or a reality? +Could I have had a short but sharp attack of brain fever? Perhaps +the less I think about it the better; but it is decidedly hard to be +gifted with the instincts of a poet and denied the verbal formulation. +And it was the most painfully realistic, aggressively material +thing, that conflict in my brain, that mortal ever experienced. That, +however, may have been a mere figment of my excited imagination. +But what excited my imagination? That is the question. If I remember +aright, I was mentally discoursing with some enthusiasm upon Miss +Penrhyn's charms, but in strict impartiality it cannot be said that +I was excited. The excitement was like that produced by an onslaught +from behind. It is the more surprising, as I think it may be conceded +that I have myself pretty well in hand by this time, and that my +nerves, unruly as nature saw fit to make them, are now my very abject +slaves. Occasionally one of our fiction carpenters flies off at a +tangent and treats us to a series of intellectual gymnastics, the +significance of which--so we are called upon to digest--is that the +soul of one dead, finding its present clime too warm--or too cold--or +having left something undone on earth, takes temporary and summary +possession of an unfortunate still in the flesh, and through this +unhappy medium endeavors to work his will. Perhaps that is what is the +matter with me. Pollok, perchance, who died in his flower, thinking +that he had not given the world a big enough pill to swallow, wants to +concoct another dose in my presumably vacant brain. I appreciate +the compliment, but I disdain to be Pollok's mouthpiece: I will be +original or nothing. Besides, it is deuced uncomfortable. And I should +like to know if there is anything in life more bitter than the sense, +even momentary, of loss of self-mastery. Well, as I remarked a few +moments since, the less I think about it the better, considering my +unfortunate peculiarities. I will go and see Miss Penrhyn to-morrow; +that will be sufficiently distracting for the present." + + + + +V. + + +He found her the next day in a pretty morning-room, dressed in a long +white gown, with a single great yellow rose at her throat. She had +a piece of tapestry in her hand, and as she rose to greet him, the +plain, heavy folds of her gown clinging about her, and her dark +hair bound closely around her head with a simplicity that was almost +severe, Dartmouth again felt a humorous sense of having suddenly +stepped into a page of a past century. + +"What are you doing?" he said, as he took a chair opposite her. "Women +never make tapestry--real tapestry--in these days. You remind me of +Lady Jane Grey. Shall I get a volume of Greek and read it to you?" + +She laughed. "I fear it would literally be Greek to me. Latin and I +had a fierce and desperate war, but I conquered in the end. With the +Greek, however, the war was extremely brief, and he marched off with +colors flying, and never condescended to renew the engagement." + +"For all mercies make us duly thankful. A woman who knows Greek is +like a hot-house grape; a mathematically perfect thing, but scentless +and flavorless." + +"You are consoling; and, indeed, I cannot see that it would have done +me much good; it certainly would not have increased my popularity +among your exacting sex. You are the first man to whom I have dared +acknowledge I know Latin. Lady Langdon was kind enough to give me +elaborate warnings and instructions before she launched me into +society. Among other things, she constantly reiterated, 'Never let a +man suspect that you know anything, my dear. He will fly from you as +a hare to cover. I want you to be a belle, and you must help me.' I +naturally asked her what I was to talk about, and she promptly replied +'Nothing. Study the American girl, they have the most brilliant way +of jabbering meaningless recitativos of any tribe on the face of the +earth. Every sentence is an epigram with the point left out. They are +like the effervescent part of a bottle of soda-water.' This was while +we were still in Wales, and she sent for six books by two of those +American novelists who are supposed to be the expounders-in-chief of +the American girl at home and abroad, and made me read them. It nearly +killed me, but I did it, and I learned a valuable lesson. I hated the +American girl, but I felt as if I had been boiled in soda-water and +every pore of my body had absorbed it. I felt ecstatically frivolous, +and commonplace, and flashing, and sizzling. And--I assure you this +is a fact, although you may not give me credit for such grim +determination and concentration of purpose--but I never eat my +breakfast before I have read an entire chapter from one of those two +authors, it adjusts my mental tone for the day and keeps me in proper +condition." + +Dartmouth threw back his head and gave vent to the heartiest burst +of laughter he had indulged in for years. "Upon my word, you are +original," he exclaimed, delightedly, "and for heaven's sake, don't +try to be anything else. You could not be an American girl if you +tried for a century, for the reason that you have too many centuries +behind you. The American girl is charming, exquisite, a perfect +flower--but thin. She is like the first fruit of a new tree planted +in new soil. Her flavor is as subtle and vanishing as pistachio, +but there is no richness, no depth, no mellowness, no suggestion +of generations of grafting, or of orchards whose very sites are +forgotten. The soda-water simile is good, but the American girl, in +her actual existence--not in her verbal photographs, I grant you--is +worthy of a better. She is more like one glass of champagne-_frappe_, +momentarily stimulating, but quickly forgotten. When I was in America, +I met the most charming women in New York--I did not spend two weeks, +all told, in Washington--and New York is the concentrated essence, +the pinnacle of American civilization and achievement. But although I +frequently talked to one or another of those women for five hours at a +time without a suggestion of fatigue, I always had the same sensation +in regard to them that I had in regard to their waists while +dancing--they were unsatisfactory, intangible. I never could be sure +I really held a woman in my arms, and I never could remember a word +I had exchanged with them. But they are charming--that word describes +them 'down to the ground.'" + +"That word 'thin' is good, too," she replied; "and I think it +describes their literature better than any other. They write +beautifully those Americans, they are witty, they are amusing, they +are entertaining, they delineate character with a master hand; they +give us an exact idea of their peculiar environment and conditions; +and the way they handle dialect is a marvel; but--they are thin; they +ring hollow; they are like sketches in pen-and-ink; there is no color, +no warmth, and above all, no perspective. I don't know that they are +even done in sharp black-and-white; to me the pervading tone is gray. +The American author depresses me; he makes me feel commonplace and new +and unballasted. I always feel as if I were the 'millionth woman in +superfluous herds'; and when one of those terrible American authors +attacks my type, and carves me up for the delectation of the public, I +shall go back to Wales, nor ever emerge from my towers again. And they +are so cool and calm and deliberate, and so horribly exact, even the +lesser lights. They always remind me of a medical student watching the +workings of the exposed nervous system of a chloroformed hare." + +Dartmouth looked at her with some intensity in his gaze. "I am glad +your ideas are so singularly like my own," he said. "It is rather +remarkable they should be, but so it is. You have even a way of +putting your thoughts that strikes me as familiar, and which, out of +my natural egotism, I find attractive. But I wish you would go back to +your old castle; the world will spoil you." + +"I shall return in a month or two now; my father is lonely without +me." + +"I suppose he spoils you," said Dartmouth, smiling. "I imagine you +were an abominable infant. Tell me of some of the outrageous things +you used to do. I was called the worst child in three counties; but, I +doubt not, your exploits discounted mine, as the Americans say." + +"Oh, mine are too bad to relate," she exclaimed, with a nervous laugh, +and coloring swiftly, as she had done the night before. "But you were +ill for a whole week, were you not? Was it anything serious?" + +Dartmouth felt a sudden impulse to tell her of his strange experience. +He was not given to making confidences, but he felt _en rapport_ with +this girl as he had never felt with man or woman before. He had a +singular feeling, when talking with or listening to her, of losing his +sense of separateness. It was not that he felt de-individualized, but +that he had an accession of personality. It was pleasant because it +was novel, but at the same time it was uncomfortable because it was +a trifle unnatural. He smiled a little to himself. Was it a case of +affinity after all? But he had no time to analyze. She was waiting for +an answer, and in a moment he found himself yielding to his impulse +and giving her a graphic account of his peculiar visitation. + +At first she merely dropped her tapestry and listened attentively, +smiling and blushing a little when he told her what had immediately +preceded the impulse to write. But gradually the delicate pink left +her face, and she began to move in the spasmodic, uncontrollable way +of a person handling an electric battery. She clasped the arms of +her chair with such force that her arms looked twisted and rigid, and +finally she bent slowly forward, gazing up into his face with eyes +expanded to twice their natural size and not a vestige of color in +her cheek or lips: she looked like a corpse still engaged in the +mechanical act of gazing on the scene of agony which had preceded +its death. Suddenly she sprang to her feet and threw out her hands. +"Stop!" she cried; "stop!" + +"What is it?" he demanded, rising to his feet in amazement; he had +been watching her with more or less surprise for some time. "I am +afraid I have frightened you and made you nervous. I had better have +kept my confidence to myself." + +"No, no," she cried, throwing back her head and clasping her hands +about it; "it is not that I am frightened--only--it was so strange! +While you were talking it seemed--oh! I cannot describe it!--as if you +were telling me something which I knew as well as yourself. When +you spoke it seemed to me that I knew and could put into words the +wonderful verse-music which was battling upward to reach your brain. +They were, they were--I know them so well. I have known them always; +but I cannot--I cannot catch their meaning!" Suddenly she stepped +backward, dropped her hands, and colored painfully. "It is all purest +nonsense, of course," she said, in her ordinary tone and manner, +except for its painful embarrasment. "It is only your strong, +picturesque way of telling it which presented it as vividly to my mind +as if it were an experience of my own. I never so much as dreamed of +it before you began to speak." + +Dartmouth did not answer her for a moment. His own mind was in +something of a tumult. In telling the story he had felt, not a +recurrence of its conditions, but a certain sense of their influence; +and the girl's manner and words were extraordinary. It could hardly +be possible, even in cold blood, to understand their meaning. She +was indisputably not acting. What she had said was very strange and +unconventional, but from whatever source the words had sprung, they +had not been uttered with the intention premeditated or spontaneous +of making an impression upon him. They carried conviction of their +sincerity with them, and Dartmouth was sensible that they produced +a somewhat uncanny but strangely responsive effect upon himself. +But what did it mean? That in some occult way she had been granted +a glimpse into the depths of his nature was unthinkable. He was not +averse to indulging a belief in affinity; and that this girl was his +was not a disagreeable idea; but his belief by no means embraced a +second, to the effect that the soul of one's antitype is as an open +book to the other. Could her mind be affected? But no. She was a very +unusual girl, possibly an eccentric one; but he flattered himself +that he knew a lunatic when he saw one. There was left then but the +conclusion that she possessed a strongly and remarkably sympathetic +nature, as yet unbridled and unblunted by the world, and that he had +made a dangerous imprint upon it. He was not unduly vain, but he was +willing to believe that she would not vibrate so violently to every +man's touch. + +This point settled to the best of his capabilities, he allowed a +second consciousness, which had been held under for the moment, +during the exercisings of his analytical instinct, to claim his +consideration. He was sensible that he was attracted as he had never +been attracted by woman before. He had felt something of this on the +night he had met her, and he had felt it more strongly on the occasion +of their second interview; but now he was aware that it had suddenly +taken the form of an overmastering desire for possession. He was by +nature an impulsive man, but he was a man of the world as well, and +he had his impulses pretty well subordinated to interest and +common-sense; nevertheless he felt very much like doing a rash and +impulsive thing at the present moment. He was a man of rapid thought, +and these reflections chased each other through his mind much more +quickly than I have been able to take them down, and Miss Penrhyn +had averted her gaze and was playing nervously with some flowers in +a basket on a pedestal beside her. She was acutely aware that she had +made a fool of herself, and imagined that his hesitation was due to +a polite desire to arrange his reply in such wise as not to make his +appreciation of the fact too crudely apparent. At the same time she +was a little exhausted under the reaction of a short but very severe +mental strain. As for Dartmouth, he hesitated a moment longer. He was +balancing several pros and cons very rapidly. He was aware that if he +asked this girl to marry him and she consented, he must, as a man of +honor, abide by the contract, no matter how much she might disappoint +him hereafter. At the same time the knowledge that he was in love +with her was growing more distinct every second. Doubtless the wisest +course would be to go away for the present and postpone any decisive +step until he knew her better. But he was not a patient man, and he +was not in the habit of putting off until to-morrow what he could do +to-day. (He considered that certain of the precepts instilled during +childhood were of admirable practical value). The best thing in life +was its morning: he did not like evening shadows and autumn twilights. +There was nothing that could compare with the sweetness and fineness +of the flavor of novelty. When it was practicable to take advantage +of one's impulses one had a brief draught of true philosopher's +happiness. And, at all events, this girl was a lady, high-born, +high-bred, intellectual, and unique. She was also plastic, and if she +had a somewhat too high-strung nature, love had been known to work +wonders before. He had mastered the difficult art of controlling +himself; he was not afraid of not being able to control any woman who +loved him. He went over to her and took her hands in his strong clasp. + +"I have known you a very short--" he began, and then paused abruptly. + +He had meant to speak calmly and not frighten her by the suddenness +of his love-making, but her touch fired him and sent the blood to his +head. He flung down her hands, and throwing his arms about her, kissed +her full on the mouth. The girl turned very white and tried to free +herself, but his arms were too strong, and in a moment she ceased to +resist. She made no attempt to define her feelings as Dartmouth had +done. She had felt the young man's remarkable magnetism the moment she +had met him: she had been aware of a certain prophetic instinct of it +some hours before, when he had stood in the window of a crowded café +above a crowded thoroughfare and speculatively returned her gaze. +And the night before, she had gone home with a very sharply outlined +consciousness that she would never again meet a man who would interest +her so deeply. To-day, this feeling had developed into one of strong +reciprocal sympathy, and he had exerted a psychological influence over +her as vaguely delightful as it was curious and painful. But all this +was no preparation for the sudden tumult of feeling which possessed +her under his kiss. She knew that it was love; and, that it had come +to her without warning, made the knowledge no less keen and sure. +Her first impulse was to resist, but purely out of that pride which +forbids a woman to yield too soon; and when his physical strength made +her powerless, she was glad that it should be so. + +"Will you marry me?" he asked. + +"Yes" she said; "I will marry you." + + + + +PART II. + +THE DISCORD. + +I. + + +Two weeks later Dartmouth had followed Weir Penrhyn to Wales. He had +written to her father at once, and Sir Iltyd had informed him in reply +that although aware of his rank and private fortune, through Lady +Langdon's intimation, and although possessing a high regard and esteem +for his father, still it was impossible for him to give any definite +answer until he had known him personally, and he therefore invited +him to come as soon as it pleased him and pay Rhyd-Alwyn a visit. Weir +accordingly, and much to Lady Langdon's disgust, had returned to Wales +at once; Dartmouth insisted upon an early marriage, and the longer +they delayed obtaining Sir Iltyd's consent the longer must the wedding +be postponed. + +Dartmouth arrived late in the afternoon at Rhyd-Alwyn--a great pile of +gray towers of the Norman era and half in ruins. He did not meet Sir +Iltyd until a few minutes before dinner was announced, but he saw Weir +for a moment before he went up-stairs to dress for dinner. His room +was in one of the towers, and as he entered it he had the pleasurable +feeling, which Weir so often induced, of stepping back into a dead and +gone century. It looked as if unnumbered generations of Penrhyns had +slept there since the hand of the furnisher had touched it. The hard, +polished, ascetic-looking floor was black with age; the tapestry on +the walls conveyed but a suggestion of what its pattern and color had +been; a huge four-posted bed heavily shrouded with curtains stood +in the centre of the room, and there were a number of heavy, carved +pieces of furniture whose use no modern Penrhyn would pretend to +explain. The vaulted ceiling was panelled, and the windows were +narrow and long and high. Sufficient light found its way through them, +however, to dress by, and there was a bright log-fire in the open +fire-place. + +"Jones," said Dartmouth, after he had admiringly examined the details +of the room and was getting into his clothes, "just throw those +curtains up over the roof of that bed. I like the antique, but I don't +care to be smothered. Give me my necktie, and look out for the bed +before you forget it." + +Jones looked doubtfully up at the canopy. "That is pretty 'igh, sir," +he said. "Hif I can find a step-ladder--" + +"A step-ladder in a Welsh castle! The ante-deluge Penrhyns would turn +in their graves, or to be correct, in their family vaults. No true +Welsh noble is guilty of departing from the creed of his ancestors to +the tune of domestic comforts. It is fortunate a man does not have +to marry his wife's castle as well as herself. Get up on to that +cabinet--it is twice as high as yourself--and you can manage the +curtains quite easily." + +Jones with some difficulty succeeded in moving the tall piece of +furniture designated to the bed-side; then with the help of a chair he +climbed to the top of it. He caught one of the tender-looking curtains +carefully between his hands, and was about to throw it over the +canopy, shutting his eyes and his mouth to exclude the possible dust, +when the cabinet beneath him suddenly groaned, swayed, and the next +moment there was a heavy crash, and he was groaning in the midst of +a dozen antique fragments. Harold sprang forward in some alarm and +picked him up. "By Jove!" he exclaimed, "I am afraid you are hurt; and +what a row I have made! I might have known better than to tell you to +trust your weight on that old thing." + +Jones shook himself slowly, extended his arms and legs, announced +himself unhurt, and Dartmouth gave his attention to the cabinet. "I +shall have to initiate myself in my prospective father-in-law's good +graces by announcing myself a spoiler of his household goods," he +exclaimed, ruefully. "And a handsome old thing like that, too; it is +a shame!" He thrust his hands into his pockets and continued looking +down at the ruins with a quizzical smile on his face. + +"By every law of romance and of precedent," he thought, "I ought to +find in that cabinet the traditional packet of old letters which would +throw a flood of light upon some dark and tragic mystery. Else why did +I tell Jones to stand upon that particular cabinet instead of that one +over there, which looks as if iron hammers could not break it; and why +did Jones blindly obey me? That it should be meaningless chance is +too flat to be countenanced. I should find the long lost Mss. of that +rhymer who took possession of me that night, and so save myself the +discomfort of being turned into a Temple of Fame a second time. Truly +there has been an element of the unusual throughout this whole affair +with Weir. Once or twice I have felt as if about to sail out of the +calm, prosaic waters of this every-day nineteenth-century life, +and embark upon the phosphorescent sea of our sensational +novelists--psychological, so-called. It is rather soon for the +cabinet to break, however. It suggests an anti-climax, which would be +inartistic. But such material was never intended to be thrown away by +a hero of romance." + +He kicked about among the fragments of the ruined cabinet, but was +rewarded by no hollow ring. It was a most undutifully matter-of-fact +and prosaic piece of furniture in its interior, however much it may +have pleased the æsthetic sense outwardly. He gave it up after a time, +and finished dressing. "Nothing in that but firewood," he announced to +Jones, who had been watching his researches with some surprise. "Pile +it up in a corner and leave it there until I have made my peace with +Sir Iltyd." + +He gave his necktie a final touch, then went down to the drawing-room, +where he found the candles lit and Sir Iltyd standing on the hearth-rug +beside his daughter. The old gentleman came forward at once and +greeted him with stately, old-fashioned courtesy, his stern, somewhat +sad features relaxing at once under Dartmouth's rare charm of manner. +He was a fine-looking man, tall and slim like his daughter, but very +fair. His head, well developed, but by no means massive, and scantily +covered with gray hair, was carried with the pride which was the bone +and fibre of his nature. Pride, in fact, albeit a gentle, chastened +sort of pride, was written all over him, from the haughty curve of his +eyebrow to the conscious wave of his small, delicate hand--pride, and +love for his daughter, for he followed her every movement with the +adoring eyes of a man for the one solace of a sad and lonely old age. + +"It is so awfully good of you to let me come up here so soon," +exclaimed Dartmouth. "But what do you suppose I have done to prove my +gratitude?" + +"Made the castle your own, I hope." + +"I have. I proceeded at once to make myself at home by smashing up +the furniture. One of your handsomest cabinets is now in ruins upon my +bedroom floor." + +Sir Iltyd looked at him with a somewhat puzzled glance. He had lived +in seclusion for nearly thirty years, and was unaccustomed to the +facetiousness of the modern youth. "Has anything happened?" he +demanded anxiously. + +Dartmouth smiled, but gave an account of the disaster in unadorned +English, and received forgiveness at once. Had he confessed to having +chopped his entire tower to pieces, Sir Iltyd would have listened +without a tightening of the lips, and with the air of a man about to +invite his guest to make a bonfire of the castle if so it pleased him. +As for Weir, her late education made her appreciate the humor of the +situation, and she smiled sympathetically at Harold over her father's +shoulder. + +They went into dinner a few moments later, and Sir Iltyd talked a +good deal. Although a man of somewhat narrow limitations and one-sided +views, as was but natural, taking into consideration the fact that his +mental horizon had not been widened out by contact with his +fellow-men for twenty-five years, he was, for a recluse, surprisingly +well-informed upon the topics of the day. Dartmouth could not forbear +making some allusion to the apparent paradox, and his host smiled and +told him that as history had been his favorite study all his life, he +could hardly be so inconsistent as to ignore the work which his more +active contemporaries were making for the future chronicler. He +then drew from Dartmouth a detailed account of that restless young +gentleman's political experience in Russia, and afterward questioned +him somewhat minutely about the American form of government. He seemed +to be pleased with the felicity of expression and the well-stored mind +of his would-be son-in-law, and lingered at the table longer than was +his habit. There were no formalities at Rhyd-Alwyn. Weir remained +with them, and when her father finally rose and went over to the +hearth-rug, as if loth to leave the society of the young people, she +went and stood beside him. He laid his arm across her shoulders, then +turned to Dartmouth with a sigh. "You would take her from me," he +said, sadly, "do you know that you will leave me to a very lonely +life?" + +"Oh, you will see enough of us," replied Harold, promptly. "We shall +be back and forth all the time. And Crumford Hall, I can assure you, +is not a bad place to come to for the shooting." + +Sir Iltyd shook his head: "I could not live out of Wales," he said; +"and I have not slept under another roof for a quarter of a century. +But it is good of you to say you would not mind coming once in a while +to this lonely old place, and it would make the separation easier to +bear." + +He left them shortly after, and as he took Harold's hand in +good-night, he retained it a moment with an approving smile, then +passed a characteristic Welsh criticism: "It is a small hand," he +said, "and a very well-shaped hand; and your feet, too. I am willing +to acknowledge to you that I am weak enough to have a horror of large +hands and feet. Good-night. I have to thank you for a very pleasant +evening." + + + + +II. + + +"Harold," said Weir, the next morning after breakfast, as the door +closed behind Sir Iltyd, "I shall entertain you until luncheon by +showing you the castle." + +"My dear girl," said Harold, smiling, "let your role of hostess sit +lightly upon you. I do not want to be entertained. I am perfectly +happy." + +"Of that I have no doubt. Nevertheless I want you to see the castle, +particularly the picture-gallery, where all my ancestors be." + +"Then, by my troth, will I go, fair Mistress Penrhyn, for a goodly +show your ancestors be, I make no doubt;" and Dartmouth plunged his +hands into his pockets and looked down at her with a broad smile. + +Weir lifted her head. "My English is quite as pure as yours," she +said. "And you certainly cannot accuse me of using what the London +girls call 'slang.'" + +This time Dartmouth laughed aloud. "No, my dear," he said, "not even +Shakespearean slang. But let us investigate the mysteries of the castle +by all means. Lead, and I will follow." + +"There are no mysteries," said Weir; "we have not even a ghost. Nor +have we a murder, or crime of any sort, to make us blush for our +family tree." + +"Happy tree! Mine has a blush for every twig, and a drop curtain for +every branch. Thank God for the Penrhyn graft! Let us hope that +it will do as much good as its fairest flower has already done the +degenerate scion of all the Dartmouths. But, to the castle! I would +get through--I mean, I would gaze upon its antiquities as soon as +possible." + +"This castle is very interesting, Mr. Dartmouth," replied Weir, +elevating her chin; "you have nothing so old in England." + +"True, nor yet in Jerusalem, O haughtiest of Welsh maidens! I esteem +it a favor that I am not put below the salt." + +Weir laughed. "What a tease you are! But you know that in your heart +your pride of family is as great as mine. Only it is the 'fad' of +the day to affect to despise birth and lineage. We of Wales are more +honest." + +"Yes, it is your sign and seal, and it sits well upon you. I don't +affect to despise birth and lineage, my dear. If I could not trace +my ancestry back to the first tadpole who loafed his life away in the +tropical forests of old, I should be miserable." + +He spoke jestingly, but he drew himself up as he spoke, his lip was +supercilious, and there was an intolerant light in his eye. At that +moment he did not look a promising subject for the Liberal side of the +House, avowedly as were his sympathies in that quarter. Weir, however, +gave him an approving smile, and then commanded him to follow her. + +She took him over the castle, from the dungeons below to the cell-like +rooms in the topmost towers. She led him through state bedrooms, +in which had slept many a warlike Welsh prince, whose bones could +scarcely be in worse order than the magnificence which once had +sheltered them. She piloted him down long galleries with arcades on +one side, like a cloister, and a row of rooms on the other wherein the +retainers of ancient princes of the house of Penrhyn had been wont to +rest their thews after a hard day's fight. She slid back panels and +conducted him up by secret ways to gloomy rooms, thick with cobwebs, +where treasure had been hid, and heads too loyal to a fallen king had +alone felt secure on their trunks. She led him to chambers hung with +tapestries wrought by fair, forgotten grandmothers, who over their +work had dreamed their eventless lives away. She showed him the +chapel, impressive in its ancient Norman simplicity and in its ruin, +and the great smoke-begrimed banqueting-hall, where wassails had been +held, and beauty had thought her lord a beast. + +"Well," she demanded, as they paused at length on the threshold of the +picture-gallery, "what do you think of my father's castle?" + +"Your father's castle is the most consistent thing I have seen for +a long time: it is an artistically correct setting for your father's +daughter. The chain of evolution is without a missing link. And +what is better, the last link is uncorroded with the rust of modern +conventions. Seriously, your castle is the most romantic I have ever +seen. The nineteenth century is forgotten, and I am a belted Knight of +Merrie England who has stormed your castle and won you by his prowess. +You stood in your window, high up in your tower, and threw me a rose, +while your father stalked about the ramparts and swore that my bones +should whiten on the beach. I raised the rose to my lips, dashed +across the drawbridge, and hurled my lance at the gates. About my head +a shower of barbs and bullets fell, but I heeded them not. Behind me +thundered my retainers, and under their onslaught the mighty gates +gave way with a crash, and the castle was ours! We trampled into +the great hall, making it ring with our shouts and the clash of our +shields. Your father's men fled before us, but he calmly descended the +staircase and confronted us with his best Welsh stare. 'I fear ye not, +villains,' he cried. 'Barbarians, English dogs! I defy ye. Do your +worst. My daughter and I for death care not. The mighty house of +Istyn-ap-Dafyd-ap-Owain-ap-Caradoc-ap-Iltyd-ap-Penrhyn knoweth not +fear of living man, nor yet of death's mysterious charnel-house.' +'Wrong me not, gentle sir,' I cried, snatching off my helmet +and trailing its plumes upon the floor; 'I come in love, not +in destruction. Give me but thy daughter, O +Dafyd-ap-Owain-ap-Istyn-ap-Caradoc-ap-Iltyd-ap-Penrhyn, and thy castle +and thy lands, thy rocks and thy sea, are thine again, even as were +they before the beauty of the Lady Weir turned my blood to lava and +my heart to a seething volcano. Give me but thy daughter's hand, and +wealth shall flow into thy coffers, and the multitude of thy retainers +shall carry terror to the heart of thy foe. What say ye, my Lord +Caradoc-ap-Owain-ap-etcetera?' Whereupon the lord of Rhyd-Alwyn unbent +his haughty brows, and placing one narrow, white, and shapely hand +upon my blood-stained baldric, spoke as follows: 'Well said, young +Briton. Spoken like a brave knight and an honorable gentleman. My +daughter thou shalt have, my son thou shalt be, thy friends shall be +my friends, and thou and all of them shall be baptized Welshmen.' And +then he himself re-ascended the staircase and sought you in your tower +and led you down and placed your hand in mine. And the drums beat, and +the shields clashed, and once more the mighty storm shook the rooks +from the roof. But we heard it not, for on your finger I had placed +the betrothal ring, then thrown my brawny arms about you and forgot +that earth existed. Excuse my eloquence," he cried, as he lifted her +up and kissed her, "but your castle and yourself are inspiring." + +"That was all very charming, however," she said, "if you only had +not such a reprehensible way of jumping from the sublime to the +ridiculous, like a meteor from world to world." + +"Prettily said, sweetheart. But, trust me, if I ever reach the sublime +I will stay there. Now, to your ancestors! Great heaven! what an +array!" + +They had entered a long, narrow room, against whose dark background +stood out darker canvasses of an army of now celestial Penrhyns; an +army whose numbers would have been a morning's task to count. The +ancient Penrhyns had been princes, like most of their ilk; and the +titles which Weir glibly recited, and the traditions of valor and +achievement which she had at her tongue's end, finally wrung from +Dartmouth a cry for mercy. + +"My dear girl!" he exclaimed, "keep the rest for another day. Those +'aps' are buzzing in my ears like an army of infuriated gnats, and +those mighty deeds are so much alike--who is that?" + +He left her side abruptly and strode down the gallery to a picture +at the end, and facing the room. It was the full-length, life-size +portrait of a woman with gown and head-dress in the style of the First +Empire. One tiny, pointed foot was slightly extended from beneath +the white gown, and--so perfect had been the skill of the artist--she +looked as if about to step from the canvas to greet her guests. + +"That is my grandmother, Sionèd, wife of Dafyd-ap-Penrhyn, who, I +would have you know, was one of the most famous diplomatists of his +day," said Weir, who had followed, and stood beside him. "She was the +daughter of the proudest earl in Wales--but I spare you his titles. I +am exactly like her, am I not? It is the most remarkable resemblance +which has ever occurred in the family." + +"Yes," said Dartmouth, "you are like her." He plunged his hands into +his pockets and stared at the floor, drawing his brows together. Then +he turned suddenly to Weir. "I have seen that woman before," he said. +"That is the reason why I thought it was your face which was familiar. +I must have seen your grandmother when I was a very young child. I +have forgotten the event, but I could never forget such a face." + +"But Harold," said Weir, elevating her brows "It is quite impossible +you could ever have seen my grandmother. She died when papa was a +little boy." + +"Are you sure?" + +"Quite sure. I have often heard him say he had no memory whatever of +his mother. And grandpapa would never talk with him about her. He was +a terribly severe old man, they say--he died long years before I was +born--but he must have loved my grandmother very much, for he could +not bear to hear her name, and he never came to the castle after her +death." + +"It is strange," said Harold, musingly, "but I have surely seen that +face before." + +He looked long at the beautiful, life-like picture before him. It +was marvellously like Weir in form and feature and coloring. But the +expression was sad, the eyes were wistful, and the whole face was +that, not of a woman who had lived, but of a woman who knew that out +of her life had passed the power to live did she bow her knee to the +Social Decalogue. As Weir stood, with her bright, eager, girlish face +upheld to the woman out of whose face the girlish light had forever +gone, the resemblance and the contrast were painfully striking. + +"I love her!" exclaimed Weir, "and whenever I come in here I always +kiss her hand." She went forward and pressed her lips lightly to the +canvas, while Dartmouth stood with his eyes fastened upon the face +whose gaze seemed to meet his own and--soften--and invite-- + +He stepped forward suddenly as Weir drew back. "She fascinates me, +also," he said, with a half laugh. "I, too, will kiss her hand." + + + + +III. + + +With the exception of the time spent in the dining-room, the young +people saw little of Sir Iltyd. That he liked Dartmouth and enjoyed +his society were facts he did not pretend to disguise. But the habits +of years were too strong, and he always wandered back to his books. He +did not trouble himself about proprieties. Weir had grown up and ruled +the castle all these years without a chaperon, and he had lived out +of the world too long to suggest the advisability of one now. His +daughter and her lover experienced no yearning for supervision, and +the free, untrammelled life was a very pleasant one, particularly to +Dartmouth, who always gave to novelty its just meed of appreciation. +At this period, in fact, Dartmouth's frame of mind left nothing to be +desired. In the first place, it was a delightful experience to find +himself able to stand the uninterrupted society of one woman from +morning till night, day after day, without a suggestion of fatigue. +And in the second, he found her a charming study. It is true that he +was very much in love, very sincerely and passionately in love; but +at the same time, his brain had been trained through too many years to +the habit of analysis; he could no more help studying Weir and drawing +her on to reveal herself than he could help loving her. She was not a +difficult problem to solve, individual as she was, because she was so +natural. Her experience with the world had been too brief to give her +an opportunity to encase herself in any shell which would not fall +from her at the first reaction to primitive conditions; and above all, +she was in love. + +In the love of a woman there is always a certain element of +childishness, which has a reflex, if but temporary action upon her +whole nature. The phenomenon is due partly to the fact that she is +under the dominant influence of a wholly natural instinct, partly to +the fact that the object of her love is of stronger make than herself, +mentally, spiritually, and physically. This sense of dependence and +weakness, and, consequently, of extreme youth, remains until she +has children. Then, under the influence of peculiarly strong +responsibilities, she gives her youth to them, and with it the +plasticity of her nature. + +At present Weir was in the stage where she analyzed herself for her +lover's benefit, and confided to him every sensation she had ever +experienced; and he encouraged her. He had frequently encouraged other +women to do the same thing, and in each case, after the first few +chapters, he had found it a good deal of a bore. The moment a woman +falls in love, that moment she becomes an object of paramount interest +in her own eyes. All her life she has regarded herself from the +outside; her wants and needs have been purely objective; consequently +she has not known herself, and her spiritual nature has claimed but +little of her attention. But under the influence of love she plunges +into herself, as it were, and her life for the time being is purely +subjective. She broadens, expands, develops, concentrates; and her +successive evolutions are a perpetual source of delight and absorbing +study. Moreover, her sense of individuality grows and flourishes, +and becomes so powerful that she is unalterably certain--until it is +over--that her experience is an isolated and wholly remarkable +one. Naturally she must talk to someone; she is teeming with her +discoveries, her excursions into the heretofore unexplored depths +of human nature; the necessity for a confidant is not one to be +withstood, and who so natural or understanding a confidant as her +lover? If the lover be a clever man and an analyst, he is profoundly +interested at first, particularly if she have some trick of mind which +gives her, or seems to give her, the smack of individuality. If he be +a true lover, and a man with any depth of feeling and of mind, he +does not tire, of course; but otherwise he eventually becomes either +oppressed or frightened; he either wishes that women would not take +themselves so seriously and forget to be amusing, or her belief in her +peculiar and absolute originality communicates itself to him, and he +does not feel equal to handling and directing so remarkable a passion. + +There was no question about the strength and verity of Dartmouth's +love for Weir, and he had yet to be daunted by anything in life; +consequently he found his present course of psychological research +without flaw. Moreover, the quaintness of her nature pervaded all +her ideas. She had an old-fashioned simplicity and directness which, +combined with a charming quality of mind and an unusual amount of +mental development, gave her that impress of originality which he had +recognized and been attracted by. He was gratified also to find that +the old-time stateliness, almost primness, which had been to him +from the first her chiefest exterior charm did not disappear with +association. She might sit on a rock muffled to her ears in furs, and +with her feet dangling in the air, and yet manage to look as dignified +as a duchess. She might race with him on horseback and clamber down a +cliff with the thoughtlessness of a child, but she always looked as +if she had been brought up on a chessboard. Dartmouth used to tell her +that her peculiarly erect carriage and lofty fashion of carrying her +head gave her the effect of surveillance over an invisible crown with +an unreliable fit, and that she stepped like the maiden in the fairy +tale who was obliged to walk upon peas. He made a tin halo one day, +and put it suddenly on her head when her back was turned, and she +avenged herself by wearing it until he went down on his knees and +begged her to take it off. When she sat in her carved high-back chair +at the head of her father's table, with the deep collar and cuffs +of linen and heavy lace to which she was addicted, and her dark, +sensuous, haughty, tender face motionless for the moment, against the +dark background of the leather, she looked like a Vandyke; and at such +times Dartmouth's artistic nature was keenly responsive, and he forgot +to chaff. + + + + +IV. + + +Dartmouth had been at Rhyd-Alwyn two weeks, when Sir Iltyd turned +to him one night as he was leaving the dining-room and asked him to +follow him into the library for a few moments. + +"I feel quite alarmed," said Harold to Weir, as the door closed behind +her father. "Do you suppose he is going to tell me that I do not give +satisfaction?" + +"Harold!" exclaimed Weir, reprovingly, "I wish you would not talk as +if you were a butler; you look much more dignified than you ever talk. +You look like an English nobleman, and you talk like any ordinary +young man about town." + +"My dearest girl, would you have me a Sir Charles Grandison? The +English nobleman of your imagination is the gentleman who perambulates +the pages of Miss Burney's novels. The present species and the young +man about town are synonymous animals." + +"There you are again! You always make me laugh; I cannot help that; +but I wish you would do yourself justice, nevertheless. You may not +know it, but if you would only put on a ruff and satin doublet and +hose and wig, and all the rest of it, you would look exactly like one +of the courtiers of the court of Queen Elizabeth. You are a perfect +type of the English aristocrat." + +"My dear Lady Jane Grey, if you had been an American girl, you would +have said a perfect gentleman, and I should never have spoken to you +again. As a matter of fact, I always feel it a sort of sacrilege that +I do not address you in blank verse; only my attempts thereat are +so very bad. But it is never too late to mend. We will read Pope +together, Shakespeare, and all the rest of the old boys. We will +saturate our minds with their rhythm, and we will thereafter +communicate in stately phrase and rolling periods." + +"It would be a great deal better than slang and 'facetiousness,' as +you call it. That is all very well for Lord Bective Hollington; it +suits him; but you should aim at a higher standard." + +Dartmouth, who was standing by the chimney-piece near the chair on +which she was sitting, put his hand under her chin and raised her +face, smiling quizzically as he did so. + +"My dear child," he said, "you are too clever to fall into the common +error of women, and idealize your lover. The tendency is a constituent +part of the feminine nature, it is true. The average woman will +idealize the old tweed coat on her lover's back. But your eyes are too +clear for that sort of thing. I am a very ordinary young man, my dear. +Becky is twice as clever--" + +"He is not!" burst in Weir, indignantly. "A man who can do nothing but +chaff and joke and talk witty nonsense!" + +"If you knew him better you would know that under all that persiflage +there is much depth of feeling and passion. I do not claim any unusual +amount of intellectuality for him, but he has a wonderful supply of +hard common-sense, and remarkably quick perceptions. And I have great +respect for his judgment." + +"That may be," said Weir, indifferently; "I care nothing about him." +She rose and stood in front of him and leaned her elbows on his +shoulders. "You may underrate yourself, if you like," she went on, +"but I know that you are capable of accomplishing anything you wish, +and of distinguishing yourself. I recall the conversations I have had +with you in your serious moments, if you do not, and I expect you to +be a great man yet." + +Dartmouth flung his cigar impatiently into the fire. "My dear girl, +my grandmother preached that same thing to me from the day I was old +enough to reason, to the day she died. But I tell you, Weir, I have +not got it in me. I have the ambition and the desire--yes; but no +marked ability of any sort. Some day, when we are ready to settle +down, I will write, and publish what I write. Men will grant me a +certain standing as a thinker, I believe, and perhaps they will also +give me credit for a certain nice use of words; I have made a study of +literary style all my life. But that is the most I shall ever attain. +I am not a man of any genius or originality, and you may as well make +up your mind to the inevitable at once." + +"Harold," said Weir, without taking the slightest notice of his +outburst, "do you remember that extraordinary experience of yours that +night in Paris? I believe you have the soul of a poet in you, only as +yet your brain hasn't got it under control. Did you ever read the life +of Alfieri? He experienced the same desire to write, over and over +again, but could accomplish nothing until after he was thirty. +Disraeli illustrated his struggles for speech in 'Contarini Fleming' +most graphically, you remember." + +"Neither Alfieri nor Contarini Fleming ever had any such experience as +mine. Their impulse to write was not only a mental concept as well as +a spiritual longing, but it was abiding. I never really experienced +a desire to write poetry except on that night. I have occasionally +wished that I had the ability, but common-sense withheld me from +brooding over the impossible. The experience of that night is one +which can be explained by no ordinary methods. I can make nothing +of it, and for that reason I prefer not to speak of it. I abominate +mysteries." + +"Well," she said, "some day I believe it will be explained. I believe +it was nothing more than an extraordinarily strong impulse to write, +and that you exaggerate it into the supernatural as you look back upon +it. I did not think so when you first told me; you were so dramatic +that you carried me off my feet, and I was an actor in the scene. But +that is the way I look at it now, and I believe I am correct." + +"It may be," said Dartmouth, moodily, "but I hope it won't affect me +that way again, that is all." He caught her suddenly to him and kissed +her. "Let us be contented as we are," he said. "Ambition is love's +worst enemy. Geniuses do not make their wives happy." + +"They do when their wives understand and are in absolute sympathy with +them," she said, returning his caress; "and that I should always be +with you. But do not imagine that I am in love with the idea of your +being a famous man. I care nothing for fame in itself. It is only that +I believe you to be capable of great things, and that you would be +happier if they were developed." + +"Well, well," he said, laughing; "have your own way, as you will in +spite of me. If ever the divine fire lays me in ashes, you may triumph +in your predictions. But I must go and interview your father; I have +kept him waiting too long already." + +They went out into the hall, and Dartmouth left her there and went to +the library. Sir Iltyd was sitting before a large table, reading by +the light of a student's lamp, which looked like an anachronism in +the lofty, ancient room. He closed his book as Dartmouth entered, and +rising, waved his hand toward a chair on the other side of the table. + +"Will you sit down?" he said; "I should like to have a little talk +with you." + +Dartmouth obeyed, and waited for the old gentleman to introduce the +subject. Sir Iltyd continued in a moment, taking up a small book and +bringing it down lengthwise on the desk at regular intervals while he +spoke: + +"Of course, you must know, Harold, that it has not taken me two weeks +to discover my personal feelings toward you. I should have liked or +disliked you on the first evening we met, and, as a matter of fact, my +sensations towards you have undergone no change since that night. If +it had happened that I disliked you, I should not have allowed the +fact to bias my judgment as to whether or not you were a suitable +husband for my daughter, but it would not have taken me two weeks +to make up my mind. As it is I have merely delayed my consent as an +unnecessary formality; but perhaps the time has come to say in so many +words that I shall be very glad to give my daughter to you." + +"Thank you," said Dartmouth. The words sounded rather bald, but it +was an unusual situation, and he did not know exactly what to say. +Something more was evidently expected of him, however, and he plunged +in recklessly: "I am sure I need not say that I am highly honored +by your regard and your confidence, nor protest that you will never +regret it. To tell you that I loved Weir with all my heart would be +trite, and perhaps it is also unnecessary to add that I am not a man +of 'veering passions'--that is, of course when my heart is engaged as +well." + +Sir Iltyd smiled. "I should imagine that the last clause was added +advisedly. I was a man of the world myself in my young days, and +I recognize one in you. Judging from your physiognomy and general +personality I should say that you have loved a good many women, and +have lived in the widest sense of the word." + +"Well--yes," admitted Dartmouth, with a laugh. "That sort of thing +leaves a man's heart untouched, however." + +"It may, and I am willing to believe that you have given your heart to +Weir for good and all." + +"I think I have," said Dartmouth. + +And then the question of settlements was broached, and when it had +been satisfactorily arranged, Dartmouth lingered a few moments longer +in conversation with his host, and then rose to go. Sir Iltyd rose +also and walked with him to the door. + +"Do you mind our being married in a month?" asked Dartmouth, as they +crossed the room. "That will give Weir all the time she wants, and we +should like to spend the spring in Rome." + +"Very well; let it be in a month. I cannot see that the date is of any +importance; only do not forget me in the summer." + +"Oh, no," said Dartmouth; "we expect you to harbor us off and on all +the year around." + +And then Sir Iltyd opened the door and bowed with his old-time +courtier-like dignity, and Dartmouth passed out and into the hall. + + + + +V. + + +He found Weir kneeling on the hearth-rug. The hall was an immense +place with a vaulted ceiling upheld by massive beams; the walls were +wainscotted almost to the top with oak which had been polished for +many a century; and the floor, polished also, was covered with rugs +which had been very handsome in their day. There were several superb +suits of armor and a quantity of massive, carved oaken furniture, +extremely uncomfortable but very picturesque. In the open fire-place, +which would have held many more than Harold and Weir within its +depths, great logs were burning. The lamps had been brought in but +had not been turned up, and save for the firelight the great cathedral +apartment was a thicket of shadows, out of which the steel warriors +gleamed, menacing guardians of the girl. + +Weir made a pretty picture kneeling on the hearth-rug, with the +fire-light playing on her dark face and pliant figure, in its +closely-fitting black gown, throwing golden flickers on her hair, +and coquetting with the lanterns in her eyes. She rose as Dartmouth +approached, and he gave her one of his brilliant, satisfied smiles. + +"We are to be married a month from to-day," he said. "A month from +to-day and we shall be knocking about Europe and pining for English +civilization." He drew her down on the cushioned seat that ran along +the wall by the chimney-piece. "We cannot go out to-night; there is a +storm coming up. Ah, did I not tell you?" as a gust of wind shrieked +and rattled the sash. + +She gave a little shiver and drew closer to him. "I hate a storm," she +said. "It always brings back--" she stopped abruptly. + +"Brings back what?" + +"Nothing," hastily. "So father has given his consent? But I knew he +would. I knew he liked you the moment you met; and when he alluded +that night to your small hands and feet I knew that the cause was won. +Had they been at fault, nothing could have persuaded him that you did +not have a broad river of red blood in you somewhere, and he never +would have approved of you had you been the monarch of a kingdom." + +Dartmouth smiled. "The men at college used to laugh at my hands, until +I nearly choked one of them to death one day, after which they never +laughed at them again. There is no doubt now about my having been +destined at birth for a Welsh maiden, and equipped accordingly. But +you know your father pretty thoroughly." + +"I have lived alone with him so long that I can almost read his mind, +and I certainly know his peculiarities." + +"It must have been a terribly lonely life for you. How old were you +when your mother died?" + +She moved with the nervous motion habitual to her whenever her +mother's name was mentioned. "I was about nine," she said. + +"_Nine_? And yet you remember nothing of her? Weir, it is impossible +that you cannot remember her." + +"I do not remember her," she said. + +"I saw her picture in the library to-night. She must have been very +beautiful, but like you only in being dark. Otherwise, there is not a +trace of resemblance. But surely you must remember her, Weir; you are +joking. I can remember when I was four years of age perfectly, and +many things that happened." + +"I remember nothing that happened before I was nine years old," she +said. + +He bent down suddenly and looked into her face. "Weir, what do you +mean? There is always an uncomfortable suggestion of mystery whenever +one speaks of your mother or your childhood. What is the reason you +cannot remember? Did you have brain fever, and when you recovered, +find your mind a blank? Such things have happened." + +"No," she said, desperately, as if she had nerved herself for an +effort. "That was not it. I have often wanted to tell you, but I +cannot bear to speak of it. The old horror always comes back when +I think of it. But I feel that I ought to tell you before we are +married, and I will do so now since we are speaking of it. I did not +have brain fever, but when I was nine years old--I died." + +"You what?" + +"Yes, it is true. They called it catalepsy, a trance; but it was not; +I was really dead. I was thrown from a horse a few months after my +mother's death, and killed instantly. They laid me in the family +vault, but my father had ice put about me and would not have me +covered, and went every hour to see me, as he told me afterward. I +remember nothing; and they say that when people are in a trance they +are conscious of everything that passes around them. I knew nothing +until one night I suddenly opened my eyes and looked about me. It was +just such a night as this, only in mid-winter; the wind was howling +and shrieking, and the terrible gusts shook the vault in which I lay. +The ocean roared like thunder, and I could hear it hurl itself in its +fury against the rocks at the foot of the castle. A lamp was burning +at my feet, and by its flickering light I could see in their niches +on every side of me the long lines of dead who had lain there for +centuries. And I was alone with them, locked in with them; no living +creature within call! And I was so deathly cold. There was a great +block of ice on my chest, and slabs of it were packed about my limbs +so tightly that I could not move. I could only feel that horrible, +glassy cold which I knew had frozen the marrow in my bones and turned +my blood to jelly; and the pain of it was something which I have no +words to describe. I tried to call out, but the ice was on my chest, +and I could hardly breathe. Then for a moment I lay trying to collect +my thoughts. I did not know where I was. I did not know that I was in +the vault of my ancestors. I only felt that I had been wandering and +wandering in some dim, far-off land looking for someone I could never +find, and that suddenly I had come into another world and found rest. +But although I did not know that I was in the vault at Rhyd-Alwyn, and +that my name was Weir Penrhyn, I knew that I was laid out as a corpse, +and that the dead were about me. Child as I was, it seemed to me that +I must go frantic with the horror of the thing, stretched out in that +ghastly place, a storm roaring about me, bound hand and foot, unable +to cry for help. I think that if I had been left there all night I +should have died again or lost my mind, but in a moment I heard a +noise at the grating and men's voices. + +"'I must go in and see her once more,' I heard a strange voice say. +'It seems cruelty to leave her alone in this storm.' And then a +man came in and bent over me. In a moment he called sharply, +'Madoc!--bring me the light.' And then another man came, and I looked +up into two strange, eager, almost terrified faces. I heard incoherent +and excited voices, then the ice was dashed off my chest and I was +caught up in a pair of strong arms and borne swiftly to the house. +They took me to a great blazing fire and wrapped me in blankets and +poured hot drinks down my throat, and soon that terrible chill began +to leave me and the congealed blood in my veins to thaw. And in a few +days I was as well as ever again. But I remembered no one. I had to +become acquainted with them all as with the veriest strangers. I had +the natural intelligence of my years, but nothing more. Between the +hour of my soul's flight from its body and that of its return it had +been robbed of every memory. I remembered neither my mother nor any +incident of my childhood. I could not find my way over the castle, +and the rocks on which I had lived since infancy were strangers to me. +Everything was a blank up to the hour when I opened my eyes and found +myself between the narrow walls of a coffin." + +"Upon my word!" exclaimed Dartmouth. "Why, you are a regular heroine +of a sensational novel." + +Weir sprang to her feet and struck her hands fiercely together, +her eyes blazing. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself," she +cried, passionately. "Can you never be serious? Must you joke about +everything? I believe you will find something to laugh at in the +marriage service. That thing I have told you is the most serious and +horrible experience of my life, and yet you treat it as if I were +acting a part in a melodrama in a third-rate theatre! Sometimes I +think I hate you." + +Dartmouth caught her in his arms and forced her to sit down again +beside him. "My dear girl," he said, "why is it that a woman can never +understand that when a man feels most he chaffs, especially if he has +cultivated the beastly habit. Your story stirred me powerfully; the +more so because such things do not happen to every-day girls--" + +"Harold!" + +"Do not wrong me; I am in dead earnest. As a plain matter of fact, I +never heard of anything so horrible. Thank heaven it happened when you +were so young! No woman's will and spirit could rise superior to such +a memory if it were a recent one. But am I forgiven?" + +"As you are perfectly incorrigible, I suppose there is no use being +angry with you," she said, still with a little pout on her lips. "But +I will forgive you on one condition only." + +"Name it." + +"You are never to mention the subject to me again after to-night." + +"I never will; but tell me, has the memory of your childhood never +come back for a moment?" + +"Never. All I remember is that sense of everlasting wandering and +looking for something. For a long while I was haunted with the idea +that there was something I still must find. I never could discover +what it was, but it has left me now. If you had not been so unkind, I +should have said that it is because I am too happy for mysterious and +somewhat supernatural longings." + +"But as it is, you won't. It was an odd feeling to have, though. +Perhaps it was a quest for the memories of your childhood--for a lost +existence, as it were. If ever it comes again, tell me, and we will +try and work it out together." + +"Harold!" she exclaimed, smiling outright this time, "you will be +trying to analyze the cobwebs of heaven before long." + +"No," he said, "they are too dense." + + + + +VI. + + +It was eleven o'clock when they parted for the night. Dartmouth went +up to his room and sat down at his desk to write a letter to his +father. In a moment he threw down the pen; he was not in a humor +for writing. He picked up a book (he never went to bed until he felt +sleepy), and crossed the room and sat down before the fire. But he +had not read two pages when he dropped it with an exclamation of +impatience: the story Weir had told him was written between every +line. She had told it so vividly and realistically that she had +carried him with her and almost curdled his blood. He had answered her +with a joke, because, in spite of the fact that he had been strongly +affected, he was angry as well. He hated melodrama, and the idea of +Weir having had an experience which read like a sensational column in +a newspaper was extremely distasteful to him. He sympathized with her +with all his heart, but he had a strong distaste for anything +which savored of the supernatural. Nevertheless, he was obliged to +acknowledge that this horrible, if commonplace experience of Weir's +had taken possession of his mind, and refused to be evicted. The scene +kept presenting itself in all its details again and again, and finally +he jumped to his feet in disgust and determined to go to the long +gallery which overhung the sea, and watch the storm. Rhyd-Alwyn was +built on a steep cliff directly on the coast, and exposed to all the +fury of the elements. In times of storm, and when the waves were high, +the spray flew up against the lower windows. + +He left his room and went down the wide hall, then turned into a +corridor, which terminated in a gallery that had been built as a sort +of observatory. The gallery was long and very narrow, and the floor +was bare. But there were seats under the windows, and on a table were +a number of books; it was a place Dartmouth and Weir were very fond of +when it was not too cold. + +It was a clear, moonlit night, in spite of the storm. There was no +rain; it was simply a battle of wind and waves. Dartmouth stood at one +of the windows and looked out over the angry waters. The billows were +piling one above the other, black, foam-crested, raging like wild +animals beneath the lash of the shrieking wind. Moon and stars gazed +down calmly, almost wonderingly, holding their unperturbed watch +over the war below. Sublime, forceful, the sight suited the somewhat +excited condition of Dartmouth's mind. Moreover, he was beginning to +feel that one of his moods was insidiously creeping upon him: not an +attack like the last, but a general feeling of melancholy. If he could +only put that wonderful scene before him into verse, what a solace +and distraction the doing of it would be! He could forget--he pulled +himself together with something like terror. In another moment there +would be a repetition of that night in Paris. The best thing he could +do was to go back to his room and take an anodyne. + +He turned to leave the gallery, but as he did so he paused suddenly. +Far down, at the other end, something was slowly coming toward him. +The gallery was very long and ill-lighted by the narrow, infrequent +windows, and he could not distinguish whom it was. He stood, however, +involuntarily waiting for it to approach him. But how slowly it came, +as one groping or one walking in a dream! Then, as it gradually +neared him, he saw that it was a woman, dimly outlined, but still +unmistakably a woman. He spoke, but there was no answer, nothing but +the echo of his voice through the gallery. Someone trying to play a +practical joke upon him! Perhaps it was Weir: it would be just like +her. He walked forward quickly, but before he had taken a dozen +steps the advancing figure came opposite one of the windows, and the +moonlight fell about it. Dartmouth started back and caught his breath +as if someone had struck him. For a moment his pulses stood still, and +sense seemed suspended. Then he walked quickly forward and stood in +front of her. + +"Sionèd!" he said, in a low voice which thrilled through the room. +"Sionèd!" He put out his hand and took hers. It was ice-cold, and its +contact chilled him to the bone; but his clasp grew closer and his +eyes gazed into hers with passionate longing. + +"I am dead," she said. "I am dead, and I am so cold." She drew closer +and peered up into his face. "I have found you at last," she went on, +"but I wandered so far. There was no nook or corner of Eternity in +which I did not search. But although we went together, we were hurled +to the opposite poles of space before our spiritual eyes had met, and +an unseen hand directed us ever apart. I was alone, alone, in a great, +gray, boundless land, with but the memory of those brief moments of +happiness to set at bay the shrieking host of regrets and remorse +and repentance which crowded about me. I floated on and on and on for +millions and millions of miles; but of you, my one thought on earth, +my one thought in Eternity, I could find no trace, not even the +whisper of your voice in passing. I tossed myself upon a hurrying wind +and let it carry me whither it would. It gathered strength and haste +as it flew, and whirled me out into the night, nowhere, everywhere. +And then it slackened--and moaned--and then, with one great sob, it +died, and once more I was alone in space and an awful silence. And +then a voice came from out the void and said to me, 'Go down; he +is there;' and I knew that he meant to Earth, and for a moment I +rebelled. To go back to that terrible--But on Earth there had been +nothing so desolate as this--and if you were there! So I came--and I +have found you at last." + +She put her arms about him and drew him down onto the low window-seat. +He shivered at her touch, but felt no impulse to resist her will, and +she pressed his head down upon her cold breast. Then, suddenly, all +things changed; the gallery, the moonlight, the white-robed, ice-cold +woman faded from sense. The storm was no longer in his ears nor +were the waves at his feet. He was standing in a dusky Eastern room, +familiar and dear to him. Tapestries of rich stuffs were about him, +and the skins of wild animals beneath his feet. Beyond, the twilight +stole through a window, but did not reach where he stood. And in his +close embrace was the woman he loved, with the stamp on her face +of suffering, of desperate resolution, and of conscious, welcomed +weakness. And in his face was the regret for wasted years and +possibilities, and a present, passionate gladness; _that_ he could see +in the mirror of the eyes over which the lids were slowly falling.... +And the woman wore a clinging, shining yellow gown, and a blaze of +jewels in her hair. What was said he hardly knew. It was enough to +feel that a suddenly-born, passionate joy was making his pulses leap +and his head reel; to know that heaven had come to him in this soft, +quiet Southern night. + + * * * * * + + + + +VII. + + +Dartmouth opened his eyes and looked about him. The storm had died, +the waves were at rest, and he was alone. He let his head fall back +against the frame of the window, and his eyes closed once more. What a +dream!--so vivid!--so realistic! Was it not his actual life? Could +he take up the threads of another? He felt ten years older; and, +retreating down the dim, remote corridors of his brain, were trooping +memories of a long, regretted, troubled, eventful past. In a moment +they had vanished like ghosts and left no trace; he could recall none +of them. He opened his eyes again and looked down the gallery, and +gradually his perceptions grasped its familiar lines, and he was +himself once more. He rose to his feet and put his hand to his head. +That woman whom he had taken for the ghost of one dead and gone had +been Weir, of course. She had arisen in her sleep and attired herself +like the grandmother whose living portrait she was; she had piled up +her hair and caught her white gown up under her bosom; and, in the +shadows and mystery of night, small wonder that she had looked as if +the canvas in the gallery below had yielded her up! But what had her +words meant?--her words, and that dream?--but no--they were not what +he wanted. There had been something else--what was it? He felt as if a +mist had newly arisen to cloud his faculties. There had been something +else which had made him not quite himself as he had stood there with +his arms about the woman who had been Weir, and yet not Weir. Above +the pain and joy and passion which had shaken him, there had been +an unmistakable perception of--an attribute--a quality--of another +sort--of a power, of which he, Harold Dartmouth, had never been +conscious--of--of--ah, yes! of the power to pour out at the feet of +that woman, in richest verse, the love she had awakened, and make them +both immortal. What were the words? They had been written legibly in +his brain; he remembered now. He had seen and read them--yes, at last, +at last! "Her face! her form!" No! no! not that again. Oh, why would +they not come? They had been there, the words; the sense must be +there, the inspiration, the battling for voice and victory. They were +ready to pour through his speech in a flood of song, but that iron +hand forced them back--down, down, setting blood and brain on fire. +Ah! what was that? Far off, at the end of some long gallery, there +was a sweet, dying strain of music, and there were words--gathering in +volume; they were rolling on; they were coming; they were thundering +through his brain in a mighty chorus! There! he had grasped them--No! +that iron hand had grasped them--and was hurling them back. In another +moment it would have forced them down into their cell and turned +the key! He must catch and hold one of them! Yes, he had it! Oh! +victory!--"Her eyes, her hair." + +Dartmouth thrust out his hands as if fighting with a physical enemy, +and he looked as if he had been through the agonies of death. The +conflict in his brain had suddenly ceased, but his physical strength +was exhausted. He turned and walked uncertainly to his room; then he +collected his scattered wits sufficiently to drop some laudanum and +take it, that he might ward off, if possible, the attack of physical +and spiritual prostration which had been the result of a former +experience of a similar kind. Then, dressed as he was, he flung +himself on the bed and slept. + + + + +VIII. + + +When Dartmouth awoke the next day, the sun was streaming across the +bed and Jones's anxious face was bending over him. + +"Oh, Mr. 'Arold," exclaimed Jones, "you've got it again." + +Dartmouth laughed aloud. "One would think I had delirium tremens," he +said. + +He put his hand over his eyes, and struggled with the desire to have +the room darkened. The melancholy had fastened itself upon him, and he +knew that for three or four days he was to be the victim of one of +his unhappiest moods. The laudanum had lulled his brain and prevented +violent reaction after its prolonged tension; but his spirits were at +zero, and his instinct was to shut out the light and succumb to his +enemy without resistance. If he had been anywhere but at Rhyd-Alwyn +he would not have thought twice about it; but if he shut himself up +in his room, not only would Weir be frightened and unhappy, but it +was probable that Sir Iltyd would question the desirability of a +son-in-law who was given to prolonged and uncontrollable attacks of +the blues. He dressed and went down-stairs, but Weir was nowhere to be +found, and after a search through the various rooms and corners of the +castle which she was in the habit of frequenting, he met her maid +and was informed that Miss Penrhyn was not well and would not come +down-stairs before dinner. The news was very unwelcome to Dartmouth. +Weir at least would have been a distraction. Now he must get through a +dismal day, and fight his enemy by himself. To make matters worse, it +was raining, and he could not go out and ride or hunt. He went into +Sir Iltyd's library and talked to him for the rest of the morning. Sir +Iltyd was not exciting, at his best, and to-day he had a bad cold; so +after lunch Dartmouth went up to his tower and resigned himself to his +own company. He sat down before the fire, and taking his head between +his hands allowed the blue devils to triumph. He felt dull as well as +depressed; but for a time he made an attempt to solve the problem of +the phenomenon to which he had been twice subjected. That it was a +phenomenon he did not see any reason to doubt. If he had spent his +life in a vain attempt to write poetry and an unceasing wish for the +necessary inspiration, there would be nothing remarkable in his mind +yielding suddenly to the impetus of accumulated pressure, wrenching +itself free of the will's control, and dashing off on a wild excursion +of its own. But he had never voluntarily taken a pen in his hand +to make verse, nor had he even felt the desire to possess the gift, +except as a part of general ambition. He may have acknowledged the +regret that he could not immortalize himself by writing a great poem, +but the regret was the offspring of personal ambition, not of yearning +poetical instinct. But the most extraordinary phase of the matter was +that such a tempest could take place in a brain as well regulated +as his own. He was eminently a practical man, and a good deal of a +thinker. He had never been given to flights of imagination, and even +in his attacks of melancholy, although his will might be somewhat +enfeebled, his brain could always work clearly and cleverly. The +lethargy which had occasionally got the best of him had invariably +been due to violent nervous shock or strain, and was as natural as +excessive bodily languor after violent physical effort. Why, then, +should his brain twice have acted as if he had sown it with eccentric +weeds all his life, instead of planting it with the choicest seeds he +could obtain, and watering and cultivating them with a patience and an +interest which had been untiring? + +But the explanation of his attempt to put his unborn poem into words +gave him less thought to-day than it had after its first occurrence; +there were other phases of last night's experience weirder and +more unexplainable still. Paramount, of course, was the vision or +dream--which would seem to have been induced by some magnetic property +possessed and exerted by Weir. Such things do not occur without +cause, and he was not the sort of man to yield himself, physically and +mentally, his will and his perceptions, to the unconscious caprice +of a somnambulist. And the scene had cut itself so deeply into the +tablets of his memory that he found himself forgetting more than once +that it was not an actual episode of his past. He wished he could see +Weir, and hear her account of her mental experiences of those hours. +If her dream should have been a companion to his, then the explanation +would suggest itself that the scene might have been a vagary of her +brain; that in some way which he did not pretend to explain, she had +hypnotized him, and that his brain had received a photographic imprint +of what had been in hers. It would then be merely a sort of telepathy. +But why should she have dreamed a dream in which they both were so +unhappily metamorphosed? and why should it have produced so powerful +an impression upon his waking sense? And why, strangest of all, had +he, without thought or self-surprise, gone to her, and with his soul +stirred to its depths, called her "Sionèd"? True, she had almost +disguised herself, and had been the living counterfeit of Sionèd +Penrhyn; but that was no reason why he should have called a woman who +had belonged to his grandmother's time by her first name. Could +Weir, thoroughly imbued with the character she was unconsciously +representing, have exercised her hypnotic power from the moment she +entered the gallery, and left him without power to think or feel +except through her own altered perceptions? He thrust out his foot +against the fender, almost overturning it, and, throwing back his +head, clasped his hands behind it and scowled at the black ceiling +above him. He was a man who liked things explained, and he felt both +sullen and angry that he should have had an experience which baffled +his powers of analysis and reason. His partial solution gave him no +satisfaction, and he had the uncomfortable sense of actual mystery, +and a premonition of something more to come. This, however, he was +willing to attribute to the depressed condition of his spirits, which +threw its gloom over every object, abstract and concrete, and +which induced the tendency to exaggerate any strange or unpleasant +experience of which he had been the victim. It was useless to try to +think of anything else; his brain felt as if it had resolved itself +into a kaleidoscope, through which those three scenes shifted +eternally. Finally, he fell asleep, and did not awaken until it was +time to dress for dinner. Before he left his room, Weir's maid knocked +at his door and handed him a note, in which the lady of Rhyd-Alwyn +apologized for leaving him to himself for an entire day, and announced +that she would not appear at dinner, but would meet him in the +drawing-room immediately thereafter. Dartmouth read the note through +with a puzzled expression: it was formal and stilted, even for Weir. +She was gone when he came to his senses in the gallery the night +before. Had she awakened and become conscious of the situation? It was +not a pleasant reminiscense for a girl to have, and he felt honestly +sorry for her. Then he groaned in spirit at the prospect of an hour's +tête-à-tête with Sir Iltyd. He liked Sir Iltyd very much, and thought +him possessed of several qualifications valuable in a father-in-law, +among them his devotion to his library; but in his present frame of +mind he felt that history and politics were topics he would like to +relegate out of existence. + +He put the best face on the situation he could muster, however, and +managed to conceal from Sir Iltyd the fact that his spirits were in +other than their normal condition. The old baronet's eyes were not +very sharp, particularly when he had a cold, and he was not disposed +to notice Harold's pallor and occasional fits of abstraction, so long +as one of his favorite topics was under discussion. When Dartmouth +found that he had got safely through the dinner, he felt that he +had accomplished a feat which would have rejoiced the heart of his +grandmother, and he thought that his reward could not come a moment +too soon. Accordingly, for the first time since he had been at +Rhyd-Alwyn, he declined to sit with Sir Iltyd over the wine, and went +at once in search of Weir. + +As he opened the door of the drawing-room he found the room in +semi-darkness, lighted only by the last rays of the setting sun, which +strayed through the window. He went in, but did not see Weir. She was +not in her accustomed seat by the fire, and he was about to call her +name, when he came to a sudden halt, and for the moment every faculty +but one seemed suspended. A woman was standing by the open window +looking out over the water. She had not heard him, and had not turned +her head. Dartmouth felt a certain languor, as of one who is dreaming, +and is half-conscious that he is dreaming, and therefore yields +unresistingly to the pranks of his sleeping brain. Was it Weir, or was +it the woman who had been a part of his vision last night? She wore a +long, shining yellow dress, and her arms and neck were bare. Surely it +was the other woman! She turned her head a little, and he saw her face +in profile; there was the same stamp of suffering, the same pallor. +Weir had never looked like that; before he had known her she had had, +sometimes, a little expression of sadness and abstraction which had +made her look very picturesque, but which had borne no relationship +to suffering or experience. And the scene! the room filled with dying +light, the glimpse of water beyond, the very attitude of the woman at +the casement--all were strangely and deeply familiar to him, although +not the details of the vision of last night. The only things that were +wanting were the Eastern hangings to cover the dark wainscotted old +walls, and the skins on the black, time-stained floor. + +With a sudden effort of will he threw off the sense of mystery which +had again taken possession of him, and walked forward quickly. As Weir +heard him, she turned her head and met his eyes, and although a closer +look at her face startled him afresh, his brain was his own again, +and he was determined that it should remain so. He might yield to +supernatural impressions when unprepared, but not when both brain and +will were defiantly on the alert. That she was not only unaccountably +altered, but that she shrank from him, was evident; and he was +determined to hear her version of last night's adventure without +delay. He believed that she would unconsciously say something which +would throw a flood of light on the whole matter. + +"Where did you get that dress?" he said, abruptly. + +She started sharply, and the color flew to the roots of her hair, +then, receding, left her paler than before. "Why do you ask me that?" +she demanded, with unconcealed, almost terrified suspicion in her +tones. + +"Because," he said, looking straight into her eyes, "I had a peculiar +dream last night, in which you wore a dress exactly like this. It is +rather a remarkable coincidence that you should put it on to-night." + +"Harold!" she cried, springing forward and catching his arm +convulsively in both her hands, "what has happened? What is it? And +how can you talk so calmly when to me it seems--" + +He put his arm around her. "Seems what?" he said, soothingly. "Did +_you_ have a dream, too?" + +"Yes," she said, her face turning a shade paler, "I had a dream." + +"And in it you wore this dress?" + +"Yes." + +"Tell me your dream." + +"No!" she exclaimed, "I cannot." + +Dartmouth put his hand under her chin and pushed her head back +against his shoulder, upturning her face. "You must tell me," he said, +quietly; "every word of it! I am not asking you out of curiosity, but +because the dream I had was too remarkable to be without meaning. I +cannot reach that meaning unassisted; but with your help I believe I +can. So tell me at once." + +"Oh, Harold!" she cried, throwing her arms suddenly about him and +clinging to him, "I have no one else to speak to but you: I cannot +tell my father; he would not understand. No girl ever felt so horribly +alone as I have felt to-day. If it had not been for you I believe I +should have killed myself; but you are everything to me, only--_how_ +can I tell you?" + +He tightened his arms about her and kissed her. + +"Don't kiss me," she exclaimed sharply, trying to free herself. + +"Why not?" he demanded, in surprise. "Why should I not kiss you?" + +She let her head drop again to his shoulder. "True," she said; "why +should you not? It is only that I forget that I am not the woman I +dreamed I was; and for her--it was wrong to kiss you." + +"Weir, tell me your dream at once. It is for your good as well as +mine that I insist. You will be miserable and terrified until you take +someone into your confidence. I believe I can explain your dream, as +well as give you the comfort of talking it over with you." + +She slipped suddenly out of his arms and walked quickly to the end +of the room and back, pausing within a few feet of him. The room was +growing dark, and he could distinguish little of her beyond the tall +outline of her form and the unnatural brilliancy of her eyes, but he +respected her wish and remained where he was. + +"Very well," she said, rapidly. "I will tell you. I went to +sleep without much terror, for I had told my maid to sleep in my +dressing-room. But I suppose the storm and the story I had told you +had unsettled my nerves, for I soon began to dream a horrid dream. +I thought I was dead once more. I could feel the horrible chill and +pain, the close-packed ice about me. I was dead, but yet there was a +spirit within me. I could feel it whispering to itself, although it +had not as yet spread its fire through me and awakened me into life. +It whispered that it was tired, and disheartened, and disappointed, +and wanted rest; that it had been on a long, fruitless journey, and +was so weary that it would not take up the burden of life again just +yet. But its rest could not be long; there was someone it must find, +and before he had gone again to that boundless land, whose haunting +spirits were impalpable as flecks of mist. And then it moaned and +wept, and seemed to live over its past, and I went back with it, or +I was one with it--I cannot define. It recalled many scenes, but +only one made an impression on my memory; I can recall no other." She +paused abruptly, but Dartmouth made no comment; he stood motionless +in breathless expectancy. She put her hand to her head, and after a +moment continued haltingly: + +"I--oh--I hardly know how to tell it. I seemed to be standing with +you in a room more familiar to me than any room in this castle; a room +full of tapestries and skins and cushions and couches; a room which +if I had seen it in a picture I should have recognized as Oriental, +although I have never seen an Oriental room. I have always had an +indescribable longing to see Constantinople, and it seemed to me in +that dream as if I had but to walk to the window and look down upon +it--as if I had looked down upon it many times and loved its beauty. +But although I was with you, and your arms were about me, we were not +as we are now--as we were before the dream: we had suffered all that a +man and a woman can suffer who love and are held apart. And you looked +as you do now, yet utterly different. You looked years older, and you +were dressed so strangely. I do not know how I looked, but I know how +I felt. I felt that I had made up my mind to commit a deadly sin, and +that I gloried in it. I had suffered because to love you was a sin; +but I only loved you the more for that reason. Then you slowly drew +me further into the room and pressed me more closely in your arms and +kissed me again, and then--I--oh--I do not know--it is all so vague I +don't know what it meant--but it seemed as if the very foundations of +my life were being swept away. And yet--oh, I cannot explain! I do not +know, myself." And she would have thrown herself headlong on the sofa +had not Dartmouth sprang forward and caught her. + +"There, never mind," he said, quickly. "Let that go. It is of no +consequence. A dream like that must necessarily end in a climax of +incoherence and excitement." + +He drew her down on the sofa, and for a moment said nothing further. +He had to acknowledge that she had deepened the mystery, and given no +key. A silence fell, and neither moved. Suddenly she raised her head. +"What was your dream?" she demanded. + +"The same. I don't pretend to explain it. And I shall not insult your +understanding by inventing weak excuses. If it means anything we will +give the problem no rest until we have solved it. If we cannot solve +it, then we are justified in coming to the conclusion that there is +nothing in it. But I believe we shall get to the bottom of it yet." + +"Perhaps," she said, wearily; "I do not know. I only feel that I shall +never be myself again, but must go through life with that woman's +burden of sin and suffering weighing me down." She paused a moment, +and then continued: "In that dream I wore a dress like this, and that +is the reason I put it on to-night. I was getting some things in Paris +before I left, and I bought it thinking you would like it; I had heard +you say that yellow was your favorite color. When my maid opened +the door of my wardrobe to-night to take out a dress, and I saw this +hanging there, it gave me such a shock that I caught at a chair to +keep from falling. And then I felt irresistibly impelled to put it on. +I felt as if it were a shroud, vivid in color as it is; but it had +an uncanny fascination for me, and I experienced a morbid delight in +feeling both spirit and flesh revolt, and yet compelling them to do +my will. I never knew that it was in me to feel so, but I suppose I am +utterly demoralized by so realistically living over again that awful +experience of my childhood. If it happened again I should either be +carried back to the vault for good and all, or end my days in the +topmost tower of the castle, with a keeper, and the storms and +sea-gulls for sole companions." + +She sat up in a moment, and putting her hand on his shoulder, looked +him full in the face for the first time. "It seems to me that I know +you now," she said, "and that I never knew you before. When I first +saw you to-night I shrank from you: why, I hardly know, except that +the personality of that woman had woven itself so strongly into mine +that for the moment I felt I had no right to love you. But I have +never loved you as I do to-night, because that dream, however little +else I may have to thank it for, did for me this at least: it seemed +to give me a glimpse into every nook and corner of your character; I +feel now that my understanding of your strange nature is absolute. +I had seen only one side of it before, and had made but instinctive +guesses at the rest; but as I stood with you in that dream, I had, +graven on my memory, the knowledge of every side and phase of your +character as you had revealed it to me many times; and that memory +abides with me. I remember no details, but that makes no difference; +if I were one with you I could not know you better." She slipped her +arms about his neck and pressed her face close to his. "You have one +of your attacks of melancholy to-night," she murmured. "You tried +to conceal it, and the effort made you appear cold. It was the first +thing I thought of when I turned and saw you, in spite of all I felt +myself. And although you had described those attacks before, the +description had conveyed little to me; that your moods were different +from other people's blues had hardly occurred to me, we had been +so happy. But now I understand. I pay for the knowledge with a high +price; but that is life, I suppose." + + + + +IX. + + +Two Days later Dartmouth received a despatch from the steward of his +estates in the north of England announcing that there was serious +trouble among his tenantry, and that his interests demanded he should +be on the scene at once. The despatch was brought to his room, and he +went directly down to the hall, where he had left Weir, and told +her he must leave her for a few days. She had been standing by the +fire-place warming her foot on the fender, but she sat suddenly +down on a chair as he explained to her the nature of the telegram. +"Harold," she said, "if you go you will never come back." + +"My dear girl," he said, "that speech is unworthy of you. You are not +the sort of woman to believe in such nonsense as presentiments." + +"Presentiments may be supernatural," she said, "but not more so +than the experience we have had. So long as you are with me I feel +comparatively untroubled, but if you go I know that something will +happen." + +He sat down on the arm of her chair and took her hand. "You are +low-spirited yet," he said, "and consequently you take a morbid view +of everything. That is all. I am beginning to doubt if the dream we +had was anything more than the most remarkable dream on record; if it +were otherwise, two such wise heads as ours would have discovered the +hidden meaning by this time. And, granting that, you must also grant +that if anything were going to happen, you could not possibly know it; +nor will predicting it bring it about. I will be with you in two days +from this hour, and you will only remember how glad you were to get +rid of me." + +"I hope so," she said. "But--is it absolutely necessary for you to +go?" + +"Not if you don't mind living on bread and cheese for a year or two. +The farms of my ancestral home make a pretty good rent-roll, but if my +tenants become the untrammelled communists my steward predicts, we may +have to camp out on burnt stubble for some time to come. It is in the +hope of inducing them to leave me at least the Hall to take a bride to +that I go to interview them at once. I may be too late, but I will do +my best." + +"You will always joke, I suppose," she said, smiling a little; "but +come back to me." + +He left Rhyd-Alwyn that evening and arrived at Crumford Hall the next +morning. He slept little during the journey. His mood was still upon +him, and without consideration for Weir as an incentive it was more +difficult to fight it off, indeed, it was almost a luxury to yield to +it. Moreover, although it had been easy enough to say he would think +no more about his vision and its accompanying incidents, it was not +so easy to put the determination into practice, and he found himself +spending the night in the vain attempt to untangle the web, and in +endeavoring to analyze the subtle, uncomfortable sense of mystery +which those events had left behind them. Toward morning he lost all +patience with himself, and taking a novel out of his bag fixed his +mind deliberately upon it; and as the story was rather stupid, it had +the comfortable effect of sending him to sleep. + +When he arrived at his place he found that the trouble was less +serious than his steward had represented. The year had been +unproductive, and his tenants had demanded a lowering of their rents; +but neither flames nor imprecations were in order. Dartmouth was +inclined to be a just man, and, moreover, he was very much in love, +and anxious to get away; consequently, after a two days' examination +of the situation in all its bearings, he acceded in great part to +their demands and gave his lieutenant orders to hold the reins lightly +during the coming year. + +On the second night after his arrival he went into his study to write +to Weir. He had been so busy heretofore that he had sent her but a +couple of lines at different times, scribbled on a leaf of his note +book, and he was glad to find the opportunity to write her a letter. +He had hoped to return to her instead, but had found several other +matters which demanded his attention, and he preferred to look into +them at once, otherwise he would be obliged to return later on. + +His study was a comfortable little den just off the library, and its +four walls had witnessed the worst of his moods and the most roseate +of his dreams. In it he had frequently sat up all night talking +with his grandmother, and the atmosphere had vibrated with some hot +disputes. There was a divan across one end, some bookshelves across +the other, and on one side was a desk with a revolving chair before +it. Above the desk hung a battle-axe which he had brought from +America. Opposite was a heavily curtained window, and near it a door +which led into his private apartments. Between was a heavy piece of +furniture of Byzantine manufacture. As he entered the little room +for the first time since his arrival, he stood for a moment with a +retrospective smile in his eyes. He almost fancied he could see his +grandmother half-reclining on one end of the divan, with a pillow +beneath her elbow, her stately head, with its tower of white hair, +thrown imperiously, somewhat superciliously back, as her eyes flashed +and her mouth poured forth a torrent of overwhelming argument. "Poor +old girl!" he thought; "why do women like that have to die? How she +and Weir would have--argued, to put it mildly. I am afraid I should +have had to put a continent between them. But I would give a good deal +to see her again, all the same." + +He shut the door, sat down before his desk, and took a bunch of keys +from his pocket. As he did so, his eyes fell upon one of curious +workmanship, and he felt a sudden sense of pleasant anticipation. That +key opened the Byzantine chest opposite, somewhere in whose cunningly +hidden recesses lay, he was convinced, the papers which he had once +seen in his grandmother's clenched hands. He did not believe she had +destroyed them; she had remarked a few days before her death--which +had been sudden and unexpected--that she must soon devote an +unpleasant hour to the burning of old letters and papers. She +had spoken lightly, but there had been a gleam in her eyes and a +tightening of her lips which had suggested the night he had seen her +look as if she wished that the papers between her fingers were a human +throat. Should he find those papers and pass away a dull evening? +There was certainly nothing but the obstinacy of the chest to prevent, +and she would forgive him more than that. He had always had a strong +curiosity in regard to those papers, but his curiosity so far had been +an inactive one; he had never before been alone at the Hall since +his grandmother's death. He wheeled about on his chair and looked +whimsically at the divan. "Have I your permission, O most fascinating +of grandmothers?" he demanded aloud. "No answer. That means I have. So +be it." + +He wrote to Weir, then went over and kneeled on one knee before the +chest. It looked outwardly like a high, deep box, and was covered +with heavy Smyrna cloth, and ornamented with immense brass handles +and lock. Dartmouth fitted the key into a small key-hole hidden in +the carving on the side of the lock, and the front of the chest fell +outward. He let it down to the floor, then gave his attention to the +interior. It was as complicated as the exterior was plain. On one side +of the central partition were dozens of little drawers, on the other +as many slides and pigeon-holes and alcoves. On every square inch of +wood was a delicate tracery, each different, each telling a story. The +handles of the drawers, the arcades of the alcoves, the pillars of +the pigeon-holes--all were of ivory, and all were carved with the +fantastic art of the Mussulman. It was so beautiful and so intricate +that for a time Dartmouth forgot the papers. He had seen it before, +but it was a work of art which required minute observation and study +of its details to be appreciated. After a time, however, he recurred +to his quest and took the drawers out, one by one, laying them on the +floor. They were very small, and not one of them contained so much as +a roseleaf. At the end of each fourth shelf which separated the rows +of drawers, was a knob. Dartmouth turned one and the shelf fell from +its place. He saw the object. Behind each four rows of drawers was a +room. Each of these rooms had the dome ceiling and Byzantine +pillars of a mosque, and each represented a different portion of the +building--presumably that of St. Sophia. The capitals of the pillars +were exquisite, few being duplicated, and the shafts were solid +columns of black marble, supported on bases of porphyry. The floor was +a network of mosaics, and the walls were a blaze of colored marbles. +The altar, which stood in the central room, was of silver, with +trappings of gold-embroidered velvet, and paraphernalia of gold. +Dartmouth was entranced. He had a keen love of and appreciation +for art, but he had never found anything as interesting as this. He +congratulated himself upon the prospect of many pleasant hours in its +company. + +He let it go for the present and pressed his finger against every inch +of the walls and floor and ceilings of the mosque, and of the various +other apartments. It was a good half-hour's work, and the monotony and +non-success induced a certain nervousness. His head ached and his hand +trembled a little. When he had finished, and no panel had flown back +at his touch, he threw himself down on one hand with an exclamation of +impatience, and gazed with a scowl at the noncommittal beauty before +him. He cared nothing for its beauty at that moment. What he wanted +were the papers, and he was determined to find them. He stood up and +examined the top of the chest. There was certainly a space between the +visible depths of the interior and the back wall. He rapped loudly, +but the wood and the stuff with which it was covered were too thick; +there was no answering ring. He recalled the night when he had +cynically examined the fragments of the broken cabinet at Rhyd-Alwyn. +He felt anything but cynical now; indeed, he was conscious of a +restless eagerness and a dogged determination with which curiosity had +little to do. He would find those papers if he died in the attempt. + +He knelt once more before the chest, and once more pressed his +finger along its interior, following regular lines. Then he shook the +pillars, and inserted his penknife in each most minute interstice of +the carving; he prodded the ribs of the arches, and brought his fist +down violently on the separate floors of the mosque. At the end of an +hour he sprang to his feet with a smothered oath, and cutting a slit +in the cover of the chest with his penknife, tore it off and examined +the top and sides as carefully as his strained eyes and trembling +hands would allow. He was ashamed of his nervousness, but he was +powerless to overcome it. His examination met with no better success, +and he suddenly sprang across the room and snatched the battle-axe +from the wall. He walked quickly back to the chest. For a moment he +hesitated, the thing was so beautiful! But only for a moment. The +overmastering desire to feel those papers in his hands had driven out +all regard for art. He lifted the axe on high and brought it down on +the top of the chest with a blow which made the little room echo. He +was a powerful man, and the axe was imbedded to its haft. He worked it +out of the tough wood and planted another blow, which widened the rift +and made the stout old chest creak like a falling tree. The mutilated +wood acted upon Dartmouth like the smell of blood upon a wolf: the +spirit of destruction leaped up and blazed within him, a devouring +flame, and the blows fell thick and fast. He felt a fierce delight +in the havoc he was making, in the rare and exquisite beauty he was +ruining beyond hope of redemption. He leaned down, and swinging the +axe outward, sent it straight through the arcades and pillars, the +mosques and images, shattering them to bits. Then he raised the axe +again and brought it down on the seam which joined the back to the +top. The blow made but little impression, but a succession of blows +produced a wide gap. Harold inserted the axe in the rift, and kneeling +on the chest, attempted to force the back wall outward. For a time it +resisted his efforts, then it suddenly gave way, and Dartmouth dropped +the axe with a cry. From a shelf below the roof a package had sprung +outward with the shock, and a small object had fallen with a clatter +on the prostrate wall. Dartmouth picked it up in one hand and the +papers in the other, his fingers closing over the latter with a joy +which thrilled him from head to foot. It was a joy so great that it +filled him with a profound peace; the excitement of the past hour +suddenly left him. He went over to his desk and sat down before it. +With the papers still held firmly in his hand, he opened the locket. +There were two pictures within, and as he held them up to the light he +was vaguely conscious that he should feel a shock of surprise; but he +did not. The pictures were those of Lady Sionèd Penrhyn and--himself! +With the same apparent lack of mental prompting as on the night in the +gallery when he had addressed Weir with the name of her grandmother, +he raised the picture of the woman to his lips and kissed it fondly. +Then he laid it down and opened the packet. Within were a thick piece +of manuscript and a bundle of letters. He pressed his hand lovingly +over the closely written sheets of the manuscript, but laid them down +and gave his attention to the letters. They were roughly tied into a +bundle with a bit of string. He slipped the string off and glanced at +the address of the letter which lay uppermost. The ink, though faded, +was legible enough--"Lady Sionèd-ap-Penrhyn, Constantinople." He +opened the letter and glanced at the signature. The note was signed +with the initials of his grandfather, Lionel Dartmouth. They were +peculiarly formed, and were in many of the library books. + +He turned back to the first page. As he did so he was aware of a +new sensation, which seemed, however, but a natural evolution in his +present mental and spiritual exaltation. It was as if the page were a +blank sheet and he were wielding an invisible pen. Although, before +he took up the letter, he had had no idea of its contents beyond +a formless, general intuition, as soon as he began to read he was +clearly aware of every coming word and sentence and sentiment in it. +So strong was the impression, that once he involuntarily dropped the +note and, picking up a pen, began hastily writing what he knew was on +the unread page. But his mind became foggy at once, and he threw down +the pen and returned to the letter. Then the sense of authorship and +familiarity returned. He read the letters in the order in which they +came, which was the order of their writing. Among them were some pages +of exquisite verse: and verses and letters alike were the words of a +man to a woman whom he loved with all the concentration and intensity +of a solitary, turbulent, passionate nature; who knew that in this +love lay his and her only happiness; and who would cast aside the +orthodoxy of the world as beneath consideration when balanced against +the perfecting of two human lives. They reflected the melancholy, +ill-regulated nature of the man, but they rang with a tenderness and +a passion which were as unmistakable as the genius of the writer; and +Harold knew that if the dead poet had never loved another woman he +had loved Sionèd Penrhyn. Or had he loved her himself? Or was it Weir? +Surely these letters were his. He had written them to that beautiful +dark-eyed woman with the jewels about her head. He could read the +answers between the lines; he knew them by heart; the passionate words +of the unhappy woman who had quickened his genius from its sleep. Ah, +how he loved her, his beautiful Weir!--No--Sionèd was her name, Sionèd +Penrhyn, and her picture hung in the castle where the storms beat upon +the grey Welsh cliffs thousands of miles away.... + +If he had but met her earlier--he might to-day be one of that +brilliant galaxy of poets whose music the whole world honored. Oh! the +wasted years of his life, and his half-hearted attempts to give to +the world those wonderful children of his brain! He had loved and been +jealous of them, those children, and they had multiplied until it had +seemed as if they would prove stronger than his will. But he had let +them sing for himself alone; he would give the world nothing until +one day in that densely peopled land of his brain there should go up +a paean of rejoicing that a child, before which their own glory paled, +had been born. And above the tumult should rise the sound of such a +strain of music as had never been heard out of heaven; and before it +the world should sink to its knees.... + +And it had come to pass at last, this dream. This woman had awakened +his nature from its torpor, and with the love had come, leaping, +rushing, thundering, a torrent of verse such as had burst from no +man's brain in any age. + +And to her he owed his future, his fame, and his immortal name. And +she would be with him always. She had struggled and resisted and +refused him speech, but the terrible strength of her nature had +triumphed over dogmas and over the lesser duties she owed to others; +of her free will she had sent for him. He would be with her in an +hour, and to-morrow they would have left codes and conventions behind +them. There was a pang in leaving this beautiful room where his +poem had been born, and beneath which lay such a picture as man sees +nowhere else on earth. But to that which was to come, what was this? +He would write a few lines to the woman who bore his name, and +then the time would have come to go. She too was a beautiful and a +brilliant woman, but her nature was narrow and cold, and she had never +understood him for a moment. There! he had finished, and she would be +happier without him. She had her world and her child--that beautiful +boy!--But this was no time for pangs. He had chosen his destiny, and a +man cannot have all things. It was time to go. Should he take one last +glance at the boy laughing in the room beyond? He had but to push the +tapestry aside, yes--there--God! + +Ah, it was grateful to get into the cool air of the street, and before +him, only a short distance away, were the towers of the Embassy. Would +he never reach them? The way had been so long--could it be that his +footsteps were already echoing on the marble floor which led to that +chamber? Yes, and the perfume of that jasmine-laden room was stealing +over his senses, and the woman he loved was in his arms. How the +golden sunset lay on the domes and minarets below! How sonorous +sounded the voices of the muezzins as they called the people to +prayer! There was music somewhere, or was it the wails for the dead +down in Galata? It was all like a part of a dream, and the outlines +were blurred and confused--What was that? A thunderclap? Why were he +and Sionèd lying prostrate there, she with horror in her wide open, +glassy eyes, he with the arms which had held her lying limply on +the blood stained floor beside him? He seemed to see them both as he +hovered above. It was death? Well, what matter? She had gone out with +him, and in some cloud-walled castle, murmurous with harmonies of +quiring spheres, and gleaming with their radiance, they would dwell +together. Human vengeance could not reach them there, and for love +there is no death. The soul cannot die, and love, its chiefest +offspring, shares its immortality. It persists throughout the ages, +like the waves of music that never cease. He would take her hand and +lead her upward--Where was she? Surely she must be by his side. But he +could see no one, feel no presence. God! had he lost her? Had she +been borne upward and away, while he had lingered, fascinated with +the empty clay that a moment since had been throbbing with life +and keenest happiness? But he would find her--even did he go to the +confines of Eternity. But where was he? He could see the lifeless +shells no longer. He was roaming--on--on--in a vast, grey, pathless +land, without light, without sound, unpeopled, forsaken. These were +the plains of Eternity!--the measureless, boundless, sun-forgotten +region, whose monarch was Death, and whose avenging angel--Silence! An +eternal twilight more desolate than the blackness of night, a twilight +as of myriads of ghostly lanterns shedding their colorless rays upon +an awful, echoless solitude He would never find her here The dead of +ages were about him--the troubled spirits who had approached the pale, +stern gates of the Hereafter with rapture, and found within their +portals not rest, but a ceaseless, weary, purposeless wandering, the +world tired souls of aged men pursuing their never-ending quest in +meek, faltering wonder, and longing for the goal which surely they +must reach at last, the white, unquestioning souls of children +floating like heavenly strains of unheard music in the void immensity, +but one and all invisible imponderable. They were there, the monarchs +of buried centuries and the thousands who had knelt at their thrones, +the high and the low, the outcast and the shrived, but each as alone +as if the solitary inhabitant of all Space And _he_, who would have +fled from his fellow-men on earth, must long in vain for the sound of +human voice or the rapture of human touch He must go on--on--in these +colorless, shadowless, haunted plains, until the last trumpet-blast +should awaken the echoes of the Universe and summon him to confront +his Maker and be judged Oh! if but once more he could see the earth he +had scorned! Was it spinning on its way still, that dark, tiny ball? +How long since he had given that last glance of farewell? It must +be years and years and years, as reckoned by the time of men, for in +Eternity there is no time. And Sionèd--where was she? Desolate and +abandoned, shrieked at by sudden winds, flying terrified and helpless +over level, horizonless plains only to fling herself upon the grey +waves of Death's noiseless ocean? Oh, if he could but find her and +make her forget! Together, what would matter death and silence and +everlasting unrest? All would be forgot, all but the exquisite pain of +the regret for the years he had wasted on earth, and for the solitary +heritage he had left the world. Those children of his brain! They were +with him still. Would that he had left them below to sing his name +down through the ages! They were a torment to him here, in their +futility and inaction. They could not sing to these shapeless ghosts +about him; their voices would be unheeded music; nor would any strain +sweep downward to that world whose tears he might have drawn, whose +mirth provoked, whose passions played upon at his will. The one grand +thing he had done must alone speak for him. There was in it neither +pathos nor mirth; it had sprung to the cloud-capped point of human +genius, and its sublimity would prove its barrier to the world's +approval. But it would give him fame when--God! what was that thought? +The manuscript of that poem had lain in the room where he had met +his death. Had the hand that had slain him executed a more terrible +vengeance still? Oh, it could not be! No man would be so base. And +yet, what mercy had he the right to expect? And the nature of the +man--cold--relentless--To consign the man who had wronged him to +eternal oblivion--would he not feel as he watched the ashes in the +brazier, that such vengeance was sweeter than even the power to +kill? And he was impotent! He was a waif tossed about in the chaos +of eternity, with no power to smite the man whose crime +had--perhaps--been greater than the thrusting of two lives from +existence a few years before their time. He was as powerless as the +invisible beggar who floated at his side. And that man was on earth +yet, perchance, coldly indifferent in his proud position, inwardly +gloating at the fullness of his revenge.... + +Years, years, years! They slipped from his consciousness like water +from the smooth surface of a rock. And yet each had pressed more +heavily and stung more sharply than the last. Oh, if he could but +know that his poem had been given to the world--that it had not been +blotted from existence! This was what was meant by Hell. No torture +that man had ever pictured could approach the torments of such regret, +such uncertainty, such pitiable impotence. Truly, if his sin had been +great, his punishment was greater. + +But why was he going downward? What invisible hand was this which was +resistlessly guiding him through the portals of the shadow land, past +the great sun and worlds of other men, and down through this quivering +ether? What? He was to be born again? A bit of clay needed an atom of +animate force to quicken it into life, and he must go again? And it +was to the planet Earth he was going? Ah! his poem! his poem! He +could write it again, and of what matter the wasted generations? And +Sionèd--they would meet again. Sooner or later, she too must return, +and on Earth they would find what had been denied them above. What +was that? His past must become a blank? His soul must be shorn of its +growth? He must go back to unremembering, unforseeing infancy, and +grow through long, slow years to manhood again? Still, his genius +and his intelligence in their elements would be the same, and with +development would come at last the fruition of all his fondest hopes. +And Sionèd? He would know her when they met. Their souls must be +the same as when the great ocean of Force had tossed them up; and +evolution could work no essential change. Ah! they had entered the +blue atmosphere. And, yes--there lay the earth below them. How he +remembered its green plains and white cities and blue waters! And that +great island--yes, it was familiar enough. It was the land which had +given him birth, and which should have knelt at his feet and granted +him a resting-place amidst its illustrious dead. And this old castle +they were descending upon? He did not remember it. Well, he was to be +of the chosen of earth again. He would have a proud name to offer +her, and this time it should be an unsullied one. This time the world +should ring with his genius, not with his follies. This time--Oh, +what was this? Stop! Stop! No; he could not part with it. The grand, +trained intellect of which he had been so proud--the perfected genius +which had been his glory--they should not strip them from him--they +were part of himself; they were his very essence; he would not give +them up! Oh, God! this horrible shrinking! This was Hell; this was +not re-birth. Physical torture? The words were meaningless beside +this warping, this tearing apart of spirit and mind--those precious +children of his brain--limb from limb. Their shrieks for +help!--their cries of anguish and horror! their clutches! their last +spasmodic--despairing--weakening embrace! He _would_ hold them! His +clasp would defy all the powers of Earth and Air! No, they should not +go--they should not. Oh! this cursed hand, with its nerves of steel. +It would conquer yet, conquer and compress him down into an atom +of impotence--There! it had wrenched them from him; they were +gone--gone--forever. But no, they were there beside him; their moans +for help filled the space about him; yes, moans--they were cries +no longer--and they were growing fainter--they were +fading--sinking--dying--and he was shrinking-- + + + + +X. + + +Harold opened his eyes. The night had gone; the sun was struggling +through the heavy curtains; the lamps and the fire had gone out, and +the room was cold. He was faint and exhausted. His forehead was damp +with horror, and his hands were shaking. That terrible struggle in +which intellect and its attainments had been wrenched apart, in which +the spirit and its memories had been torn asunder! He closed his eyes +for a moment in obedience to his exhausted vitality. Then he rose +slowly to his feet, went into his bedroom, and looked into the glass. +Was it Harold Dartmouth or the dead poet who was reflected there? He +went back, picked up the locket, and returned to the glass. He looked +at the picture, then at his own face, and again at the picture. They +were identical; there was not a line or curve or tint of difference. +He returned to his chair and rested his head on his hand. Was he this +man re-born? Did the dead come back and live again? Was it a dream, or +had he actually lived over a chapter from a past existence? He was a +practical man-of-the-world, not a vague dreamer--but all nature was +a mystery; this would be no stranger than the general mystery of life +itself. And he was not only this man reproduced in every line +and feature; he had his nature as well. His grandmother had never +mentioned her husband's name, but the Dartmouths had been less +reticent. They were fond of reiterating anecdotes of Lionel +Dartmouth's lawless youth, of his moody, melancholy temperament, and +above all, of the infallible signs he had shown of great genius. That +his genius had borne no fruit made no difference in their estimate; he +had died too soon, that was all--died of fever in Constantinople, the +story ran; there had never been a suggestion of scandal. And he had +come back to earth to fulfill the promise of long ago, and to give to +the world the one splendid achievement of that time. It had triumphed +over death and crime and revenge--but--He recalled those nights +of conflict in his mind. Would will and spirit ever conquer that +mechanical defect in his brain which denied his genius speech? + +He drew his hand across his forehead; he was so tired. He pushed the +manuscript and letters into a drawer of the desk, and turning the +key upon them, opened the window and stepped out into the air. +His vitality was at as low an ebb as if from physical overwork and +fasting. He made no attempt to think, or to comment on the events +just past. For the moment they lost their interest, and he strolled +aimlessly about the park, his exhausted forces slowly recuperating. +At the end of an hour he returned to the house and took a cold +shower-bath and ate his breakfast. Then he felt more like himself. He +had a strong desire to return to his study and the lost manuscript, +but, with the wilful and pleasing procrastination of one who knows +that satisfaction is within his grasp, he put the temptation aside +for the present, and spent the day riding over his estates with his +steward. He also gave his business affairs a minute attention which +delighted his servant. After dinner he smoked a cigar, then went into +his study and locked the door. He sat down before the desk, and for +a moment experienced a feeling of dread. He wanted no more visions: +would contact with those papers induce another? He would like to read +that poem with the calm criticism of a trained and cultivated mind; he +had no desire to be whirled back into his study at Constantinople, his +brain throbbing and bursting with what was coming next. He shrugged +his shoulders. It was a humiliating confession, but there were forces +over which he had no control; there was nothing to do but resign +himself to the inevitable. + +He opened the drawer and took out the manuscript. To his unspeakable +satisfaction he remained calm and unperturbed. He felt merely a +cold-blooded content that he had balked his enemies and that his +ambition was to be gratified. Once, before he opened the paper, he +smiled at his readiness to accept the theory of reincarnation. It had +taken complete possession of him, and he felt not the slightest desire +to combat it. Did a doubt cross his mind, he had but to recall the +park seen by his spiritual eyes, as he descended upon it to be born +again. It was the park in which he, Harold Dartmouth, had played as +a child during his annual visits to his parents; the park surrounding +the castle in which he had been born, and which had belonged to his +father's line for centuries. For the first time in his life he did +not reason. It seemed to him that there was no corner or loophole +for argument, nothing but a cold array of facts which must be +unconditionally accepted or rejected. + +He spread out the poem. It was in blank verse, and very long. He was +struck at once with its beauty and power. Although his soul responded +to the words as to the tone of a dear but long unheard voice, still he +was spared the mental exaltation which would have clouded his judgment +and destroyed his pleasure. He leaned his elbows on the desk, and, +taking his head between his hands, read on and on, scarcely drawing +breath. Poets past and present had been his familiar friends, but in +them he had found no such beauty as this. The grand sweep of the poem, +the depth of its philosophy, the sublimity of its thought, the melody +of its verse, the color, the radiant richness of its imagery, +the sonorous swell of its lines, the classic purity of its +style--Dartmouth felt as if an organ were pealing within his soul, +lifting the song on its notes to the celestial choir which had sent it +forth. Heavenly fingers were sweeping the keys, heavenly voices were +quiring the melody they had with wanton hand flung into a mortal's +brain. As Harold read on he felt that his spirit had dissolved and was +flowing through the poem, to be blended, unified with it forever. +He seemed to lose all physical sensation, not from the causes of +the previous night, but from the spiritual exaltation and absorption +induced by the beauty and grandeur of the theme. When he had finished, +he flung out his arms upon the desk, buried his head in them, and +burst into tears. The tears were the result, not so much of extreme +nervous tension, as of the wonder and awe and ecstacy with which his +own genius had filled him. In a few moments his emotion had subsided +and was succeeded by a state less purely spiritual. He stood up, and +leaning one hand on the desk, looked down at the poem, his soul filled +with an exultant sense of power. Power was what he had gloried in all +his life. His birth had given it to him socially, his money had lent +its aid, and his personal fascination had completed the chapter. But +he had wanted something more than the commonplace power which fate +or fortune grants to many. He had wanted that power which lifts a man +high above his fellow-men, condemning him to solitude, perhaps, but, +in that fiercely beating light, revealing him to all men's gaze. If +life had drifted by him, it had been because he was too much of a +philosopher to attempt the impossible, too clever to publish his +incompetence to the world. + +His inactivity had not been the result of lack of ambition, and yet, +as he stood there gazing down upon his work, it seemed to him that he +had never felt the stirrings of that passion before. With the power to +gratify his ambition, ambition sprang from glowing coals into a mighty +flame which roared and swept about him, darted into every corner +and crevice of his being, pulsated through his mind and spirit, and +temporarily drove out every other instinct and desire. He threw back +his head, his eyes flashing and his lips quivering. For the moment +he looked inspired, as he registered a vow to have his name known in +every corner of the civilized world. That he had so far been unable +to accomplish anything in his present embodiment gave him no +uneasiness at the moment. Sooner or later the imprisoned song would +force its way through the solid masonry in which it was walled up--He +gave a short laugh and came down to earth; his fancy was running away +with him. + +He folded the poem compactly and put it in his breast pocket, +determined that it should never leave him again until a copy was in +the hands of the printer. It should be sent forth from Constantinople. +The poem must be the apparent offspring of his present incarnation; +and as he had never been in Constantinople he must go there and remain +for several months before publication. + +He went into the library and sat down before the fire. He closed +his eyes and let his head fall back on the soft cushion, a pleasant +languor and warmth stealing through his frame. What a future! Power, +honor, adoration--the proudest pedestal a man can stand upon. And, as +if this were not enough, an unquestioned happiness with the woman he +loved with his whole heart. To her advent into his life he owed his +complete and final severance from the petty but infinite distractions +and temptations of the world. His present without flaw, and his future +assured, what was to prevent his gifts from flowering thickly +and unceasingly in their peaceful soil and atmosphere of calm? He +remembered that his first irresistible impulse to write had come +on the night he had met her. Would he owe to her his final power to +speak, as he had owed to that other-- + +He sat suddenly erect, then leaned forward, gazing at the fire with +eyes from which all languor had vanished. He felt as if a flash of +lightning had been projected into his brain. That other? Who was that +other?--why was she so marvellously like Weir? Her grandmother? Yes, +but why had he felt for Weir that sense of recognition and spiritual +kinship the moment he had seen her? + +He sprang to his feet and strode to the middle of the room. Great +God! Was Weir reëmbodied as well as himself? Lady Sionèd Penrhyn was +indisputably the woman he had loved in his former existence--that was +proved once for all by the scene in the gallery at Rhyd-Alwyn and +by the letters he had found addressed to her. He recalled Weir's +childhood experience. Had she really died, and the desperate, +determined spirit of Sionèd Penrhyn taken possession of her body? +Otherwise, why that sense of affinity, and her strange empire over him +the night of their mutual vision? There was something more than racial +resemblance in form and feature between Sionèd and Weir Penrhyn; there +was absolute identity of soul and mind. + +He strode rapidly from one end of the room to the other. Every +nerve in his body seemed vibrating, but his mind acted rapidly and +sequentially. He put the links together one by one, until, from the +moment of his last meeting with Sionèd Penrhyn at Constantinople to +the climax of his vision in his study, the chain was complete. Love, +then, as well as genius, had triumphed over the vengeance of Dafyd +Penrhyn and Catherine Dartmouth. In that moment he felt no affection +for his grandmother. She had worshipped and spoilt him, and had shown +him only her better side; but the weakness and evil of her nature had +done him incalculable injury, and he was not prepared to forgive her +at once. + +He returned to his seat. Truly they all were the victims of inexorable +law, but the law was just, and if it took to-day it gave to-morrow. If +he and Sionèd Penrhyn had been destined to short-lived happiness and +tragic death in that other existence, there was not an obstacle or +barrier between them in the present. And if--He pushed his chair +suddenly back and brought his brows together. A thought had struck him +which he did not like. He got up and put another log on the fire. Then +he went over to the table and took up a book--a volume of Figuier. He +sat down and read a few pages, then threw down the book, and drawing +writing materials toward him, wrote a half-dozen business letters. +When they were finished, together with a few lines to Weir, and no +other correspondence suggested itself, he got up and walked the length +of the room several times. Suddenly he brought his fist violently down +on the table. + +"I am a fool," he exclaimed. "The idea of a man with my experience +with women--" And then his voice died away and his hand relaxed, an +expression of disgust crossing his face. He sank into a chair by the +table and leaned his head on his hand. It was true that he was a +man of the world, and that for conventional morality he had felt the +contempt it deserved. Nevertheless, in loving this girl the finest and +highest instincts of his nature had been aroused. He had felt for her +even more of sentiment than of passion. When a man loves a girl whose +mental purity is as absolute as her physical, there is, intermingled +with his love, a leavening quality of reverence, and the result is +a certain purification of his own nature. That Dartmouth had +found himself capable of such a love had been a source of keenest +gratification to him. He had been lifted to a spiritual level which he +had never touched before, and there he had determined to remain. + +And to have this pure and exquisite love smirched with the memory of +sin and vulgar crime! To take into his arms as his wife the woman on +whose soul was written the record of temptation and of sin! It was +like marrying one's mistress: as a matter of fact, what else was it? +But Weir Penrhyn! To connect sin with her was monstrous. And yet, the +vital spark called life--or soul, or intelligence, or personal force; +whatever name science or ignorance might give it--was unchanged in +its elements, as his own chapter of memories had taught him. Every +instinct in Sionèd's nature was unaltered. If these instincts were +undeveloped in her present existence, it was because of Weir's +sheltered life, and because she had met him this time before it was +too late. + +He sprang to his feet, almost overturning the chair. "I can think no +more to-night," he exclaimed. "My head feels as if it would burst." + +He went into his bedroom and poured out a dose of laudanum. When he +was in bed he drank it, and he did not awake until late the next day. + + + + +XI. + + +In the life of every man there comes a time when he is brought face +to face with the great problem of morality. The murderer undoubtedly +comprehends the problem in all its significance when he is about to +mount the scaffold, the faithless wife when she is dragged through the +divorce court, and her family and friends are humbled to the dust. + +Dartmouth worked it out the next night as he sat by his library fire. +He had given the afternoon to his business affairs, but when night +threw him back into the sole companionship of his thoughts, he +doggedly faced the question which he had avoided all day. + +What was sin? Could anyone tell, with the uneven standard set up by +morality and religion? The world smiled upon a loveless marriage. What +more degrading? It frowned upon a love perfect in all but the sanction +of the Church, if the two had the courage to proclaim their love. It +discreetly looked another way when the harlot of "Society" tripped +by with her husband on one hand and her lover on the other. A man +enriched himself at the expense of others by what he was pleased to +call his business sharpness, and died revered as a philanthropist; the +common thief was sent to jail. + +Dartmouth threw back his head and clasped his hands behind it. Of +what use rehearsing platitudes? The laws of morality were concocted to +ensure the coherence and homogeneity of society; therefore, whatever +deleteriously affected society was crime of less or greater magnitude. +He and Sionèd Penrhyn had ruined the lives and happiness of two +people, had made a murderer of the one, and irrevocably hardened the +nature of the other: Catherine Dartmouth had lived to fourscore, and +had died with unexpiated wrong on her conscience. They had left two +children half-orphaned, and they had run the risk of disgracing two +of the proudest families in Great Britain. Nothing, doubtless, but the +cleverness and promptitude of Sir Dafyd Penrhyn, the secretive nature +of Catherine Dartmouth, the absence of rapid-news transit, and the +semi-civilization of Constantinople at that time, had prevented the +affair from becoming public scandal. Poor Weir! how that haughty head +of hers would bend if she knew of her grandmother's sin, even did she +learn nothing of her own and that sin's kinship! + +Dartmouth got up and walked slowly down the long room, his hands +clasped behind him, his head bent. Heaven knew his "sins" had been +many; and if disaster had never ensued, it had been more by good luck +than good management. And yet--he could trace a certain punishment in +every case; the woman punished by the hardening of her nature and +the probability of complete moral dementia; the man by satiety and an +absolute loss of power to value what he possessed. Therefore, for the +woman a sullen despair and its consequences; for the man a feverish +striving for that which he could never find, or, if found, would have +the gall in the nectar of having let slip the ability to unreservedly +and innocently enjoy. + +And if sin be measured by its punishment! He recalled those years in +eternity, with their hell of impotence and inaction. He recalled the +torment of spirit, the uncertainty worse than death. And Weir? Surely +no two erring mortals had ever more terribly reaped the reward of +their wrong-doing. + +What did it signify? That he was to give her up? that a love which had +begun in sin must not end in happiness? But his love had the strength +of its generations; and the impatient, virile, control-disdaining +nature of the man rebelled. Surely their punishment had been severe +enough and long enough. Had they not been sent back to earth and +almost thrown into each other's arms in token that guilt was expiated +and vengeance satisfied? Dartmouth stopped suddenly as this solution +presented itself, then impatiently thrust a chair out of his way +and resumed his walk. The consciousness that their affection was the +perpetuation of a lustful love disheartened and revolted him. Until +that memory disappeared his punishment would not be over. + +He stopped and leaned his hand on the table. "I thought I was a big +enough man to rise above conventional morality," he said. "But I doubt +if any man is when circumstances have combines to make him seriously +face the question. He might, if born a red Indian, but not if +saturated in his plastic days with the codes and dogmas of the world. +They cling, they cling, and reason cannot oust them. The society in +whose enveloping, penetrating atmosphere he has lived his life decrees +that it is a sin to seduce another man's wife or to live with a woman +outside the pale of the Church. Therefore sin, down in the roots of +his consciousness, he believes it; therefore, to perpetuate a sinful +love--I am becoming a petty moralist," he broke off impatiently; "but +I can't help it. I am a triumph of civilization." + +He stood up and threw back his shoulders. "Let it go for the present," +he said. "At another time I may look at it differently or reason +myself out of it. Now I will try--" + +He looked towards his study door with a flash in his eyes. He half +turned away, then went quickly into the little room and sat down +before the desk. Every day he would make the attempt to write, and +finally that obstinate wedge in his brain would give way and his soul +be set free. + +He drew paper before him and took up a pen. For an hour he sat +motionless, bending all his power of intellect, all the artistic +instincts of his nature to the luring of his song-children from that +closed wing in his brain. But he could not even hear their peremptory +knocks as on the nights when he had turned from those summonses in +agony and terror. He would have welcomed them now and dragged the +visitants into the sunlight of his intelligence and forced the song +from their throats. + +He took the poem from his pocket and read it over. But it gave him no +inspiration, it dulled his brain, rather, and made him feel baffled +and helpless. But he would not give up; and dawn found him still with +his pen in his hand. Then he went to bed and slept for a few hours. +That day he gave little attention to his affairs. His melancholy, held +at bay by the extraordinary experience through which he had passed, +returned and claimed him. He shut himself up in his library until the +following morning, and alternated the hours with fruitless attempts to +write and equally fruitless attempts to solve the problem in regard +to Weir. The next day and night, with the exception of a few hours' +restless sleep, were spent in the same way. + +At the end of the third day not a word had flowed from his pen, not +a step nearer had he drawn to Weir. A dull despair took possession +of him. Had those song-children fled, discouraged, and was he to be +withheld from the one consolation of earthly happiness? He pushed back +the chair in which he had been sitting before his desk and went into +the library. He opened one of the windows and looked out. How quiet it +was! He could hear the rising wind sighing through the yews, but all +nature was elsewise asleep. What was she doing down at Rhyd-Alwyn? +Sleeping calmly, or blindly striving to link the past with the +present? He had heard from her but once since he left. Perhaps she too +had had a revelation. He wondered if it were as quiet there as here, +or if the waves at the foot of the castle still thundered unceasingly +on. He wondered if she would shrink from him when the truth came to +her. Doubtless, for she had been reared in the most rigid of moral +conventions, and naturally catholic-minded as she was, right, to her, +was right, and wrong was wrong. He closed the window and, throwing +himself on a sofa, fell asleep. But his dreams were worse than his +waking thoughts. He was wandering in eternal darkness looking for +someone lost ages ago, and a voice beside him was murmuring that he +would never find her, but must go on--on--forever; that the curse +of some crime committed centuries ago was upon him, and that he must +expiate it in countless existences and eternal torment. And far off, +on the very confines of space, floated a wraith-like thing with +the lithe grace of a woman whom he had loved on earth. And she was +searching for him, but they described always the same circle and never +met. And then, finally, after millions of years, an invisible hand +clutched him and bore him upward onto a plane, hitherto unexplored, +then left him to grope his way as he could. All was blackness and +chaos. Around him, as he passed them, he saw that dark suns were +burning, but there was nothing to conduct their light, and they shed +no radiance on the horrors of their world. Below him was an abyss in +which countless souls were struggling, blindly, helplessly, until they +should again be called to duty in some sphere of material existence. +The stillness at first was deathlike, oppressive; but soon he became +aware of a dull, hissing noise, such as is produced on earth by the +fusion of metals. The invisible furnaces were lost in the impenetrable +darkness, but the heat was terrific; the internal fires of earth or +those of the Bible's hell must be sickly and pale in comparison with +this awful, invisible atmosphere of flame. Now and then a planet, +which, obeying Nature's laws even here, revolved around its mockery +of a sun, fell at his feet a river of fire. There was stillness +no longer. The roaring and the exploding of the fusing metals, or +whatever it might be, filled the vast region like the hoarse cries +of wild beasts and the hissing of angry serpents. It was deafening, +maddening. And there was no relief but to plunge into that abyss and +drown individuality. He flew downward, and as he paused a moment on +the brink, he looked across to the opposite bank and saw a figure +about to take the leap like himself. It was a dim, shadowy shape, but +even in the blackness he knew its waving grace. And she pointed down +into the abyss of blind, helpless, unintelligent torment, and then-- + + + + +XII. + + +Dartmouth suddenly found himself standing upright, his shoulders +clutched in a pair of strong hands, and Hollington's anxious face a +few inches from his own. + +"What the devil is the matter with you, Hal?" exclaimed Hollington. +"Have you set up a private lunatic asylum, or is it but prosaic +dyspepsia?" + +"Becky!" exclaimed Dartmouth, as he grasped the situation. "I _am_ so +glad to see you. Where did you come from?" + +"You frightened your devoted Jones to death with one of your +starvation moods, and he telegraphed for me. The idea of a man having +the blues in the second month of his engagement to the most charming +girl in Christendom!" + +"Don't speak to me of her," exclaimed Dartmouth, throwing himself into +a chair and covering his face with his hands. + +"Whew! What's up? You haven't quarrelled already? Or won't the +governor give his consent?" + +"No," said Dartmouth, "that's not it." + +"Then what the devil is the matter? Is--is she dead?" + +"No." + +"Was she married to some other man before?" + +"No!" + +"I beg your pardon; I was merely exhausting the field of conjecture. +Will you kindly enlighten me?" + +"If I did, you would say I was a lunatic." + +"I have been inclined to say so occasionally before--" + +"Becky, Weir Penrhyn is my--" And then he stopped. The ludicrous side +of the matter had never appealed to him, but he was none the less +conscious of how ridiculous the thing would appear to another. + +"Your what? Your wife? Are you married to her already, and do you want +me to break it to the old gentleman? What kind of a character is he? +Shall I go armed?" + +"She is not my wife, thank God! If she were--" + +"For heaven's sake, Harold, explain yourself. Can it be possible that +Miss Penrhyn is like too many other women?" + +Dartmouth sprang to his feet, his face white to the lips. + +"How dare you say such a thing?" he exclaimed. "If it were any other +man but you, I'd blow out his brains." + +Hollington got up from the chair he had taken and, grasping Dartmouth +by the shoulders, threw him back into his chair. + +"Now look here, Harold," he said; "let us have no more damned +nonsense. If you will indulge in lugubrious hints which have but +one meaning, you must expect the consequences. I refuse to listen to +another word unless you come out and speak plain English." + +He resumed his seat, and Dartmouth clasped his hands behind his head +and stared moodily at the fire. In a few moments he turned his eyes +and fixed them on Hollington. + +"Very well," he said, "I will tell you the whole story from beginning +to end. Heaven knows it is a relief to speak; but if you laugh, I +believe I shall kill you." + +"I will not laugh," said Hollington. "Whatever it is, I see it has +gone hard with you." + +Dartmouth began with the night of the first attempt of his +suppressed poetical genius to manifest itself, and gave Hollington a +comprehensive account of each detail of his subsequent experiences, +down to the reading of the letters and the spiritual retrospect they +had induced. He did not tell the story dramatically; he had no +fire left in him; he stated it in a matter-of-fact way, which was +impressive because of the speaker's indisputable belief in his own +words. Hollington felt no desire to laugh; on the contrary, he was +seriously alarmed, and he determined to knock this insane freak of +Harold's brain to atoms, if mortal power could do it, and regardless +of consequences to himself. + +When Dartmouth had finished, Hollington lit a cigar and puffed at it +for a moment, meditatively regarding his friend meanwhile. Then he +remarked, in a matter-of-fact tone: + +"So you are your own grandfather, and Miss Penrhyn is her own +grandmother." + +Dartmouth moved uneasily. "It sounds ridiculous--but--don't chaff." + +"My dear boy, I was never more serious in my life. I merely wanted to +be sure that I had got it straight. It is A.B.C. by this time to you, +but it has exploded in my face like a keg of gunpowder, and I am a +trifle dazed. But, to come down to deadly earnest, will you allow me +to speak to you from the medical point of view? You know I had some +idea at one time of afflicting the community with one more physician, +until we stumbled on those coal mines, and my prospective patients +were spared premature acquaintance with the golden stairs. May I +speak as an unfledged doctor, but still as one burdened with unused +knowledge?" + +"You can say what you like." + +"Very well, then. You may or may not be aware that what you are +pleased to call the blues, or moods, are, in your case, nothing more +or less than melancholia. When they are at their worst they are the +form known as melancholia attonita. In other words, you are not only +steeped in melancholy, but your brain is in, a state of stupor: +you are all but comatose. These attacks are not frequent, and are +generally the result of a powerful mental shock or strain. I +remember you had one once after you had crammed for two months for an +examination and couldn't pull through. You scared the life out of +the tutors and the boys, and it was not until I threatened to put +you under the pump that you came to. Your ordinary attacks are not so +alarming to your friends, but when indulged in too frequently, they +are a good deal more dangerous." + +He paused a moment, but Dartmouth made no reply, and he went on. + +"Any man who yields habitually to melancholia may expect his brain, +sooner or later, to degenerate from its original strength, and relax +the toughness and compactness of its fibre. Absolute dementia may not +be the result for some years, but there will be occasional and +painful indications of the end for a long space before it arrives. The +indications, as a rule, will assume the form of visions and dreams and +wild imaginings of various sorts. Now do you understand me?" + +"You mean," said Dartmouth, wheeling about and looking him directly in +the eyes, "you mean that I am going mad?" + +"I mean, my dear boy, that you will be a raving maniac inside of a +month, unless you dislodge from your brain this horrible, unnatural, +and ridiculous idea." + +"Do I look like a madman?" demanded Dartmouth. + +"Not at the present moment, no. You look remarkably sane. A man with +as good a brain as yours does not let it go all at once. It will slide +from you imperceptibly, bit by bit, until one day there will be a +climax." + +"I am not mad," said Dartmouth; "and if I were, my madness would be an +effect, not a cause. What is more, I know enough about melancholia to +know that it does not drift into dementia until middle age at least. +Moreover, my brain is not relaxed in my ordinary attacks; my +spirits are prostrate, and my disgust for life is absolute, but my +brain--except when it has been over-exerted, as in one or two climaxes +of this experience of mine--is as clear as a bell. I have done some of +my best thinking with my hand on the butt of a pistol. But to return +to the question we are discussing. You have left one or two of the +main facts unexplained. What caused Weir's vision? She never had an +attack of melancholia in her life." + +"Telepathy, induction, but in the reverse order of your solution of +the matter. Your calling her by her grandmother's name was natural +enough in your condition--you have acknowledged that your melancholia +had already taken possession of you. Miss Penrhyn had, for some reason +best known to her sleeping self, got herself up to look like her +grandmother, and, she being young and pretty, her semi-lunatic +observer addressed her as Sionèd instead of heaven knows what +jaw-breaking Welsh title. Then you went ahead and had the vision, +which was quite in keeping with your general lunar condition. I +believe you said there was a moon." + +Dartmouth frowned. "I asked you not to chaff," he said. "What is more, +I have had melancholia all my life, but delusion never before. But let +that pass. The impulse to write--what do you say to that?" + +"The impulse was due to the genius which you have undoubtedly +inherited from your grandfather. The inability to put your ideas +into verbal form is due to amnesic aphasia. The portion of your brain +through which your genius should find speech is either temporarily +paralyzed or else deficient in composition. You had better go up and +see Jackson. He can cure you if anyone can." + +"Do you believe I can be cured?" + +"You can certainly make the attempt." + +Dartmouth threw back his head and covered his face with his hands. "O +God!" he exclaimed, "if you knew the agony of the longing to feel the +ecstasy of spiritual intoxication, and yet to feel as if your brain +were a cloud-bank--of knowing that you are divinely gifted, that the +world should be ringing with your name, and yet of being as mute as if +screwed within a coffin!" + +"My dear boy, it will all come out right in the end. Science and your +own will can do much, and as for the rest, perhaps Miss Penrhyn +will do for you what those letters intimate Sionèd did for your +grandfather." + +Dartmouth got up and leaned his elbow on the mantelpiece. + +"I do not know that I shall marry Weir Penrhyn," he said. + +"Why not? Because your grandfather had an intrigue with her +grandmother?--which, by the way, is by no means clearly proved. That +there was a plan on foot to that end the letters pretty well show, +but--" + +"I don't care a hang about the sins of my ancestors, or of Weir's +either--if that were all. If I do not marry her it will be because I +do not care to shatter an ideal into still smaller bits. I loved her +with what little good was left in me. I placed her on a pedestal and +rejoiced that I was able so to do. Now she is the woman whose guilty +love sent us both to our death. I could never forget it. There would +always be a spot on the sun." + +"My God, Harold," exclaimed Hollington, "you _are_ mad. Of all the +insane, ridiculous, idiotic speeches that ever came from man's lips, +that is the worst." + +"I can't help it, Becky. The idea, the knowledge, is my very life and +soul; and when you think it all over you will see that there are many +things that cannot be explained--Weir's words in the gallery, for +instance. They coincide exactly with the vision I had four nights +later. And a dozen other things--you can think them out for yourself. +When you do, you will understand that there is but one light in which +to look at the question: Weir Penrhyn and I are Lionel Dartmouth and +Sionèd Penrhyn reborn, and that is the end of the matter." + +Hollington groaned, and threw himself back in his chair with an +impatient gesture. + +"Well," he said, after a few moments' silence, "accepting your +remarkable premisses for the sake of argument, will you kindly +enlighten me as to since when you became so beautifully complete +and altogether puerile a moralist? Suppose you did sin with her some +three-quarters of a century ago, have not time and suffering purified +you both--or rather her? I suppose it does not make so much difference +about you." + +"It is not that. It is the idea that is revolting--that this girl +should have been my mistress at any time--" + +"But, great heaven! Harold, such a sin is a thing of the flesh, not of +the spirit, and the physical part of Sionèd Penrhyn has enriched the +soil of Constantinople these sixty years. She has committed no sin in +her present embodiment." + +"Sin is an impulse, a prompting, of the spirit," said Dartmouth. + +Hollington threw one leg over the arm of the chair, half turning his +back upon Dartmouth. + +"Rot!" he said. + +"Not at all. Otherwise, the dead could sin." + +"I am gratified to perceive that you are still able to have the last +word. All I can say is, that you have done what I thought no living +man could do. I once read a novel by a famous American author in which +one of the characters would not ask the heroine to marry him after her +husband's death because he had been guilty of the indelicacy of loving +her (although mutely, and by her unsuspected) while she was a married +woman. I thought then that moral senility could go no further, but you +have got ahead of the American. Allow me to congratulate you." + +"You can jibe all you like. I may be a fool, but I can't help it. +I have got to that point where I am dominated by instinct, not by +reason. The instincts may be wrong, because the outgrowth of a false +civilization, but there they are, nevertheless, and of them I am the +product. So are you, and some day you will find it out. I do not say +positively that I will not marry Weir Penrhyn. I will talk it over +with her, and then we can decide." + +"A charming subject to discuss with a young girl. It would be kinder, +and wiser, and more decent of you never to mention the matter to her. +Of what use to make the poor girl miserable?" + +"She half suspects now, and it would come out sooner or later." + +"Then for heaven's sake do it at once, and have it over. Don't stay +here by yourself any longer, whatever you do. Go to-morrow." + +"Yes," said Dartmouth, "I will go to-morrow." + + + + +XIII. + + +When Dartmouth entered the drawing-room at Rhyd-Alwyn the next +evening, a half hour after his arrival, he found Sir Iltyd alone, and +received a warm greeting. + +"My dear boy," the old gentleman exclaimed, "I am delighted to see +you. It seems an age since you left, and your brief reports of +your ill-health have worried me. As for poor Weir, she has been ill +herself. She looks so wretched that I would have sent for a physician +had she not, in her usual tyrannical fashion, forbidden me. I did not +tell her you were expected to-night; I wanted to give her a pleasant +surprise. Here she is now." + +The door was pushed open and Weir entered the room. Dartmouth checked +an involuntary exclamation and went forward to meet her. She had on a +long white gown like that she had worn the morning he had asked her to +marry him, but the similarity of dress only served to accentuate the +change the intervening time had wrought. It was not merely that +she had lost her color and that her face was haggard; it was an +indefinable revolution in her personality, which made her look ten +years older, and left her without a suggestion of girlishness. She +still carried her head with her customary hauteur, but there was +something in its poise which suggested defiance as well, and which was +quite new. And the lanterns in her eyes had gone out; the storms had +been too heavy for them. All she needed was the costume of the First +Empire to look as if she had stepped out of the locket he had brought +from Crumford Hall. + +As she saw Dartmouth, the blood rushed over her face, dyeing it to the +roots of her hair, then receded, leaving it whiter than her gown. When +he reached her side she drew back a little, but he made no attempt to +kiss her; he merely raised her hand to his lips. As he did so he could +have sworn he saw the sun flashing on the domes beneath the window; +and over his senses stole the perfume of jasmine. The roar without was +not that of the ocean, but of a vast city, and--hark!--the cry of the +muezzin. How weird the tapestry looked in the firelight, and how the +figures danced! And he had always liked her to wear white, better even +than yellow. He roused himself suddenly and offered her his arm. The +butler was announcing dinner. + +They went into the dining-room, and Dartmouth and Sir Iltyd talked +about the change of ministry and the Gladstone attitude on the Irish +question for an hour and a quarter. Weir neither talked nor ate, but +sat with her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Dartmouth understood +and sympathized. He felt as if his own nerves were on the rack, as if +his brain had been rolled into a cord whose tension was so strained +that it might snap at any moment. But Sir Iltyd was considerate. +He excused himself as soon as dessert was removed, on the plea of +finishing an important historical work just issued, and the young +people went directly to the drawing-room. As Dartmouth closed the door +Weir turned to him, the color springing into her face. + +"Tell me," she said, peremptorily; "have you discovered what it +meant?" + +He took her hand and led her over to the sofa. She sat down, but stood +up again at once. "I cannot sit quietly," she said, "until I _know_. +The enforced repression of the past week, the having no one to speak +to, and the mystery of that dream have driven me nearly mad. It was +cruel of you to stay away so long--but let that pass. There is only +one thing I can think of now--do you know anything more than when you +left?" + +He folded his arms and looked down. "Why should you think I could +have learned anything at Crumford Hall?" he demanded, with apparent +evasion. + +"Because of the restraint and sometimes incoherence of your letters. +I knew that something had happened to you; you seemed hardly the same +man. You seemed like--Oh, I do not know. For heaven's sake, tell me +what it is." + +"Weir," he said, raising his head and looking at her, "what do you +think it is?" + +She put up her hands and covered her face. "I do not know," she said, +uncertainly. "If there is to be any explanation it must come from you. +With me there is only the indefinable but persistent feeling that I +am not Weir Penrhyn but the woman of that dream; that I have no right +here in my father's castle, and no right to the position I hold in the +world. To me sin has always seemed a horrible thing, and yet I feel +as if my own soul were saturated with it; and what is worse, I feel no +repentance. It is as if I were being punished by some external power, +not by my own conscience. As if--Oh, it is all too vague to put into +words--Harold, _what_ is it?" + +"Let us sit down," he said, "and talk it over." + +She allowed him to draw her down onto the sofa, and he looked at her +for a moment. Then, suddenly, the purely human love triumphed. He +forgot regret and disgust. He forgot the teachings of the world, and +the ideal whose shattering he had mourned. He remembered nothing but +that this woman so close to him was dearer than life or genius or +ambition; that he loved her with all the strength and passion of +which a man is capable. The past was gone, the future a blank; nothing +remained but the glorious present, with its impulses which sprang +straight from the heart of nature and which no creed could root out. +He flung his arms about her, and the fierce joy of the moment thrilled +and shook him as he kissed her. And for the moment she too forgot. + +Then his arms slowly relaxed and he leaned forward, placing his elbow +on his knee and covering his face with his hand. For a few moments he +thought without speaking. He decided that he would tell her something +to-night, but not all. He would give her a clue, and when she was +alone she might work the rest out for herself. Then, together, they +would decide what would be best to do. He took her hand. + +"I have something to tell you," he said. "I did not tell you before +I left because I thought it best not, but things have occurred since +which make it desirable you should know. You do not know, I suppose, +that on the night of our dream you got up in your sleep and wandered +about the castle." + +She leaned suddenly forward. "Yes?" she said, breathlessly. "I walked +in my sleep? You saw me? Where?" + +"In the gallery that overhangs the sea. I had gone there to watch the +storm, and was about to return to my room when I saw you coming toward +me. At first I thought you were the spirit of your grandmother--of +Sionèd Penrhyn. In your sleep you had dressed yourself like the +picture in the gallery, and the resemblance was complete. Then, +strangely enough, I walked up to you and took your hand and called you +'Sionèd'--" + +"Go on!" + +"Then you told me that you were dead, and had been wandering in the +hereafter and looking for me; that you could not find me there, and so +had come back to earth and entered into the body of a dead child, and +given it life, and grown to womanhood again, and found me at last. And +then you put your cold arms about me and drew me down onto a seat. I +suddenly lost all consciousness of the present, and we were together +in a scene which was like a page from a past existence. The page was +that of the dream we have found so difficult a problem, and you read +it with me, not alone in your room--Weir! What is the matter?" + +She had pushed him violently from her and sprung to her feet, and she +stood before him with wide-open, terror-stricken eyes, and quivering +in every limb. She tried to speak, but no words came; her lips were +white and shrivelled, and her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth. +Then she threw up her arms and fell heavily to the floor. + + + + +XIV. + + +After Weir had been carried up-stairs, and he had ascertained that she +was again conscious, Dartmouth went to his own room, knowing he could +not see her again that night. He did not go to bed; there was +no possibility of sleep for hours, and he preferred the slight +distraction of pacing up and down the room. After a time he paused +in front of the fireplace, and mechanically straightened one of the +andirons with his foot. What had affected Weir so strangely? Had the +whole thing burst suddenly upon her? He had hardly told her enough for +that; but what else could it be? Poor child! And poor Sir Iltyd! How +should he explain to him? What story could he concoct to satisfy him? +It would be absurd to attempt the truth; no human being but himself +and Weir could comprehend it; Sir Iltyd would only think them both +mad. He unconsciously drew in a long breath, expelling the air again +with some violence, like a man whose chest is oppressed. And how his +head ached! If he could only get a few hours sleep without that cursed +laudanum. Hark! what was that? A storm was coming up. It almost shook +the castle, solid and of stone as it was. But he was glad. A storm was +more in tune with his mood than calm. He would go out into the gallery +and watch it. + +He left his room and went to the gallery to which he had gone to watch +a storm a little over a week ago. A week? It seemed so remote that for +the moment he could not recall the events of that last visit; his +head ached so that everything but physical suffering was temporarily +insignificant. There was no moon to-night. The sky was covered with +black, scurrying clouds, and he could only hear the angry, boiling +waters, not see them. He felt suffocated. He had felt so all the +evening. Besides the pain in his head there was a pressure on his +brain; he must have air; and he pulled open one of the windows and +stood within it. The wind beat about his head, the sea-gulls screamed +in his ears, and the roar of the sea was deafening; but it exhilarated +him and eased his head for the moment. What a poem it would make, that +black, storm-swept sky, those mighty, thundering waters, that granite, +wind-torn coast! How he could have immortalized it once! And he had +it in him to immortalize it now, only that mechanical defect in his +brain, no--that cruel iron hand, would not let him tell the world that +he was greater than any to whom its people bent their knees. Ah, there +it was at last! It had reawakened, and it was battling and struggling +for speech as before. Perhaps this time it would succeed! It was +strong enough to conquer in the end, and why should not the end have +come? Surely the fire in his brain must have melted that iron hand. +Surely, far away, _they_ were singing again. Where were they? Within +his brain?--or battling with the storm to reach him? What were those +wraith-like things--those tiny forms dancing weirdly on the roaring +waters? Ah, he knew. They were the elfins of his brain that had +tormented him with their music and fled at his approach. They +had flown from their little cells, and were holding court on the +storm-waves like fairies on the green. It was like them to love the +danger and the tumult and the night. It was like them to shout and +bound with the intoxication of the hour, to scream with the gale, and +to kiss with frantic rapture the waves that threatened them. Each was +a Thought mightier than any known to living man, and in the bosom of +maddened nature it had found its element. And they had not deserted +him--they had fled but for the hour--they had turned suddenly and were +holding out their arms to him. Ah! he would meet them half-way-- + +A pair of arms, strong with terror, were suddenly thrown about him, +and he was dragged to the other side of the gallery. + +"Harold!" cried Weir; "what is the matter with you? Are you mad?" + +"I believe I am," he cried. "Come to the light. I have something to +tell you." + +He caught her by the wrists and pulled her down the gallery until they +were under the lantern which burned in one of the windows on nights +like this as a warning to mariners. She gave a faint scream of terror, +and struggled to release herself. + +"You look so strange," she cried. "Let me go." + +"Not any more strange than you do," he said, rapidly. "You, too, have +changed since that night in here, when the truth was told to both of +us. You did not understand then, nor did I; but I know all now, and I +will tell you." + +And then, in a torrent of almost unintelligible words, he poured +forth the tale of his discovery: what had come to him in the study at +Crumford Hall, the locket he had found, the letters he had read, the +episode of his past he had lived over, the poem which had swept him +up among the gods in its reading--all the sequence of facts whose +constant reiteration during every unguarded moment had mechanically +forced themselves into lasting coherence. She listened with head bent +forward, and eyes through which terror, horror, despair, chased each +other, then returned and fought together. "It is all true," he cried, +in conclusion. "It is all true. Why don't you speak? Cannot you +understand?" + +She wrenched her hands from his grasp and flung her arms above her +head. "Yes," she cried, "I understand. I am a woman for whose sin Time +has no mercy; you are a madman, and I am alone!" + +"What are you saying?" he demanded, thickly. "You are alone? There is +no hope, then?" + +"No, there is no hope," she said, "nor has the worst--" She sprang +suddenly forward and caught him about the neck. "Oh, Harold!" she +cried, "you are not mad. It cannot be! I cannot think of the sin, or +care; I only know that I love you! love you! love you! and that if we +can be together always the past can go; even--Oh, Harold, speak to me; +don't look at me in that way!" + +But his arms hung inertly at his sides, and he looked down into her +agonized face with a smile. "No hope!" he whispered. + +The poor girl dropped in a heap to the floor, as if the life had +suddenly gone out of her. Harold gave a little laugh. "No hope!" he +said. + +She sprang to her feet and flew down the gallery. But he stood where +she had left him. She reached the open window, then turned and for +a moment faced him again. "No," she cried, "no hope, and no rest or +peace;" and then the storm and the night closed over her. + +He moved to the window after a moment, and leaning out, called her +name. There was no answer but the shrieking of the storm. The black +waters had greedily embraced her, and in their depths she would find +rest at last. How would she look down there, in some quiet cave, +with the sea-weed floating over her white gown, and the pearls in her +beautiful hair? How exquisite a thing she would be! The very monsters +of the deep would hold their breath as they passed, and leave her +unmolested. And the eye of mortal man would never gaze upon her again. +There was divinest ecstacy in the thought! Ah! how lovely she was! +What a face--what a form! + +He staggered back from the window and gave a loud laugh. At last it +had been vanquished and broken--that iron hand. He had heard it snap +that moment within his brain. And it was pouring upward, that river of +song. The elfins had come back, and were quiring like the immortals. +She would hear them down there, in her cold, nameless grave, with the +ceaseless requiem of the waters above her, and smile and rejoice +that death had come to her to give him speech. His brain was the very +cathedral of heaven, and there was music in every part of it. The +glad shout was ringing throughout nave and transept like the glorious +greeting of Christmas morning. "Her face! Her form!" No, no; not +that again. They were no part of the burning flood of song which was +writhing and surging in his brain. They were not the words which would +tell the world--Ah! what was it? "Her face! Her form!--" + +He groped his way to and fro like a blind man seeking some object to +guide him. "Her eyes! Her hair!" No, no. Oh, what was this? Why was he +falling--falling?--What was that terror-stricken cry? that wild, white +face of an old man above him? Where had this water come from that was +boiling and thundering in his ears? What was that tossed aloft by the +wave beyond? If he could but reach her!--She had gone! Cruel Night had +caught her in its black arms and was laughing at his efforts to reach +her. That mocking, hideous laughter! how it shrieked above the storm, +its dissonance as eternal as his fate! There she was again!--Sionèd! +No, she had gone, and he was beating with impotent fury those +devouring--But who was this bending over him?--the Night Queen, with +the stars in her hair? And what was she pressing into his arms? At +last! Sionèd! Sionèd! + + +THE END. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of What Dreams May Come +by Gertrude Franklin Horn Atherton + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHAT DREAMS MAY COME *** + +***** This file should be named 12833-8.txt or 12833-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/8/3/12833/ + +Produced by Cathy Smith and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/12833-8.zip b/old/12833-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8b431ce --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12833-8.zip diff --git a/old/12833.txt b/old/12833.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9f84017 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12833.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4821 @@ +Project Gutenberg's What Dreams May Come, by Gertrude Franklin Horn Atherton + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: What Dreams May Come + +Author: Gertrude Franklin Horn Atherton + +Release Date: July 6, 2004 [EBook #12833] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHAT DREAMS MAY COME *** + + + + +Produced by Cathy Smith and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + +WHAT DREAMS MAY COME. + +by Frank Lin (pseud. of Gertrude Franklin Horn Atherton) + + +Dedicated to Muriel Atherton + + + + +WHAT DREAMS MAY COME. + +THE OVERTURE. + + +Constantinople; the month of August; the early days of the century. It +was the hour of the city's most perfect beauty. The sun was setting, +and flung a mellowing glow over the great golden domes and minarets +of the mosques, the bazaars glittering with trifles and precious with +elements of Oriental luxury, the tortuous thoroughfares with their +motley throng, the quiet streets with their latticed windows, and +their atmosphere heavy with silence and mystery, the palaces whose +cupolas and towers had watched over so many centuries of luxury and +intrigue, pleasure and crime, the pavilions, groves, gardens, kiosks +which swarmed with the luxuriance of tropical growth over the hills +and valleys of a city so vast and so beautiful that it tired the brain +and fatigued the senses. Scutari, purple and green and gold, blended +in the dying light into exquisite harmony of color; Stamboul gathered +deeper gloom under her overhanging balconies, behind which lay hidden +the loveliest of her women; and in the deserted gardens of the Old +Seraglio, beneath the heavy pall of the cypresses, memories of a +grand, terrible, barbarous, but most romantic Past crept forth and +whispered ruin and decay. + +High up in Pera the gray walls of the English Embassy stood out +sharply defined against the gold-wrought sky. The windows were thrown +wide to invite the faint, capricious breeze which wandered through +the hot city; but the silken curtains were drawn in one of the smaller +reception-rooms. The room itself was a soft blaze of wax candles +against the dull richness of crimson and gold. Men and women were +idling about in that uneasy atmosphere which precedes the announcement +of dinner. Many of the men wore orders on their breasts, and the +uniforms of the countries they represented, and a number of Turks +gave a picturesque touch to the scene, with their jewelled turbans and +flowing robes. The women were as typical as their husbands; the wife +of the Russian Ambassador, with her pale hair and moonlight eyes, her +delicate shoulders and jewel-sewn robe; the Italian, with her lithe +grace and heavy brows, the Spanish beauty, with her almond, +dreamy eyes, her chiselled features and mantilla-draped head; the +Frenchwoman, with her bright, sallow, charming, unrestful face; the +Austrian, with her cold repose and latent devil. In addition were the +Secretaries of Legation, with their gaily-gowned young wives, and +one or two English residents; all assembled at the bidding of Sir +Dafyd-ap-Penrhyn, the famous diplomatist who represented England at +the court of the Sultan. + +Sir Dafyd was standing between the windows and underneath one of the +heavy candelabra. He was a small but striking-looking man, with a +great deal of head above the ears, light blue eyes deeply set and far +apart, a delicate arched nose, and a certain expression of brutality +about the thin lips, so faint as to be little more than a shadow. He +was blandly apologizing for the absence of his wife. She had dressed +to meet her guests, but had been taken suddenly ill and obliged to +retire. + +As he finished speaking he turned to a woman who sat on a low chair +at his right. She was young and very handsome. Her eyes were black +and brilliant, her mouth was pouting and petulant, her chin curved +slightly outward. Her features were very regular, but there was +neither softness nor repose in her face. She looked like a statue that +had been taken possession of by the Spirit of Discontent. + +"I am sorry not to see Dartmouth," said the great minister, affably. +"Is he ill again? He must be careful; the fever is dangerous." + +Mrs. Dartmouth drew her curved brows together with a frown which did +not soften her face. "He is writing," she said, shortly. "He is always +writing." + +"O, but you know that is a Dartmouth failing--ambition," said Sir +Dafyd, with a smile. "They must be either in the study or dictating to +the King." + +"Well, I wish my Fate had been a political Dartmouth. Lionel sits in +his study all day and writes poetry--which I detest. I shall bring up +my son to be a statesman." + +"So that his wife may see more of him?" said Sir Dafyd, laughing. "You +are quite capable of making whatever you like of him, however, for you +are a clever woman--if you are not poetical. But it is hard that you +should be so much alone, Catherine. Why are not you and Sioned more +together? There are so few of you here, you should try and amuse +each other. Diplomatists, like poets, see little of their wives, and +Sioned, I have no doubt, is bored very often." + +Dinner was announced at the moment, and Mrs. Dartmouth stood up and +looked her companion full in the eyes. "I do not like Sioned," she +said, harshly. "She, too, is poetical." + +For a moment there was a suspicion of color in Sir Dafyd's pale face, +and the shadow on his mouth seemed to take shape and form. Then he +bowed slightly, and crossing the room offered his arm to the wife of +the Russian Ambassador. + + * * * * * + +The sun sank lower, Constantinople's richer tints faded into soft opal +hues, and the muezzin called the people to prayer. From a window in a +wing of the Embassy furthest from the banqueting hall, and overlooking +the city, a woman watched the shifting panorama below. She was more +beautiful than any of her neglected guests, although her eyes were +heavy and her face was pale. Her hair was a rich, burnished brown, and +drawn up to the crown of her head in a loose mass of short curls, held +in place by a half-coronet of diamonds. In front the hair was parted +and curled, and the entire head was encircled by a band of diamond +stars which pressed the bronze ringlets low over the forehead. The +features were slightly aquiline; the head was oval and admirably +poised. But it was the individuality of the woman that made her +beauty, not features or coloring. The keen, intelligent eyes, with +their unmistakable power to soften, the spiritual brow, the strong, +sensuous chin, the tender mouth, the spirited head, each a poet's +delight, each an artist's study, all blended, a strange, strong, +passionate story in flesh and blood--a remarkable face. Her neck and +arms were bare, and she wore a short-waisted gown of yellow satin, +which fell in shining lines from belt to hem. + +Pale as she was she assuredly did not look ill enough to justify her +desertion of her guests. As a matter of fact she had forgotten both +guests and excuse. When a woman has taken a resolution which flings +her suddenly up to the crisis of her destiny she is apt to forget +state dinners and whispered comment. To-morrow state dinners would +pass out of her life, and they would go unregretted. She turned +suddenly and picked up some loose sheets of manuscript which lay on a +table beside her--a poem which would immortalize the city her window +overlooked. A proud smile curved her mouth, then faded swiftly as she +pressed the pages passionately to her lips. She put them back on +the table and turning her head looked down the room with much of the +affection one gives a living thing. The room was as Oriental as any +carefully secluded chamber in the city below. The walls were hung +with heavy, soft Eastern stuffs, dusky and rich, which shut out all +suggestion of doors. The black marble floor was covered with a strange +assortment of wild beasts' skins, pale, tawny, sombre, ferocious. +There were deep, soft couches and great piles of cushions, a few rare +paintings stood on easels, and the air was heavy with jasmine. The +woman's lids fell over her eyes, and the blood mounted slowly, making +her temples throb. Then she threw back her head, a triumphant light +flashing in her eyes, and brought her open palm down sharply on the +table. "If I fall," she said, "I fall through strength, not +through weakness. If I sin, I do so wittingly, not in a moment of +overmastering passion." + +She bent suddenly forward, her breath coming quickly. There were +footsteps at the end of the marble corridor without. For a moment she +trembled from head to foot. Remorse, regret, horror, fear, chased each +other across her face, her convulsed features reflecting the emotions +which for weeks past had oppressed heart and brain. Then, before the +footsteps reached the door, she was calm again and her head erect. +The glory of the sunset had faded, and behind her was the short grey +twilight of the Southern night; but in her face was that magic light +that never was on sea or land. + +The heavy portiere at the end of the room was thrust aside and a man +entered. He closed the door and pushed the hanging back into place, +then went swiftly forward and stood before her. She held out her hand +and he took it and drew her further within the room. The twilight had +gone from the window, the shadows had deepened, and the darkness of +night was about them. + + * * * * * + +In the great banqueting-hall the stout mahogany table upheld its +weight of flashing gold and silver and sparkling crystal without a +groan, and solemn, turbaned Turks passed wine and viand. Around +the board the diplomatic colony forgot their exile in remote +Constantinople, and wit and anecdote, spicy but good-humored political +discussion, repartee and flirtation made a charming accompaniment +to the wonderful variety displayed in the faces and accents of the +guests. The stately, dignified ministers of the Sultan gazed at the +fair faces and jewel-laden shoulders of the women of the North, and +sighed as they thought of their dusky wives; and the women of the +North threw blue, smiling glances to the Turks and wondered if it were +romantic to live in a harem. + +At the end of the second course Sir Dafyd raised a glass of wine to +his lips, and, as he glanced about the table, conversation ceased for +a moment. + +"Will you drink to my wife's health?" he said. "It has caused me much +anxiety of late." + +Every glass was simultaneously raised, and then Sir Dafyd pushed back +his chair and rose to his feet. "If you will pardon me," he said, "I +will go and see how she is." + +He left the room, and the wife of the Spanish Ambassador turned to +her companion with a sigh. "So devot he is, no?" she murmured. "You +Eenglish, you have the fire undere the ice. He lover his wife very +moocho when he leaver the dinner. And she lover him too, no?" + +"I don't know," said the Englishman to whom she spoke. "It never +struck me that Penrhyn was a particularly lovable fellow. He's so +deuced haughty; the Welsh are worse for that than we English. He's as +unapproachable as a stone. I don't fancy the Lady Sioned worships the +ground he treads upon. But then, he's the biggest diplomate in Great +Britain; one can't have everything." + +"I no liker all the Eenglish, though," pursued the pretty Spaniard. +"The Senora Dar-muth, I no care for her. She looker like she have the +tempere--how you call him?--the dev-vil, no? And she looker like she +have the fire ouside and the ice in." + +"Oh, she's not so bad," said the Englishman, loyally. "She has +some admirable traits, and she's deuced clever, but she has an +ill-regulated sort of a nature, and is awfully obstinate and +prejudiced. It's a sort of vanity. She worries Dartmouth a good deal. +He's a born poet, if ever a man was, and she wants him to go into +politics. Wants a _salon_ and all that sort of thing. She ought to +have it, too. Political intrigue would just suit her; she's diplomatic +and secretive. But Dartmouth prefers his study." + +The lady from Spain raised her sympathetic, pensive eyes to the +Englishman's. "And the Senor Dar-muth? How he is? He is nice fellow? I +no meeting hime?" + +"The best fellow that ever lived, God bless him!" exclaimed the young +man, enthusiastically. "He has the temperament of genius, and he isn't +always there when you want him--I mean, he isn't always in the right +mood; but he's a splendid specimen of a man, and the most likeable +fellow I ever knew--poor fellow!" + +"Why you say 'poor fel-low'? He is no happy, no?" + +"Well, you see," said the young man, succumbing to those lovely, +pitying eyes, and not observing that they gazed with equal tenderness +at the crimson wine in the cup beside her plate--"you see, he and his +wife are none too congenial, as I said. It makes her wild to have him +write, not only because she wants to cut a figure in London, and he +will always live in some romantic place like this, but she's in love +with him, in her way, and she's jealous of his very desk. That makes +things unpleasant about the domestic hearthstone. And then she doesn't +believe a bit in his talent, and takes good care to let him know it. +So, you see, he's not the most enviable of mortals." + +"Much better she have be careful," said the Spanish woman; "some day +he feel tire out and go to lover someone else. Please you geeve me +some more clarette?" + +"Here comes Sir Dafyd," said the Englishman, as he filled her glass. +"It has taken him a long time to find out how she is." + +The shadow had wholly disappeared from Sir Dafyd's mouth, a faint +smile hovering there instead. As he took his seat the Austrian +Ambassador leaned forward and inquired politely about the state of +Lady Sioned's health. + +"She is sleeping quietly," said Sir Dafyd. + + + + +PART I. + +THE MELODY. + +I. + + +The Hon. Harold Dartmouth was bored. He had been in Paris three months +and it was his third winter. He was young. He possessed a liberal +allowance of good looks, money, and family prestige. Combining these +three conditions, he had managed to pretty thoroughly exhaust the +pleasures of the capital. At all events he believed he had exhausted +them, and he wanted a new sensation. He had "done" his London until it +was more flavorless than Paris, and he had dawdled more or less in the +various Courts of Europe. While in St. Petersburg he had inserted +a too curious finger into the Terrorist pie, and had come very +near making a prolonged acquaintance with the House of Preventative +Detention; but after being whisked safely out of the country under +cover of a friend's passport, he had announced himself cured of +further interest in revolutionary politics. The affair had made him +quite famous for a time, however; Krapotkin had sought him out and +warmly thanked him for his interest in the Russian Geysers, and begged +him to induce his father to abjure his peace policy and lend his hand +to the laudable breaking of Czarism's back. But Lord Cardingham, who +was not altogether ruled by his younger son, had declined to expend +his seductions upon Mr. Gladstone in the cause of a possible laying of +too heavy a rod upon England's back, and had recommended his erratic +son to let the barbarism of absolutism alone in the future, and try +his genius upon that of democracy. Dartmouth, accordingly, had spent +a winter in Washington as Secretary of Legation, and had entertained +himself by doling out such allowance of diplomatic love to the fair +American dames as had won him much biographical honor in the press +of the great republic. Upon his father's private admonition, that it +would be as well to generously resign his position in favor of some +more needy applicant, with a less complex heart-line and a slight +acquaintance with international law, he had, after a summer at +Newport, returned to Europe and again devoted himself to winning a +fame not altogether political. And now there was nothing left, and he +felt that fate had used him scurrilously. He was twenty-eight, and had +exhausted life. He had nothing left but to yawn through weary years +and wish he had never been born. + +He clasped his hands behind his head and looked out on the brilliant +crowd from his chair in the Cafe de la Cascade in the Bois. He was +handsome, this blase young Englishman, with a shapely head, poised +strongly upon a muscular throat. Neither beard nor moustache hid the +strong lines of the face. A high type, in spite of his career, his +face was a good deal more suggestive of passion than of sensuality. +He was tall, slight, and sinewy, and carried himself with the indolent +hauteur of a man of many grandfathers. And indeed, unless, perhaps, +that this plaything, the world, was too small, he had little to +complain of. Although a younger son, he had a large fortune in his own +right, left him by an adoring grandmother who had died shortly before +he had come of age, and with whom he had lived from infancy as adopted +son and heir. This grandmother was the one woman who had ever shone +upon his horizon whose disappearance he regretted; and he was wont +to remark that he never again expected to find anything beneath +a coiffure at once so brilliant, so fascinating, so clever, so +altogether "filling" as his lamented relative. If he ever did he would +marry and settle down as a highly respectable member of society, and +become an M.P. and the owner of a winner of the Derby; but until then +he would sigh away his tired life at the feet of beauty, Bacchus, or +chance. + +"What is the matter, Hal?" asked Bective Hollington, coming up behind +him. "Yawning so early in the day?" + +"Bored," replied Dartmouth, briefly. "Don't expect me to talk to you. +I haven't an idea left." + +"My dear Harold, do not flatter yourself that I came to you in search +of ideas. I venture to break upon your sulky meditations in the cause +of friendship alone. If you will rouse yourself and walk to the window +you may enrich your sterile mind with an idea, possibly with ideas. +Miss Penrhyn will pass in a moment." + +"The devil!" + +"No, not the devil; Miss Penrhyn." + +"And who the devil is Miss Penrhyn?" + +"The new English, or rather, Welsh beauty, Weir Penrhyn," replied +Hollington. "She came out last season in London, and the Queen +pronounced her the most beautiful girl who had been presented at Court +for twenty years. Such a relief from the blue-eyed and 'golden-bronze' +professional! She will pass in a moment. Do rouse yourself." + +Dartmouth got up languidly and walked to the window. After all, a new +face and a pretty one was something; one degree, perhaps, better than +nothing. "Which is she?" he asked. "The one in the next carriage, with +Lady Langdon, talking to Bolton." + +The carriage passed them, and Harold's eyes met for a moment those +of a girl who was lying back chatting idly with a man who rode on +horseback beside her. She was a beautiful creature, truly, with a +rich, dark skin, and eyes like a tropical animal's. A youthful face, +striking and unconventional. + +"Well?" queried Hollington. + +"Yes, a very handsome girl," said Dartmouth. "I have seen her before, +somewhere." + +"What! you have seen that woman before and not remembered her? +Impossible! And then you have not been in England for a year." + +"I am sure I have seen her before," said Dartmouth. "Where could it +have been?" + +"Her father is a Welsh baronet, and your estates are in the North, so +you could hardly have known her as a child. She was educated in the +utmost seclusion at home; no one ever saw her or heard of her until +the fag end of the last London season, and she only arrived in Paris +two days ago, and made her first appearance in public last night at +the opera, where you were not. So where could you have seen her?" + +"I cannot imagine," said Dartmouth, meditatively. "But her face is +dimly familiar, and it is a most unusual one. Tell me something about +her;" and he resumed his seat. + +"She is the daughter of Sir Iltyd-ap-Penrhyn," said Hollington, +craning his neck to catch a last glimpse of the disappearing beauty. +"Awfully poor, but dates back to before Chaos. Looks down with scorn +upon Sir Watkin Wynn, who hangs up the flood on the middle branch of +his family tree. They live in a dilapitated old castle on the coast, +and there Sir Iltyd brought up this tropical bird--she is an only +child--and educated her himself. Her mother died when she was very +young, and her father, with the proverbial constancy of mankind, has +never been known to smile since. Lively for the tropical bird, was +it not? Lady Langdon, who was in Wales last year, and who was an old +friend of the girl's mother, called on her and saw the professional +possibilities, so to speak. She gave the old gentleman no peace +until he told her she could take the girl to London, which she did +forthwith, before he had time to change his mind. She has made a +rousing sensation, but she is a downright beauty and no mistake. Lady +Langdon evidently intends to hold on to her, for I see she has her +still." + +"I could not have known her, of course; I have never put my foot in +Wales. But I suppose I shall meet her now. Is she to be at the Russian +Legation to-night?" + +"Yes; I have it from the best authority--herself. You had better go. +She is worth knowing, I can tell you." + +"Well, I'll think of it," said Dartmouth. "I must be off now; I have +no end of letters to write. I'll rely upon you to do the honors if I +go!" and he took up his hat and sauntered out. + +He went directly to his apartments on the Avenue Champs Elysees, and +wrote a few epistles to his impatient and much-enduring relatives in +Britain; then, lighting a cigar, he flung himself upon the sofa. The +room accorded with the man. Art and negligence were hand-in-hand. +The hangings were of dusky-gold plush, embroidered with designs which +breathed the fervent spirit of Decorative Art, and the floor was +covered with the oldest and oddest of Persian rugs. There were +cabinets of antique medallions, cameos, and enamels; low brass +book-cases, filled with volumes bound in Russian leather, whose +pungent odor filled the room; a varied collection of pipes; a case of +valuable ceramics, one of the collection having a pedigree which +no uncelestial mind had ever pretended to grasp, and which had been +presented to Lord Cardingham, while minister to China, by the Emperor. +That his younger son had unblushingly pilfered it he had but recently +discovered, but demands for its return had as yet availed not. There +were a few valuable paintings, a case of rare old plates, many with +the coats of arms of sovereigns upon them, strangely carved chairs, +each with a history, all crowded together and making a charming nest +for the listless, somewhat morbid, and disgusted young man stretched +out upon a couch, covered with a rug of ostrich feathers brought from +the Straits of Magellan. Over the onyx mantel was a portrait of his +grandmother, a handsome old lady with high-piled, snow-white hair, and +eyes whose brilliancy age had not dimmed. The lines about the mouth +were hard, but the face was full of intelligence, and the man at her +feet had never seen anything of the hardness of her nature. She had +blindly idolized him. + +"I wish she were here now," thought Dartmouth regretfully, as he +contemplated the picture through the rings of smoke; "I could talk +over things with her, and she could hit off people with that tongue of +hers. Gods! how it could cut! Poor old lady! I wonder if I shall ever +find her equal." After which, he fell asleep and forgot his sorrows +until his valet awakened him and told him it was time to dress for +dinner. + + + + +II. + + +I hope I have not conveyed to the reader the idea that our hero is +frivolous. On the contrary, he was considered a very brilliant young +man, and he could command the respect of his elders when he chose. +But, partly owing to his wealth and independent condition, partly to +the fact that the world had done its best to spoil him, he had led a +very aimless existence. He was by no means satisfied with his life, +however; he was far too clever for that; and he had spent a good deal +of time, first and last, reviling Fate for not having endowed him with +some talent upon which he could concentrate his energies, and with +which attain distinction and find balm for his ennui. His grandmother +had cherished the conviction that he was an undeveloped genius; but +in regard to what particular field his genius was to enrich, she had +never clearly expressed herself, and his own consciousness had not +been more explicit. He had long ago made up his mind, indeed, that +his grandmother's convictions had been the fond delusions of a doting +parent, and that the sooner he unburdened himself of that particular +legacy the better. The unburdening, however, had been accomplished +with a good deal of bitterness, for he was very ambitious and very +proud, and to be obliged to digest the fact that he was but a type of +the great majority was distinctly galling. True, politics were left. +His father, one of the most distinguished of England's statesmen, and +a member of the present cabinet, would have been delighted to assist +his career; but Harold disliked politics. With the exception of his +passing interest in the Russian socialists--an interest springing from +his adventurous nature--he had never troubled himself about any party, +faction, or policy, home or foreign. He would like to write a great +poem, but he had never felt a second's inspiration, and had never +wasted time in the endeavor to force it. Failing that, he would like +to write a novel; but, fluently and even brilliantly as he sometimes +talked, his pen was not ready, and he was conscious of a conspicuous +lack of imagination. To be sure, one does not need much in these +days of realistic fervor; it is considered rather a coarse and +old-fashioned article; but that one needs some sort of a plot is +indisputable, and Dartmouth's brain had consistently refused to evolve +one. Doubtless he could cultivate the mere habit of writing, +and achieve reputation as an essayist. His critical faculty was +pronounced, and he had carefully developed it; and it was possible +that when the world had completely palled upon him, he would shut +himself up at Crumford Hall and give the public the benefit of his +accumulated opinions, abstract and biographical. But he was not ready +for that yet; he needed several years more of experience, observation, +and assiduous cultivation of the habit of analysis; and in the +meantime he was in a condition of cold disgust with himself and with +Fate. It may also have been gathered that Mr. Dartmouth was a young +man of decidedly reckless proclivities. It is quite true that he never +troubled himself about any question of morals or social ethics; he +simply calculated the mathematical amount of happiness possible to the +individual. That was all there was in life. Had he lived a generation +or two earlier, he would have pursued his way along the paths of the +prohibited without introspective analysis; but being the intellectual +young man of the latter decades of the 19th century, it amused him +to season his defiance of certain conventional codes with the salt of +philosophy. + +Miss Penrhyn reached the Legation a few moments after Dartmouth's +arrival, and he watched her as she entered the ballroom. She wore +a simple white gown, embroidered about the corsage with silver +crescents; and her richly-tinted brown hair was coiled about her head +and held in place by a crescent-shaped comb. She was a tall, slim, +shapely girl, with an extreme grace of carriage and motion, and a neck +and arms whose clear olive was brought out with admirable effect +by the dead white of her gown. Her face, somewhat listless and +preoccupied as she entered, quickly brightened into animation as a +number of men at once surrounded her. Dartmouth continued to watch her +for a few moments, and concluded that he would like to know her, even +if she were a girl and an _ingenue_. She was fascinating, apart from +her beauty; she looked different from other women, and that was +quite enough to command his interest. It would be too much trouble +to struggle for an introduction at present, however, and he allowed +himself to be taken possession of by his cousin, Margaret Talbot, +who, with the easy skill of a spoiled beauty, dismissed several other +cavaliers upon his approach. They wandered about for a time, and +finally entered a tiny boudoir fitted up to represent a bird's nest in +tufted blue satin, with an infinite number of teacups so arranged as +to be cunningly suggestive of eggs whose parents had been addicted to +Decorative Art. + +"What do you think of the new beauty?" demanded Mrs. Talbot, as they +established themselves upon an extremely uncomfortable little sofa +upheld between the outstretched wings of the parent bird, which was +much too large for the eggs. + +"She does very well," replied Harold, who was wise in his generation. + +Mrs. Talbot put her handkerchief suddenly to her face and burst into +tears. Dartmouth turned pale. + +"What is it, Margaret?" he said. "Do not cry here; people will notice, +and make remarks." + +She made no reply, and he got up and moved restlessly about the room; +then returning he stood looking moodily down upon her. + +Some years before, just about the time he was emerging from +knickerbockers, he had been madly in love with this golden-haired, +hazel-eyed cousin of his, and the lady, who had the advantage of him +in years, being unresponsive, he had haunted a very large and very +deep ornamental pond in his grandmother's park for several weeks with +considerable persistency. Had the disease attacked him in summer it is +quite probable that this story would never have been written, for his +nature was essentially a high-strung and tragic one; but fortunately +he met his beautiful cousin in mid-winter, and 'tis a despairing lover +indeed who breaks the ice. Near as their relationship was, he had not +met her again until the present winter, and then he had found that +years had lent her additional fascination. She was extremely unhappy +in her domestic life, and naturally she gave him her confidence and +awoke that sentiment which is so fatally akin to another and sometimes +more disastrous one. + +Dartmouth loved her with that love which a man gives to so many women +before the day comes wherein he recognizes the spurious metal from the +real. It was not, as in its first stage, the mad, unreasoning fancy +of an unfledged boy, but that sentiment, half sympathy, half passion, +which a woman may inspire who is not strong enough to call out the +highest and best that lies hidden in a man's nature. This feeling for +his cousin, if not the supremest that a woman can command, bore +one characteristic which distinguished it from any of his previous +passions. For the first time in his life he had resisted a +temptation--principally because she was his cousin. With the instinct +of his caste he acknowledged the obligation to avert dishonor in his +own family where he could. And, aside from family pride, he had a +strong personal regard for his cousin which was quite independent of +that sentiment which, for want of a better name, he called love. She +was young, she was lonely, she was unhappy, and his calmer affection +prompted him to protect her from himself, and not, after a brief +period of doubtful happiness, to leave her to a lifetime of tormenting +memories and regrets. She loved him, of course; and reckless with the +knowledge of her ruined life, her hopeless future, and above all the +certainty that youth and its delicious opportunities were slipping +fast, she would doubtless have gone the way of most women under +similar circumstances, had not Harold, for once in his life, been +strong. Perhaps, if he had really loved her, he would not have been so +self-sacrificing. + +After her paroxysm of tears had partly subsided, he took her hand. +"What is the matter?" he asked, kindly. "Is there any more trouble?" + +"It is the same," she said. "You know how unhappy I am; it was foolish +of me to break down here, but I could not help it. Besides, there is +another thing--I wish you would go away." + +He walked to the end of the room, then returned and bent over her, +placing his hand on the back of the sofa. "Very well," he said, "I +will go. I should have gone before. I would have done so, but I hated +to leave you alone." + +He lifted her face and kissed her. She laid her head against his +shoulder, then she suddenly pushed him from her with a low cry, and +Dartmouth, following her gaze, turned his head in time to meet the +scornful eyes of Miss Penrhyn as she dropped the portiere from her +hand. Dartmouth kicked aside a footstool with an exclamation of +anger. He was acutely conscious of having been caught in a ridiculous +position, and moreover, he would not be the chief sufferer. + +"Oh, Harold! Harold!" gasped Margaret, "I am ruined. You know what +women are. By this time to-morrow that girl will have told the story +all over Paris." + +The words made Dartmouth forget his personal annoyance for the moment. +"Do not cry any more," he said, kindly; "I am awfully sorry, but I +will see what I can do. I will make a point of meeting the girl, and +I will see that--do not worry. I will go at once, and you had better +remain here for the present. There is no danger of anyone intruding +upon you: this room was never intended for three." He paused a moment. +"Good-bye, Margaret!" he said. + +She started sharply, but rose to her feet and put out her hand: +"Good-bye," she said. + +He lifted her hand to his lips, then the portiere fell behind him and +she was alone. + +He went directly to the ball-room and asked Hollington to present him +to Miss Penrhyn. She was standing with her back to him and did not +notice his approach, and his name was pronounced while her eyes were +still on the face of the man to whom she was talking. She gave him a +glance of swift scorn, bent her head haughtily, and all but turned her +back upon him. But Dartmouth, indolent and lazy as he was, was not the +man to be lightly disposed of when once roused to action. + +"Bolton," he said, to her companion, "they are waiting for you in the +billiard-room; you have an engagement to play a game with our host +at twelve. It is now exactly the hour. I will take charge of Miss +Penrhyn;" and before the bewildered Bolton could protest, or Miss +Penrhyn realize his purpose, he had drawn the girl's arm through his +own and was half-way down the room. + +"Where have I met you before?" he demanded, when they were safely lost +in the crowd. "Surely, we are not altogether strangers." + +"I do not know," haughtily; "I have never met you before that I am +aware of." + +"It is strange, but I cannot get rid of the idea that I have seen you +elsewhere," continued Dartmouth, unmoved. "And yet, if I had, I most +assuredly could not have forgotten it." + +"You are flattering, but I must ask you to excuse me. I am engaged for +the next dance, and I see my partner looking for me." + +"Indeed, I shall do nothing of the kind. I have no idea of resigning +you so lightly." And he calmly led her into a small withdrawing-room +and seated her behind a protecting screen. He took the chair beside +her and smiled down into her angry face. Her eyes, which had a +peculiar yellow flame in them, now within, now just without the iris, +as if from a tiny lantern hidden in their depths, were blazing. + +"Well?" he said, calmly; "of what are you thinking?" + +"That you are the rudest and the most impertinent man I have ever +met," she replied, hotly. + +"You are unkind; I have been unfortunate enough to incur your +disapproval, but you judge me cruelly. I am undoubtedly a very +reprehensible character, Miss Penrhyn, but I don't think that I am +worse than most men." He recognized at once that it would be folly to +tell the usual lie: she would simply laugh in his face. He must accept +the situation, plead guilty and make a skilful defense. Later, when +he had established himself in her confidence, he would exonerate his +cousin. + +Miss Penrhyn's lip curled disdainfully. "I am not aware that I have +asked you to justify yourself," she said. "It is of no possible +interest to me whether you are better or worse than most men. It is +quite possible, however," she added, hastily and unwillingly, "that +in this case, as in others, there may be the relief of an exception to +prove the rule." + +Dartmouth saw his advantage at once. She was not merely disgusted; +she was angry; and in her anger she forgot herself and condescended to +sarcasm. There was one barrier the less to be broken down. "We are a +bad lot, I am afraid, Miss Penrhyn," he replied, quietly; "but keep +your illusions while you can. You are happier for them, and I would be +the last to dispel them." + +"You are considerate," she retorted: "it is more than possible you +will not dispel my illusions; there will not be--" + +"You mean to imply, delicately," he interrupted her, "that you do not +consider me worthy of being added to the list of your acquaintances?" + +"I really have given the matter no thought, and I do not see what +advantage either side could derive from further acquaintance." But +she colored slightly as she spoke, and turned to him an angrily severe +profile. + +"Don't you think," he said--and his calm, drawling tone formed a +contrast to her own lack of control which she could not fail to +appreciate--"don't you think that you judge me with exaggerated +harshness? Do you think the life of any one of these men who have +surrounded you to-night, and upon whom you certainly did not frown, +would bear inspection? It would almost appear as if I had personally +incurred your displeasure, you are so very hard upon me. You forget +that my offense could not have any individual application for you. Had +I known you, you might reasonably have been indignant had I gone from +you, a young girl, to things which you held to be wrong. But I did not +know you; you must remember that. And as for the wrong itself, I hope +the knowledge of greater wrong may never come to you. When you have +lived in the world a few years longer, I am very much afraid you will +look upon such things with an only too careless eye." + +The cruel allusion to her youth told, and the girl's cheek flushed, +as she threw back her head with a spirited movement which delighted +Dartmouth, while the lanterns in her eyes leaped up afresh. Where had +he seen those eyes before? + +"I don't know what your ideas of honor may be in regard to the young +ladies of your acquaintance," she said, with an additional dash of +ice in her voice, "but it seems to me a peculiar kind of honor which +allows a man to insult his hostess by making love to a married woman +in her house." + +"Pret-ty good for a baby!" thought Dartmouth. "She could not have +done that better if she had been brought up Lady Langdon's daughter, +instead of having been under that general's tuition, and emancipated +from a life of seclusion, just about six months. Decidedly, she is +worth cultivating." He looked at her reflectively. That he was in +utter disgrace admitted of not a doubt. Women found little fault with +him, as a rule. They had shown themselves willing, with an aptitude +which savored of monotony, to take him on any terms; and to be sat in +judgment upon by a penniless girl with the face and air of an angry +goddess, had a flavor of novelty about it decidedly thrilling. +He determined to conquer or die. Clever as she was, she was still +absolutely a child, and no match for him. He placed his elbow on his +knee and leaned his head on his hand. + +"Your rebuke is a very just one," he said, sadly. "And I have only the +poor excuse to offer that in this wicked world of ours we grow very +callous, and forget those old codes of honor which men were once so +strict about, no matter what the irregularities of their lives might +be. I am afraid it is quite true that I am not fit to touch your hand; +and indeed," he added hastily, "it is a miserable business all round, +and God knows there is little enough in it." + +She turned and regarded him with something less of anger, something +more of interest, in her eyes. + +"Then why do not you reform?" she asked, in a matter-of fact tone. +"Why do you remain so bad, if you regret it?" + +"There is nothing else to do," gloomily "Life is such a wretched bore +that the only thing to do is to seize what little spice there is in +it, and the spice, alas! will never bear analysis." + +"Are you unhappy?" she demanded. Her eyes were still disapproving, but +her voice was a shade less cold. + +He smiled, but at the same time he felt a little ashamed of +himself, the weapons were so trite, and it was so easy to manage an +unworldly-wise and romantic girl. There was nothing to do but go on, +however. "No, I am not unhappy, Miss Penrhyn," he said; "that is, not +unhappy in the sense you would mean. I am only tired of life. That is +all--but it is enough." + +"But you are very young," she said, innocently. "You cannot yet be +thirty." + +He laughed shortly. "I am twenty-eight, Miss Penrhyn--and I am--forty +five. You cannot understand, and it is well you should not. But this +much I can tell you. I was born with a wretched load of _ennui_ on my +spirits, and all things pall after a brief experience. It has been so +since the first hour I can remember. My grandmother used to tell +me that I should wake up some day and find myself a genius, that I +rejoiced in several pointed indications toward that desirable end; +that I had only to wait, and ample compensation for the boredom of +life would come But, alas! I am twenty-eight, and there are no signs +of genius yet. I am merely a commonplace young man pursuing the most +commonplace of lives--but I am not going to bore you by talking about +myself any longer. I never do. I do not know why I do so to-night. But +there is something about you which is strangely sympathetic, in spite +of your"--he hesitated--"your unkindness." + +She had kept her eyes implacably on the opposite wall, but when he +finished she turned to him suddenly, and he saw that her face had +perceptibly relaxed. + +"You impress me very strangely," she said, abruptly. "I am willing to +tell you that frankly, and I hardly understand it. You are doubtless +correct when you say I have no right to be angry with you, and I +suppose it is also true that you are no worse than other men. When I +pushed aside that portiere to-night I felt an unreasoning anger which +it would be hard to account for. Had it been Lord Bective Hollington +or Mr. Bolton I--I should not have cared. I should not have been +angry, I am sure of it. And yet I never saw you before to-day, and +had no possible interest in you. I do not understand it. I hardly know +whether I like you very much or hate you very much." + +He bent his head and looked down sharply into her eyes. He was so used +to the coquetry and finesse of women! Was she like the rest? But the +eyes she had turned to him were sincere to disquiet, and there was not +a suggestion of coquetry about her. + +"Do not hate me," he said, softly, "for I would give more for your +good opinion than for that of any woman I know. No, I do not mean that +for idle flattery. You may not realize it, but you are very different +from other women--Oh, bother!"--this last under his breath, as their +retreat was invaded by two indignant young men who insisted upon the +lawful rights of which Dartmouth had so unblushingly deprived them. +There was nothing to do but resign himself to his fate. + +Knowing that a second uninterrupted conversation would be impossible +with her that night, he left the house shortly after, not, however, +before a parting word had assured him that though she still might +disapprove, he would have many future opportunities to plead his +cause, and, furthermore, that she would not risk the loss of his +admiration by relating what she had seen. When he reached his +apartment he exchanged his coat for a smoking-jacket, lit a cigar, and +throwing himself down on a sofa, gave himself up to thoughts of Miss +Penrhyn. + +"A strange creature," he mentally announced. "If one can put one's +trust in physiognomy, I should say she had about ten times more in +her than dwells in ordinary women. She has no suspicion of it herself, +however; she will make that discovery later on. I should like to have +the power to render myself invisible; but no, I beg pardon, I should +like to be present in astral body when her nature awakens. I have +always wanted to study the successive psychological evolutions of a +woman in love. Not of the ordinary compound of the domestic and the +fashionable; there is nothing exciting in that; and besides, +our realistic novelists have rendered such researches on my part +superfluous; but of a type, small, but each member of which is built +up of infinite complexities--like this girl. The nature would awaken +with a sudden, mighty shock, not creep toward the light with slow, +well-regulated steps--but, bah! what is the use of indulging in +boneless imaginings? One can never tell what a woman of that sort will +think and feel, until her experience has been a part of his own. And +there is no possibility of my falling in love with her, even did I +wish it, which I certainly do not. The man who fascinates is not the +man who loves. Pardon my modesty, most charming of grandmothers, if +your soul really lurks behind that wonderful likeness of yours, as +I sometimes think it does, but a man cannot have the double power of +making many others feel and of feeling himself. At least, so it seems +to me. Love lightly roused is held as lightly, and one loses one's +respect for even the passion in the abstract. Of what value can a +thing be which springs into life for a trick of manner, an atom or two +more of that negative quality called personal magnetism, while wiser +and better men pass by unnoticed? One naturally asks, What is love? +A spiritual enthusiasm which a cold-blooded analyst would call +sentimentality, or its correlative, a fever of the senses? Neither is +a very exalted set of conditions. I have been through both more +than once, and if my attacks have been light, I have been the better +enabled to study my fair inspiration. I never discovered that she +felt more deeply; simply more strongly, more tempestuously, after the +nature of women. Her feelings were not more complex, they were merely +more strongly accentuated. A woman in love imagines that she is the +pivot on which the world revolves. A general may immortalize himself, +an emperor be assassinated and his empire plunged into a French +Revolution, and her passing interest is not roused; nor is she +unapt to wonder how others can be interested in matters so purely +impersonal. She thinks she loves as no woman ever loved before, and +sometimes she succeeds in making the man think so too. But when a +man has gone through this sort of thing a couple of dozen times, he +becomes impressed with the monotony, the shallowness, and the racial +resemblance, so to speak, of the divine passion; and his own capacity +for indulging in it diminishes in proportion. If Miss Penrhyn is +capable of anything wider and deeper and higher than her average +sister, I have met her too late to be inspired with anything beyond +passing curiosity. In fact, I doubt if I could be capable of so much +as indulging in the surmise had I never known my grandmother. _There_ +was a woman unique in her generation. So strong was her individuality +that I was forced to appreciate it, even in the days when I used +to make her life a burden by planting her silver spoons in the +rose-garden and re-setting her favorite cuttings wrong side up. I wish +she had lived longer; it would have been both a pleasure and a profit +to have studied and analyzed her. And how I should like to know her +history! That she had one there is no doubt. The lines of repression +in her face were the strongest I have ever seen, to say nothing of +the night I found her standing over the Byzantine chest with her hands +full of yellow papers. There were no lines of repression in her face +just then; she looked fairly murderous. She did not see me, and I left +with a brevity worthy of its cause. I should like to know who wrote +those letters. I looked for them after her death, but she had either +destroyed them or else that old Byzantine chest has a secret drawer. +If it has I'll discover it some day when time hangs heavily. + +"No," he continued, settling himself down more comfortably among his +pillows, and tossing the end of his cigar into the grate, "I shall +marry some day, undoubtedly, but I must find a woman with the brains +and charm of my grandmother. This girl, they say, is brilliant, and +certainly she cut me up sharply enough to-night; but she would +be altogether too much to handle for a lifetime. It would be very +pleasant for a time, but a deuced bore later on. What a beauty she is, +though! I cannot get her out of my mind. She has been posing before my +mental vision all the time I have been trying to think about something +else. Those eyes--gods! And what a figure! What--" + +With a nervous, precipitate motion, he rose to his feet and drew in +his breath, as if to throw a sudden load from his chest. He stood +irresolute for a moment, then revolving slowly on his heel, walked, as +if independently of his own volition, over to his desk. He felt very +strangely; he did not remember to have ever felt so strangely before. +His head had become suddenly confused, but at the same time he was +aware that his brain had thrown open its doors to a new arrival, and +that the visitor was trying to make itself heard. It appeared to be a +visitor of great importance, and Dartmouth was conscious that it had +presented itself to his perceptions in the form of an extraordinarily +strong impulse, a great and clamorous Desire. He had been aware of the +same desire before, but only in an abstract way, a general purposeless +longing; but now this peremptory, loudly-knocking consciousness was +vaguely suggesting another--just behind. It would almost seem, if it +were not too preposterous a supposition, as if that second struggling +consciousness were trying to announce itself under the high-sounding +title of--what? He could not formulate it. If his brain were only not +so confused! What could so suddenly have affected him? He was always +so clear-headed and logical. Was he going to be ill? When he reached +his desk he sat down before it and mechanically took up his pen. +He leaned his head on his hand, like a man in a state of mental +exhaustion, and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he opened them +wide, with an exclamation which was almost a cry; and of his usual +calm repose there was not a trace remaining. He leaned forward +breathlessly and put his pen to the paper. "Her eyes! Her skin! Her +form!" he muttered uncertainly. "Her--her--her--Oh! _what_ is it? +_Why_ cannot I say it? It has come at last--_she_ was right after +all--but the words--the words--why will not they come? The music is +there--a great rhythm and harmony--but the words are floating about +like wraiths of mist. If I could only grasp and crystallize them, and +set them to that wonderful music, the world--the world would rise at +last and call me great! Her eyes--her hair--oh, my God, _what_ is it?" +He threw down his pen and staggered to his feet. His face was blanched +and drawn, and his eyes had lost their steady light. He grasped the +chair to save himself from falling; he had lost over himself both +physical and mental control. It seemed to him that two beings, two +distinct entities, were at war within his brain--that new, glorious +consciousness, and a tangible power above, which forced it down with +an iron hand--down--down--into the depths of his mind, where its cries +for speech came up in faint, inarticulate murmurs. And it tried and +tried, that strange new thing, to struggle from its dungeon and reach +the wide, free halls of his thought, but it could not; it beat against +that unrelaxing iron hand only to fall back again and again. And it +sang and sang and sang, in spite of its struggles and captivity. The +faint, sweet echo came up--if he could but catch the words! If he +could but dash aside that iron hand, and let his brain absorb them! +Surely a word or two must force their way--yes! yes! they had come! +"Her face! her form!"--He tore open his waistcoat; his lungs felt as +if they had been exhausted. Then, how he never knew, he managed to +reach his sofa, and fell face downward upon it; and the next morning, +when his valet came in and drew aside the curtains and let in the +light of mid-day, he found him there as he had fallen. + + + + +III. + + +Harold Dartmouth came of a family celebrated throughout its history +for producing men of marked literary and political ability. Few +generations had passed without a Dartmouth distinguishing himself, +and those members of the family less gifted were not in the habit +of having their fine intellectual qualities called to account. The +consequence was that their young descendant, who inherited all the +family cleverness, although as yet he had betrayed the possession of +none of its higher gifts, paid the penalty of his mental patrimony. +His brain was abnormally active, both through conditions of heredity +and personal incitement; and the cerebral excitation necessarily +produced resulted not infrequently in violent reaction, which took the +form of protracted periods of melancholy. These attacks of melancholy +had begun during his early school-days, when, a remarkably bright +but extremely wild boy, he had been invariably fired with ambition as +examinations approached, and obliged to cram to make up for lost time. +As years went by they grew with his growth, and few months passed +without an attack of the blues more or less violent, no matter +how brief. They came after hours of brooding over his desire to +distinguish himself, and his fatal want of ability; they came during +his intervals of purely intellectual disgust with himself and with +life; but more frequently still they came upon him from no apparent +cause whatever. They were a part of his personality, just as humor, +or light, unthinking gaiety, or a constantly bubbling wit may form the +predominating characteristic of another man. + +For a week after the night of his futile impulse to put into shape +the nebulous verse which had tormented his brain, no one saw Harold +Dartmouth. The violent shock and strain had induced an attack of +mental and spiritual depression which amounted to prostration, and +he lay on his sofa taking no notice of the days as they slipped by, +eating little and speaking to no one. At first Jones, his man-servant, +was not particularly disturbed. He had brought Dartmouth up, and +had come to look upon his moods as a matter of course. He therefore +confined himself to forcing his master to take his food and to +parrying the curiosity of the French servants; he knew Dartmouth's +temper too well to venture to call a doctor, and he hoped that in a +few days the mood would wear itself out. But at the end of a week +he became seriously alarmed. He had spent the last day but one in a +desperate and fruitless attempt to rouse Dartmouth, and had used every +expedient his ingenuity could suggest. Finally, at his wits' end, he +determined to call in the help of Lord Bective Hollington, who was +Dartmouth's most intimate friend, and had lived with him and his moods +for months together. He came to this decision late on the night of the +seventh day, and at eleven the next morning he presented himself at +Hollington's apartments in the Rue Lincoln. Hollington was still in +bed and reading the morning paper, but he put it down at once. + +"Send him in," he said. "Something is the matter with Harold," he +continued to himself. "Something unusual has been the matter with him +all the week, when he wouldn't even see me. Well, Jones, what is it?" +as that perturbed worthy entered. "You are an early visitor." + +"Oh! my Lord!" exclaimed Jones, tearfully; "something dreadful hails +Master 'Arold." + +"What is it?" demanded Hollington, quickly. "Is he ill?" + +Jones shook his head. "No, my Lord; I wish 'ee was. 'Ee's worse than +hill. 'Ee's got one of 'is moods." + +"Poor Harold! I thought he had got over all that since he had given +himself over to the distractions of wine, woman, and song. I haven't +seen him in one of his moods for three or four years." + +"Ah, sir, I 'ave, then. 'Ee don't 'ave them so frequent like before he +begun to travel, but hevery wunst in a while 'ee will be terrible for +two hor three days; but I never see hanything like this before, heven +at Crumford 'All. 'Ee 'as never spoke for a week; not since the night +of the ball hat the Russian Legation." + +"By Jove! you don't mean it. I thought he was on a 'private tear,' as +the Americans say; but I don't like this at all. Just clear out, and +I'll be dressed and over in his rooms in less than half an hour." And +he sprang out of bed before Jones had closed the door. + +He was but a few moments dressing, as he had promised, and was at +Dartmouth's apartment before Jones had time to become impatient, +nervous as he was. He pulled aside the portiere of the salon and +looked in. The curtains were drawn and the room was dark, but on a +sofa near the window he saw his friend lying. He picked his way over +through the studiously disordered furniture and touched Dartmouth on +the shoulder. + +"Hal!" he said, "Hal!" + +Dartmouth opened his eyes and looked up. "Is it you, Becky?" he +said, languidly. "Go away and let me alone." But his words and manner +indicated that the attack was at last "wearing itself out." + +"I will do nothing of the sort," replied Hollington. "Get up off that +sofa this moment. A week! I am ashamed of you. What would the old lady +say?" + +"She would understand," murmured Dartmouth. "She always understood. I +wish she were here now." + +"I wish she were. She would soon have you out of this. Get up. Don't +be a fool." + +"I am not a fool. I have got one of the worst of the old attacks, and +I can't shake it off; that is all. Go away, and let me fight it out by +myself." + +"I will not move from this room, if I stay here for six months, until +you go with me. So make up your mind to it." And he threw himself into +an easy-chair, and lighting a cigar, proceeded leisurely to smoke it. + +Dartmouth turned uneasily once or twice. "You know I can't bear anyone +near me," he said; "I want to be alone." + +"You have been alone long enough. I will do as I have said." + +There was silence for a few moments, and Dartmouth's restlessness +increased. Hollington watched him closely, and after a time handed him +a cigar and offered him a light. Dartmouth accepted both mechanically, +and for a time the two men smoked in silence. When Dartmouth finished +he rose to his feet. + +"Very well," he said, "have your own way. Wait until I dress and I +will go out with you." He went into his dressing-room and returned +about an hour later, during which time Hollington had thrown back the +curtains and written a couple of letters. Dartmouth was still haggard +and very pale, but his face had been shaved and he looked something +like himself once more. Hollington rose and threw down his pen at +once. + +"I will drop in on our way back and finish this letter," he said. "You +must get out of the house as quickly as possible. By Jove! how bad you +look!" He put his hand on his friend's shoulder and looked at him a +moment. He was the average Englishman in most of his details, +tall, well-built, with a good profile, and a ruddy Saxon face. His +individual characteristics were an eternal twinkle in his eye, a +forehead with remarkably well-developed reflectives, and a very square +chin and jaw. Just now the twinkle was less aggressive and his face +had softened noticeably. "There is no help for it, I suppose, Hal, is +there?" he said. + +Dartmouth looked back at him with a smile, and a good deal of +affection in his eyes. "No, old fellow," he replied; "I am afraid +there is not. But they are rarely as bad as this last. And--thank you +for coming." + +They went out together and walked to the Cafe Anglais on the Boulevard +des Italiens. The air was keen and cold, the walk a long one, and +Dartmouth felt like another man by the time he sat down to breakfast. +One or two other men joined them. Hollington was unusually witty, the +conversation was general and animated, and when Dartmouth left the +cafe the past week seemed an ugly dream. In the afternoon he met the +wife of the American Consul-General, Mrs. Raleigh, in the Bois, and +learned from her that Margaret Talbot had left Paris. This left him +free to remain; and when Mrs. Raleigh reminded him that her doors were +open that evening, he asked permission at once to present himself. +Mrs. Raleigh not only had a distinguished and interesting salon, but +she casually remarked that she expected Miss Penrhyn, and Dartmouth +felt a strong desire to see the girl again. + + + + +IV. + + +When, a few hours later, Dartmouth entered Mrs. Raleigh's salon, he +saw Miss Penrhyn surrounded by some half-dozen men, and talking +with the abandon of a pleased child, her eyes sparkling, her cheeks +flushed. As he went over to her the flush faded slightly, but she held +out her hand and smiled up into his eyes. + +"You have been ill," she murmured, sympathetically. "You look so +still." + +"Yes," he said, "I have been ill; otherwise I should have made an +effort to see you before. I suppose I cannot get a word with you +to-night May I call on you to morrow morning?" + +"Yes, you may come." + +"Thank you. And there will not be a dozen other men there?" + +She smiled. "I do not think there will be anyone else. I rarely +receive in the morning." + +"But are you sure?" + +He had a long sweep of black lash, through which the clear blue of his +eyes had a way of shining with a pleading, softening lustre, immensely +effective. It was an accepted fact that when Mr. Dartmouth turned +on this battery of eyes and lash, resistance was a forgotten art and +protest a waste of time. Miss Penrhyn did not prove an exception to +the rule. She hesitated, then answered, with a little laugh, as if +amused at herself, "Well, yes, I am sure." + +"Very well, then, remember, I look upon that as a promise. And I will +try to get a word with you later, but there is no hope now." + +He moved off and, leaning against the opposite wall, covertly watched +her, while ostensibly listening with due sympathy to the hopes and +fears of an old friend and embryo author. In a moment he made a +discovery--of his friend's confidence I regret to say he heard not one +word--she did not treat him as she treated other men. Well bred as she +was, there was a perceptible embarrassment in her manner whenever he +addressed her, but with these other men she was talking and smiling +without a trace of effort or restraint. He knew what it meant. He was +thoroughly aware that he was a man of extraordinary magnetism, and he +had seen his power over a great many women. Ordinarily, to a man so +sated with easy success as Harold Dartmouth, the certainty of conquest +would have strangled the fancy, but there was something about this +girl which awakened in him an interest he did not pretend to define, +except that he found her more beautiful, and believed her to be +more original, than other women. He was anxious to have a longer +conversation with her, and ascertain whether or not he was correct in +his latter supposition. He did not want to marry, and she was too +good to flirt with, but platonics were left. And platonics with Miss +Penrhyn suggested variety. + +He also made another discovery. Someone played an interminable piece +of classic music. During its recital it was not possible for Miss +Penrhyn to talk with the men about her, and as the animation faded +from her face, he noticed the same preoccupied look overspread it +which had characterized it the night she had entered the ball-room at +the Legation. Something troubled her, but to Dartmouth's quick eye +it was not an active trouble, it was more like a shadow which took +possession of her face in its moments of repose with the quiet +assurance of a dweller of long standing. Possibly she herself was +habitually forgetful of its cause; but the cause had struck deep +into the roots of her nature, and its shadow had become a part of +her beauty. Dartmouth speculated much and widely, but rejected the +hypothesis of a lover. She had never loved for a moment; and in spite +of his platonic predilections, this last of his conclusions held a +very perceptible flavor of satisfaction. When the classic young lady +had gracefully acknowledged the raptures she had evoked, and tripped +back to her seat, Miss Penrhyn was asked to sing, and then Dartmouth +saw his opportunity; he captured her when she had finished, and bore +her off to the conservatory before anyone could interfere. + +"You sing charmingly," he said. "Will you sing for me to-morrow?" + +"If you can stretch flattery to that extent, with Patti at the Grand +Opera House." + +"I have been listening to Patti for fifteen years, and man loves +variety. I wish I could tell where I have seen you before," he +continued, abruptly. "Do you look like your mother? I may have seen +her in my youth." + +Her face flushed a sudden, painful red, and then turned very pale. "I +do not remember my mother," she stammered. "She died when I was quite +young." + +"Poor thing!" thought Dartmouth. "How girls do grieve for an unknown +mother!" "But you have seen her picture?" he said, aloud. + +"Yes, I have seen her pictures. They are dark, like myself. But that +is all." + +"You must have had a lonely childhood, brought up all by yourself in +that gloomy old castle I have heard described." + +She colored again and crushed a fern-leaf nervously between her +fingers. "Yes, it was lonesome. Yes--those old castles always are." + +"By the way--I remember--my mother spent a summer down there once, +some twelve or thirteen years ago, and--it comes back to me now--I +remember having heard her speak of Rhyd-Alwyn as the most picturesque +castle in Wales. She must have known your mother, of course. And you +must have known the children. _Why_ was I not there?" + +"I do not remember," she said, rising suddenly to her feet, and +turning so pale that Dartmouth started to his in alarm. "Come; let us +go back to the salon." + +"There is some mystery," thought Dartmouth. "Have I stumbled upon a +family skeleton? Poor child!" But aloud he said, "No, do not go yet; +I want to talk to you." And when he had persuaded her to sit down +once more, he exerted himself to amuse her, and before long had the +satisfaction of seeing that she had forgotten her agitation. It did +not take him long to discover that she had read a great deal and that +her favorite reading had been travels, and he entertained her with +graphic recitals of such of his own varied experience as he thought +most likely to interest her. She listened with flattering attention +and a natural and keen sense of humor, and he was stimulated to a good +deal more effort than habit prompted. "You will enjoy travelling," he +said, finally; "and you will not travel like other women. You will see +something besides picture-galleries, and churches, and _Bons marches_. +I believe that you would realize what it is to be an atom of to-day in +the presence of twenty centuries." + +She smiled up at him with quick sympathy. "Yes," she said, "I believe +one must more frequently be awed than pleased, or even enraptured. And +I can imagine how even the most self-content of men, if he absorb the +meaning of Europe, must feel his insignificance. If he has wit enough +to reflect that all these represented ages, with their extraordinary +results, abstract and concrete, have come and gone with no aid of his; +that no prophet ever whispered his name among the thousands of great +in every conceivable destiny; that he is, mentally and physically, +simply a result of evolution and civilization, not, in any way worth +mentioning, a cause, he will be apt to reflect as well upon how many +men, all told, have ever heard of his existence or who besides his +grandchildren will remember him a generation hence. He will probably +wish that arithmetic had never been invented. Or if he be one of the +great of earth, he is only one after all, and, if he be in danger of +bursting from inflation, he can be grateful for a timely reminder that +there are several millions on the globe who have never heard of him, +and a few millions more who do not and never will take the faintest +interest in him or his career. But it needs the presence of twenty +centuries to bring the fact of man's individual insignificance home to +most of us." + +"She is clever," thought Dartmouth, as he dismissed his brougham +a little later and walked home alone. "Very un-modern and most +reprehensibly unconventional, in so much as she thinks, and develops +her mental muscles; but very charming, notwithstanding. There is an +incongruity about her, however, which is almost absurd. She has been +brought up in such seclusion--and under the sole tuition of a man not +only a pedant, but who has never stepped through the gates of the last +generation--that she reminds one of those fair English dames who used +to prowl about their parks with the Phaedo under their arm and long +for a block on which to float down to prosperity; Plato had quite +enough to do to sail for himself. And upon this epitomized abstraction +of the sixteenth century, this mingling of old-time stateliness, of +womanly charm, of tougher mental fibre, are superimposed the shallow +and purely objective attributes of the nineteenth-century belle and +woman of fashion. It is almost a shock to hear her use our modern +vernacular, and when she relapses into the somewhat stilted language +in which she is still accustomed to think, it is a positive relief. +She is conscious that she is apt to be a little high-flown, and when +she forgets herself and is natural, she quickly pulls herself in with +a round turn, which is an apology in itself. Upon such occasions a +man wants to get his fingers about the throat of the world. She has +acquired all the little arts and mannerisms of the London drawing-room +girl, and although they do not sit ungracefully upon her, because +she is innately graceful, and too clever to assume a virtue which +she cannot assimilate, still it is like a foreigner who speaks your +language to perfection in all but accent, and whom you long to hear in +his own tongue. Put her back in her Welsh castle, and the scales +would fall from her as from a mermaid who loves. If she returns to +her father at the end of the season, I think I will call upon her six +months later. She should go now, though; scales are apt to corrode. +But what is the mystery about the mother? Did she elope with the +coachman? But, no; that is strictly a modern freak of fashion. Perhaps +she died in a mad-house. Not improbable, if she had anything of the +nature of this girl in her, and Sir Iltyd sowed the way with thorns +too sharp. Poor girl! she is too young for mysteries, whatever it is. +I shall like to know her better, but she is so intense that she makes +me feel frivolous. I am never intense except when I have the blues, +and intensity, with my peculiar mental anatomy, is a thing to be +avoided. In what is invariably the last chapter of those attacks of +morbid dissatisfaction I shall some day feel an intense desire to blow +out my brains, and shall probably succumb. I wonder if she will induce +another rhyming attack to-night. Was that night a dream or a reality? +Could I have had a short but sharp attack of brain fever? Perhaps +the less I think about it the better; but it is decidedly hard to be +gifted with the instincts of a poet and denied the verbal formulation. +And it was the most painfully realistic, aggressively material +thing, that conflict in my brain, that mortal ever experienced. That, +however, may have been a mere figment of my excited imagination. +But what excited my imagination? That is the question. If I remember +aright, I was mentally discoursing with some enthusiasm upon Miss +Penrhyn's charms, but in strict impartiality it cannot be said that +I was excited. The excitement was like that produced by an onslaught +from behind. It is the more surprising, as I think it may be conceded +that I have myself pretty well in hand by this time, and that my +nerves, unruly as nature saw fit to make them, are now my very abject +slaves. Occasionally one of our fiction carpenters flies off at a +tangent and treats us to a series of intellectual gymnastics, the +significance of which--so we are called upon to digest--is that the +soul of one dead, finding its present clime too warm--or too cold--or +having left something undone on earth, takes temporary and summary +possession of an unfortunate still in the flesh, and through this +unhappy medium endeavors to work his will. Perhaps that is what is the +matter with me. Pollok, perchance, who died in his flower, thinking +that he had not given the world a big enough pill to swallow, wants to +concoct another dose in my presumably vacant brain. I appreciate +the compliment, but I disdain to be Pollok's mouthpiece: I will be +original or nothing. Besides, it is deuced uncomfortable. And I should +like to know if there is anything in life more bitter than the sense, +even momentary, of loss of self-mastery. Well, as I remarked a few +moments since, the less I think about it the better, considering my +unfortunate peculiarities. I will go and see Miss Penrhyn to-morrow; +that will be sufficiently distracting for the present." + + + + +V. + + +He found her the next day in a pretty morning-room, dressed in a long +white gown, with a single great yellow rose at her throat. She had +a piece of tapestry in her hand, and as she rose to greet him, the +plain, heavy folds of her gown clinging about her, and her dark +hair bound closely around her head with a simplicity that was almost +severe, Dartmouth again felt a humorous sense of having suddenly +stepped into a page of a past century. + +"What are you doing?" he said, as he took a chair opposite her. "Women +never make tapestry--real tapestry--in these days. You remind me of +Lady Jane Grey. Shall I get a volume of Greek and read it to you?" + +She laughed. "I fear it would literally be Greek to me. Latin and I +had a fierce and desperate war, but I conquered in the end. With the +Greek, however, the war was extremely brief, and he marched off with +colors flying, and never condescended to renew the engagement." + +"For all mercies make us duly thankful. A woman who knows Greek is +like a hot-house grape; a mathematically perfect thing, but scentless +and flavorless." + +"You are consoling; and, indeed, I cannot see that it would have done +me much good; it certainly would not have increased my popularity +among your exacting sex. You are the first man to whom I have dared +acknowledge I know Latin. Lady Langdon was kind enough to give me +elaborate warnings and instructions before she launched me into +society. Among other things, she constantly reiterated, 'Never let a +man suspect that you know anything, my dear. He will fly from you as +a hare to cover. I want you to be a belle, and you must help me.' I +naturally asked her what I was to talk about, and she promptly replied +'Nothing. Study the American girl, they have the most brilliant way +of jabbering meaningless recitativos of any tribe on the face of the +earth. Every sentence is an epigram with the point left out. They are +like the effervescent part of a bottle of soda-water.' This was while +we were still in Wales, and she sent for six books by two of those +American novelists who are supposed to be the expounders-in-chief of +the American girl at home and abroad, and made me read them. It nearly +killed me, but I did it, and I learned a valuable lesson. I hated the +American girl, but I felt as if I had been boiled in soda-water and +every pore of my body had absorbed it. I felt ecstatically frivolous, +and commonplace, and flashing, and sizzling. And--I assure you this +is a fact, although you may not give me credit for such grim +determination and concentration of purpose--but I never eat my +breakfast before I have read an entire chapter from one of those two +authors, it adjusts my mental tone for the day and keeps me in proper +condition." + +Dartmouth threw back his head and gave vent to the heartiest burst +of laughter he had indulged in for years. "Upon my word, you are +original," he exclaimed, delightedly, "and for heaven's sake, don't +try to be anything else. You could not be an American girl if you +tried for a century, for the reason that you have too many centuries +behind you. The American girl is charming, exquisite, a perfect +flower--but thin. She is like the first fruit of a new tree planted +in new soil. Her flavor is as subtle and vanishing as pistachio, +but there is no richness, no depth, no mellowness, no suggestion +of generations of grafting, or of orchards whose very sites are +forgotten. The soda-water simile is good, but the American girl, in +her actual existence--not in her verbal photographs, I grant you--is +worthy of a better. She is more like one glass of champagne-_frappe_, +momentarily stimulating, but quickly forgotten. When I was in America, +I met the most charming women in New York--I did not spend two weeks, +all told, in Washington--and New York is the concentrated essence, +the pinnacle of American civilization and achievement. But although I +frequently talked to one or another of those women for five hours at a +time without a suggestion of fatigue, I always had the same sensation +in regard to them that I had in regard to their waists while +dancing--they were unsatisfactory, intangible. I never could be sure +I really held a woman in my arms, and I never could remember a word +I had exchanged with them. But they are charming--that word describes +them 'down to the ground.'" + +"That word 'thin' is good, too," she replied; "and I think it +describes their literature better than any other. They write +beautifully those Americans, they are witty, they are amusing, they +are entertaining, they delineate character with a master hand; they +give us an exact idea of their peculiar environment and conditions; +and the way they handle dialect is a marvel; but--they are thin; they +ring hollow; they are like sketches in pen-and-ink; there is no color, +no warmth, and above all, no perspective. I don't know that they are +even done in sharp black-and-white; to me the pervading tone is gray. +The American author depresses me; he makes me feel commonplace and new +and unballasted. I always feel as if I were the 'millionth woman in +superfluous herds'; and when one of those terrible American authors +attacks my type, and carves me up for the delectation of the public, I +shall go back to Wales, nor ever emerge from my towers again. And they +are so cool and calm and deliberate, and so horribly exact, even the +lesser lights. They always remind me of a medical student watching the +workings of the exposed nervous system of a chloroformed hare." + +Dartmouth looked at her with some intensity in his gaze. "I am glad +your ideas are so singularly like my own," he said. "It is rather +remarkable they should be, but so it is. You have even a way of +putting your thoughts that strikes me as familiar, and which, out of +my natural egotism, I find attractive. But I wish you would go back to +your old castle; the world will spoil you." + +"I shall return in a month or two now; my father is lonely without +me." + +"I suppose he spoils you," said Dartmouth, smiling. "I imagine you +were an abominable infant. Tell me of some of the outrageous things +you used to do. I was called the worst child in three counties; but, I +doubt not, your exploits discounted mine, as the Americans say." + +"Oh, mine are too bad to relate," she exclaimed, with a nervous laugh, +and coloring swiftly, as she had done the night before. "But you were +ill for a whole week, were you not? Was it anything serious?" + +Dartmouth felt a sudden impulse to tell her of his strange experience. +He was not given to making confidences, but he felt _en rapport_ with +this girl as he had never felt with man or woman before. He had a +singular feeling, when talking with or listening to her, of losing his +sense of separateness. It was not that he felt de-individualized, but +that he had an accession of personality. It was pleasant because it +was novel, but at the same time it was uncomfortable because it was +a trifle unnatural. He smiled a little to himself. Was it a case of +affinity after all? But he had no time to analyze. She was waiting for +an answer, and in a moment he found himself yielding to his impulse +and giving her a graphic account of his peculiar visitation. + +At first she merely dropped her tapestry and listened attentively, +smiling and blushing a little when he told her what had immediately +preceded the impulse to write. But gradually the delicate pink left +her face, and she began to move in the spasmodic, uncontrollable way +of a person handling an electric battery. She clasped the arms of +her chair with such force that her arms looked twisted and rigid, and +finally she bent slowly forward, gazing up into his face with eyes +expanded to twice their natural size and not a vestige of color in +her cheek or lips: she looked like a corpse still engaged in the +mechanical act of gazing on the scene of agony which had preceded +its death. Suddenly she sprang to her feet and threw out her hands. +"Stop!" she cried; "stop!" + +"What is it?" he demanded, rising to his feet in amazement; he had +been watching her with more or less surprise for some time. "I am +afraid I have frightened you and made you nervous. I had better have +kept my confidence to myself." + +"No, no," she cried, throwing back her head and clasping her hands +about it; "it is not that I am frightened--only--it was so strange! +While you were talking it seemed--oh! I cannot describe it!--as if you +were telling me something which I knew as well as yourself. When +you spoke it seemed to me that I knew and could put into words the +wonderful verse-music which was battling upward to reach your brain. +They were, they were--I know them so well. I have known them always; +but I cannot--I cannot catch their meaning!" Suddenly she stepped +backward, dropped her hands, and colored painfully. "It is all purest +nonsense, of course," she said, in her ordinary tone and manner, +except for its painful embarrasment. "It is only your strong, +picturesque way of telling it which presented it as vividly to my mind +as if it were an experience of my own. I never so much as dreamed of +it before you began to speak." + +Dartmouth did not answer her for a moment. His own mind was in +something of a tumult. In telling the story he had felt, not a +recurrence of its conditions, but a certain sense of their influence; +and the girl's manner and words were extraordinary. It could hardly +be possible, even in cold blood, to understand their meaning. She +was indisputably not acting. What she had said was very strange and +unconventional, but from whatever source the words had sprung, they +had not been uttered with the intention premeditated or spontaneous +of making an impression upon him. They carried conviction of their +sincerity with them, and Dartmouth was sensible that they produced +a somewhat uncanny but strangely responsive effect upon himself. +But what did it mean? That in some occult way she had been granted +a glimpse into the depths of his nature was unthinkable. He was not +averse to indulging a belief in affinity; and that this girl was his +was not a disagreeable idea; but his belief by no means embraced a +second, to the effect that the soul of one's antitype is as an open +book to the other. Could her mind be affected? But no. She was a very +unusual girl, possibly an eccentric one; but he flattered himself +that he knew a lunatic when he saw one. There was left then but the +conclusion that she possessed a strongly and remarkably sympathetic +nature, as yet unbridled and unblunted by the world, and that he had +made a dangerous imprint upon it. He was not unduly vain, but he was +willing to believe that she would not vibrate so violently to every +man's touch. + +This point settled to the best of his capabilities, he allowed a +second consciousness, which had been held under for the moment, +during the exercisings of his analytical instinct, to claim his +consideration. He was sensible that he was attracted as he had never +been attracted by woman before. He had felt something of this on the +night he had met her, and he had felt it more strongly on the occasion +of their second interview; but now he was aware that it had suddenly +taken the form of an overmastering desire for possession. He was by +nature an impulsive man, but he was a man of the world as well, and +he had his impulses pretty well subordinated to interest and +common-sense; nevertheless he felt very much like doing a rash and +impulsive thing at the present moment. He was a man of rapid thought, +and these reflections chased each other through his mind much more +quickly than I have been able to take them down, and Miss Penrhyn +had averted her gaze and was playing nervously with some flowers in +a basket on a pedestal beside her. She was acutely aware that she had +made a fool of herself, and imagined that his hesitation was due to +a polite desire to arrange his reply in such wise as not to make his +appreciation of the fact too crudely apparent. At the same time she +was a little exhausted under the reaction of a short but very severe +mental strain. As for Dartmouth, he hesitated a moment longer. He was +balancing several pros and cons very rapidly. He was aware that if he +asked this girl to marry him and she consented, he must, as a man of +honor, abide by the contract, no matter how much she might disappoint +him hereafter. At the same time the knowledge that he was in love +with her was growing more distinct every second. Doubtless the wisest +course would be to go away for the present and postpone any decisive +step until he knew her better. But he was not a patient man, and he +was not in the habit of putting off until to-morrow what he could do +to-day. (He considered that certain of the precepts instilled during +childhood were of admirable practical value). The best thing in life +was its morning: he did not like evening shadows and autumn twilights. +There was nothing that could compare with the sweetness and fineness +of the flavor of novelty. When it was practicable to take advantage +of one's impulses one had a brief draught of true philosopher's +happiness. And, at all events, this girl was a lady, high-born, +high-bred, intellectual, and unique. She was also plastic, and if she +had a somewhat too high-strung nature, love had been known to work +wonders before. He had mastered the difficult art of controlling +himself; he was not afraid of not being able to control any woman who +loved him. He went over to her and took her hands in his strong clasp. + +"I have known you a very short--" he began, and then paused abruptly. + +He had meant to speak calmly and not frighten her by the suddenness +of his love-making, but her touch fired him and sent the blood to his +head. He flung down her hands, and throwing his arms about her, kissed +her full on the mouth. The girl turned very white and tried to free +herself, but his arms were too strong, and in a moment she ceased to +resist. She made no attempt to define her feelings as Dartmouth had +done. She had felt the young man's remarkable magnetism the moment she +had met him: she had been aware of a certain prophetic instinct of it +some hours before, when he had stood in the window of a crowded cafe +above a crowded thoroughfare and speculatively returned her gaze. +And the night before, she had gone home with a very sharply outlined +consciousness that she would never again meet a man who would interest +her so deeply. To-day, this feeling had developed into one of strong +reciprocal sympathy, and he had exerted a psychological influence over +her as vaguely delightful as it was curious and painful. But all this +was no preparation for the sudden tumult of feeling which possessed +her under his kiss. She knew that it was love; and, that it had come +to her without warning, made the knowledge no less keen and sure. +Her first impulse was to resist, but purely out of that pride which +forbids a woman to yield too soon; and when his physical strength made +her powerless, she was glad that it should be so. + +"Will you marry me?" he asked. + +"Yes" she said; "I will marry you." + + + + +PART II. + +THE DISCORD. + +I. + + +Two weeks later Dartmouth had followed Weir Penrhyn to Wales. He had +written to her father at once, and Sir Iltyd had informed him in reply +that although aware of his rank and private fortune, through Lady +Langdon's intimation, and although possessing a high regard and esteem +for his father, still it was impossible for him to give any definite +answer until he had known him personally, and he therefore invited +him to come as soon as it pleased him and pay Rhyd-Alwyn a visit. Weir +accordingly, and much to Lady Langdon's disgust, had returned to Wales +at once; Dartmouth insisted upon an early marriage, and the longer +they delayed obtaining Sir Iltyd's consent the longer must the wedding +be postponed. + +Dartmouth arrived late in the afternoon at Rhyd-Alwyn--a great pile of +gray towers of the Norman era and half in ruins. He did not meet Sir +Iltyd until a few minutes before dinner was announced, but he saw Weir +for a moment before he went up-stairs to dress for dinner. His room +was in one of the towers, and as he entered it he had the pleasurable +feeling, which Weir so often induced, of stepping back into a dead and +gone century. It looked as if unnumbered generations of Penrhyns had +slept there since the hand of the furnisher had touched it. The hard, +polished, ascetic-looking floor was black with age; the tapestry on +the walls conveyed but a suggestion of what its pattern and color had +been; a huge four-posted bed heavily shrouded with curtains stood +in the centre of the room, and there were a number of heavy, carved +pieces of furniture whose use no modern Penrhyn would pretend to +explain. The vaulted ceiling was panelled, and the windows were +narrow and long and high. Sufficient light found its way through them, +however, to dress by, and there was a bright log-fire in the open +fire-place. + +"Jones," said Dartmouth, after he had admiringly examined the details +of the room and was getting into his clothes, "just throw those +curtains up over the roof of that bed. I like the antique, but I don't +care to be smothered. Give me my necktie, and look out for the bed +before you forget it." + +Jones looked doubtfully up at the canopy. "That is pretty 'igh, sir," +he said. "Hif I can find a step-ladder--" + +"A step-ladder in a Welsh castle! The ante-deluge Penrhyns would turn +in their graves, or to be correct, in their family vaults. No true +Welsh noble is guilty of departing from the creed of his ancestors to +the tune of domestic comforts. It is fortunate a man does not have +to marry his wife's castle as well as herself. Get up on to that +cabinet--it is twice as high as yourself--and you can manage the +curtains quite easily." + +Jones with some difficulty succeeded in moving the tall piece of +furniture designated to the bed-side; then with the help of a chair he +climbed to the top of it. He caught one of the tender-looking curtains +carefully between his hands, and was about to throw it over the +canopy, shutting his eyes and his mouth to exclude the possible dust, +when the cabinet beneath him suddenly groaned, swayed, and the next +moment there was a heavy crash, and he was groaning in the midst of +a dozen antique fragments. Harold sprang forward in some alarm and +picked him up. "By Jove!" he exclaimed, "I am afraid you are hurt; and +what a row I have made! I might have known better than to tell you to +trust your weight on that old thing." + +Jones shook himself slowly, extended his arms and legs, announced +himself unhurt, and Dartmouth gave his attention to the cabinet. "I +shall have to initiate myself in my prospective father-in-law's good +graces by announcing myself a spoiler of his household goods," he +exclaimed, ruefully. "And a handsome old thing like that, too; it is +a shame!" He thrust his hands into his pockets and continued looking +down at the ruins with a quizzical smile on his face. + +"By every law of romance and of precedent," he thought, "I ought to +find in that cabinet the traditional packet of old letters which would +throw a flood of light upon some dark and tragic mystery. Else why did +I tell Jones to stand upon that particular cabinet instead of that one +over there, which looks as if iron hammers could not break it; and why +did Jones blindly obey me? That it should be meaningless chance is +too flat to be countenanced. I should find the long lost Mss. of that +rhymer who took possession of me that night, and so save myself the +discomfort of being turned into a Temple of Fame a second time. Truly +there has been an element of the unusual throughout this whole affair +with Weir. Once or twice I have felt as if about to sail out of the +calm, prosaic waters of this every-day nineteenth-century life, +and embark upon the phosphorescent sea of our sensational +novelists--psychological, so-called. It is rather soon for the +cabinet to break, however. It suggests an anti-climax, which would be +inartistic. But such material was never intended to be thrown away by +a hero of romance." + +He kicked about among the fragments of the ruined cabinet, but was +rewarded by no hollow ring. It was a most undutifully matter-of-fact +and prosaic piece of furniture in its interior, however much it may +have pleased the aesthetic sense outwardly. He gave it up after a time, +and finished dressing. "Nothing in that but firewood," he announced to +Jones, who had been watching his researches with some surprise. "Pile +it up in a corner and leave it there until I have made my peace with +Sir Iltyd." + +He gave his necktie a final touch, then went down to the drawing-room, +where he found the candles lit and Sir Iltyd standing on the hearth-rug +beside his daughter. The old gentleman came forward at once and +greeted him with stately, old-fashioned courtesy, his stern, somewhat +sad features relaxing at once under Dartmouth's rare charm of manner. +He was a fine-looking man, tall and slim like his daughter, but very +fair. His head, well developed, but by no means massive, and scantily +covered with gray hair, was carried with the pride which was the bone +and fibre of his nature. Pride, in fact, albeit a gentle, chastened +sort of pride, was written all over him, from the haughty curve of his +eyebrow to the conscious wave of his small, delicate hand--pride, and +love for his daughter, for he followed her every movement with the +adoring eyes of a man for the one solace of a sad and lonely old age. + +"It is so awfully good of you to let me come up here so soon," +exclaimed Dartmouth. "But what do you suppose I have done to prove my +gratitude?" + +"Made the castle your own, I hope." + +"I have. I proceeded at once to make myself at home by smashing up +the furniture. One of your handsomest cabinets is now in ruins upon my +bedroom floor." + +Sir Iltyd looked at him with a somewhat puzzled glance. He had lived +in seclusion for nearly thirty years, and was unaccustomed to the +facetiousness of the modern youth. "Has anything happened?" he +demanded anxiously. + +Dartmouth smiled, but gave an account of the disaster in unadorned +English, and received forgiveness at once. Had he confessed to having +chopped his entire tower to pieces, Sir Iltyd would have listened +without a tightening of the lips, and with the air of a man about to +invite his guest to make a bonfire of the castle if so it pleased him. +As for Weir, her late education made her appreciate the humor of the +situation, and she smiled sympathetically at Harold over her father's +shoulder. + +They went into dinner a few moments later, and Sir Iltyd talked a +good deal. Although a man of somewhat narrow limitations and one-sided +views, as was but natural, taking into consideration the fact that his +mental horizon had not been widened out by contact with his +fellow-men for twenty-five years, he was, for a recluse, surprisingly +well-informed upon the topics of the day. Dartmouth could not forbear +making some allusion to the apparent paradox, and his host smiled and +told him that as history had been his favorite study all his life, he +could hardly be so inconsistent as to ignore the work which his more +active contemporaries were making for the future chronicler. He +then drew from Dartmouth a detailed account of that restless young +gentleman's political experience in Russia, and afterward questioned +him somewhat minutely about the American form of government. He seemed +to be pleased with the felicity of expression and the well-stored mind +of his would-be son-in-law, and lingered at the table longer than was +his habit. There were no formalities at Rhyd-Alwyn. Weir remained +with them, and when her father finally rose and went over to the +hearth-rug, as if loth to leave the society of the young people, she +went and stood beside him. He laid his arm across her shoulders, then +turned to Dartmouth with a sigh. "You would take her from me," he +said, sadly, "do you know that you will leave me to a very lonely +life?" + +"Oh, you will see enough of us," replied Harold, promptly. "We shall +be back and forth all the time. And Crumford Hall, I can assure you, +is not a bad place to come to for the shooting." + +Sir Iltyd shook his head: "I could not live out of Wales," he said; +"and I have not slept under another roof for a quarter of a century. +But it is good of you to say you would not mind coming once in a while +to this lonely old place, and it would make the separation easier to +bear." + +He left them shortly after, and as he took Harold's hand in +good-night, he retained it a moment with an approving smile, then +passed a characteristic Welsh criticism: "It is a small hand," he +said, "and a very well-shaped hand; and your feet, too. I am willing +to acknowledge to you that I am weak enough to have a horror of large +hands and feet. Good-night. I have to thank you for a very pleasant +evening." + + + + +II. + + +"Harold," said Weir, the next morning after breakfast, as the door +closed behind Sir Iltyd, "I shall entertain you until luncheon by +showing you the castle." + +"My dear girl," said Harold, smiling, "let your role of hostess sit +lightly upon you. I do not want to be entertained. I am perfectly +happy." + +"Of that I have no doubt. Nevertheless I want you to see the castle, +particularly the picture-gallery, where all my ancestors be." + +"Then, by my troth, will I go, fair Mistress Penrhyn, for a goodly +show your ancestors be, I make no doubt;" and Dartmouth plunged his +hands into his pockets and looked down at her with a broad smile. + +Weir lifted her head. "My English is quite as pure as yours," she +said. "And you certainly cannot accuse me of using what the London +girls call 'slang.'" + +This time Dartmouth laughed aloud. "No, my dear," he said, "not even +Shakespearean slang. But let us investigate the mysteries of the castle +by all means. Lead, and I will follow." + +"There are no mysteries," said Weir; "we have not even a ghost. Nor +have we a murder, or crime of any sort, to make us blush for our +family tree." + +"Happy tree! Mine has a blush for every twig, and a drop curtain for +every branch. Thank God for the Penrhyn graft! Let us hope that +it will do as much good as its fairest flower has already done the +degenerate scion of all the Dartmouths. But, to the castle! I would +get through--I mean, I would gaze upon its antiquities as soon as +possible." + +"This castle is very interesting, Mr. Dartmouth," replied Weir, +elevating her chin; "you have nothing so old in England." + +"True, nor yet in Jerusalem, O haughtiest of Welsh maidens! I esteem +it a favor that I am not put below the salt." + +Weir laughed. "What a tease you are! But you know that in your heart +your pride of family is as great as mine. Only it is the 'fad' of +the day to affect to despise birth and lineage. We of Wales are more +honest." + +"Yes, it is your sign and seal, and it sits well upon you. I don't +affect to despise birth and lineage, my dear. If I could not trace +my ancestry back to the first tadpole who loafed his life away in the +tropical forests of old, I should be miserable." + +He spoke jestingly, but he drew himself up as he spoke, his lip was +supercilious, and there was an intolerant light in his eye. At that +moment he did not look a promising subject for the Liberal side of the +House, avowedly as were his sympathies in that quarter. Weir, however, +gave him an approving smile, and then commanded him to follow her. + +She took him over the castle, from the dungeons below to the cell-like +rooms in the topmost towers. She led him through state bedrooms, +in which had slept many a warlike Welsh prince, whose bones could +scarcely be in worse order than the magnificence which once had +sheltered them. She piloted him down long galleries with arcades on +one side, like a cloister, and a row of rooms on the other wherein the +retainers of ancient princes of the house of Penrhyn had been wont to +rest their thews after a hard day's fight. She slid back panels and +conducted him up by secret ways to gloomy rooms, thick with cobwebs, +where treasure had been hid, and heads too loyal to a fallen king had +alone felt secure on their trunks. She led him to chambers hung with +tapestries wrought by fair, forgotten grandmothers, who over their +work had dreamed their eventless lives away. She showed him the +chapel, impressive in its ancient Norman simplicity and in its ruin, +and the great smoke-begrimed banqueting-hall, where wassails had been +held, and beauty had thought her lord a beast. + +"Well," she demanded, as they paused at length on the threshold of the +picture-gallery, "what do you think of my father's castle?" + +"Your father's castle is the most consistent thing I have seen for +a long time: it is an artistically correct setting for your father's +daughter. The chain of evolution is without a missing link. And +what is better, the last link is uncorroded with the rust of modern +conventions. Seriously, your castle is the most romantic I have ever +seen. The nineteenth century is forgotten, and I am a belted Knight of +Merrie England who has stormed your castle and won you by his prowess. +You stood in your window, high up in your tower, and threw me a rose, +while your father stalked about the ramparts and swore that my bones +should whiten on the beach. I raised the rose to my lips, dashed +across the drawbridge, and hurled my lance at the gates. About my head +a shower of barbs and bullets fell, but I heeded them not. Behind me +thundered my retainers, and under their onslaught the mighty gates +gave way with a crash, and the castle was ours! We trampled into +the great hall, making it ring with our shouts and the clash of our +shields. Your father's men fled before us, but he calmly descended the +staircase and confronted us with his best Welsh stare. 'I fear ye not, +villains,' he cried. 'Barbarians, English dogs! I defy ye. Do your +worst. My daughter and I for death care not. The mighty house of +Istyn-ap-Dafyd-ap-Owain-ap-Caradoc-ap-Iltyd-ap-Penrhyn knoweth not +fear of living man, nor yet of death's mysterious charnel-house.' +'Wrong me not, gentle sir,' I cried, snatching off my helmet +and trailing its plumes upon the floor; 'I come in love, not +in destruction. Give me but thy daughter, O +Dafyd-ap-Owain-ap-Istyn-ap-Caradoc-ap-Iltyd-ap-Penrhyn, and thy castle +and thy lands, thy rocks and thy sea, are thine again, even as were +they before the beauty of the Lady Weir turned my blood to lava and +my heart to a seething volcano. Give me but thy daughter's hand, and +wealth shall flow into thy coffers, and the multitude of thy retainers +shall carry terror to the heart of thy foe. What say ye, my Lord +Caradoc-ap-Owain-ap-etcetera?' Whereupon the lord of Rhyd-Alwyn unbent +his haughty brows, and placing one narrow, white, and shapely hand +upon my blood-stained baldric, spoke as follows: 'Well said, young +Briton. Spoken like a brave knight and an honorable gentleman. My +daughter thou shalt have, my son thou shalt be, thy friends shall be +my friends, and thou and all of them shall be baptized Welshmen.' And +then he himself re-ascended the staircase and sought you in your tower +and led you down and placed your hand in mine. And the drums beat, and +the shields clashed, and once more the mighty storm shook the rooks +from the roof. But we heard it not, for on your finger I had placed +the betrothal ring, then thrown my brawny arms about you and forgot +that earth existed. Excuse my eloquence," he cried, as he lifted her +up and kissed her, "but your castle and yourself are inspiring." + +"That was all very charming, however," she said, "if you only had +not such a reprehensible way of jumping from the sublime to the +ridiculous, like a meteor from world to world." + +"Prettily said, sweetheart. But, trust me, if I ever reach the sublime +I will stay there. Now, to your ancestors! Great heaven! what an +array!" + +They had entered a long, narrow room, against whose dark background +stood out darker canvasses of an army of now celestial Penrhyns; an +army whose numbers would have been a morning's task to count. The +ancient Penrhyns had been princes, like most of their ilk; and the +titles which Weir glibly recited, and the traditions of valor and +achievement which she had at her tongue's end, finally wrung from +Dartmouth a cry for mercy. + +"My dear girl!" he exclaimed, "keep the rest for another day. Those +'aps' are buzzing in my ears like an army of infuriated gnats, and +those mighty deeds are so much alike--who is that?" + +He left her side abruptly and strode down the gallery to a picture +at the end, and facing the room. It was the full-length, life-size +portrait of a woman with gown and head-dress in the style of the First +Empire. One tiny, pointed foot was slightly extended from beneath +the white gown, and--so perfect had been the skill of the artist--she +looked as if about to step from the canvas to greet her guests. + +"That is my grandmother, Sioned, wife of Dafyd-ap-Penrhyn, who, I +would have you know, was one of the most famous diplomatists of his +day," said Weir, who had followed, and stood beside him. "She was the +daughter of the proudest earl in Wales--but I spare you his titles. I +am exactly like her, am I not? It is the most remarkable resemblance +which has ever occurred in the family." + +"Yes," said Dartmouth, "you are like her." He plunged his hands into +his pockets and stared at the floor, drawing his brows together. Then +he turned suddenly to Weir. "I have seen that woman before," he said. +"That is the reason why I thought it was your face which was familiar. +I must have seen your grandmother when I was a very young child. I +have forgotten the event, but I could never forget such a face." + +"But Harold," said Weir, elevating her brows "It is quite impossible +you could ever have seen my grandmother. She died when papa was a +little boy." + +"Are you sure?" + +"Quite sure. I have often heard him say he had no memory whatever of +his mother. And grandpapa would never talk with him about her. He was +a terribly severe old man, they say--he died long years before I was +born--but he must have loved my grandmother very much, for he could +not bear to hear her name, and he never came to the castle after her +death." + +"It is strange," said Harold, musingly, "but I have surely seen that +face before." + +He looked long at the beautiful, life-like picture before him. It +was marvellously like Weir in form and feature and coloring. But the +expression was sad, the eyes were wistful, and the whole face was +that, not of a woman who had lived, but of a woman who knew that out +of her life had passed the power to live did she bow her knee to the +Social Decalogue. As Weir stood, with her bright, eager, girlish face +upheld to the woman out of whose face the girlish light had forever +gone, the resemblance and the contrast were painfully striking. + +"I love her!" exclaimed Weir, "and whenever I come in here I always +kiss her hand." She went forward and pressed her lips lightly to the +canvas, while Dartmouth stood with his eyes fastened upon the face +whose gaze seemed to meet his own and--soften--and invite-- + +He stepped forward suddenly as Weir drew back. "She fascinates me, +also," he said, with a half laugh. "I, too, will kiss her hand." + + + + +III. + + +With the exception of the time spent in the dining-room, the young +people saw little of Sir Iltyd. That he liked Dartmouth and enjoyed +his society were facts he did not pretend to disguise. But the habits +of years were too strong, and he always wandered back to his books. He +did not trouble himself about proprieties. Weir had grown up and ruled +the castle all these years without a chaperon, and he had lived out +of the world too long to suggest the advisability of one now. His +daughter and her lover experienced no yearning for supervision, and +the free, untrammelled life was a very pleasant one, particularly to +Dartmouth, who always gave to novelty its just meed of appreciation. +At this period, in fact, Dartmouth's frame of mind left nothing to be +desired. In the first place, it was a delightful experience to find +himself able to stand the uninterrupted society of one woman from +morning till night, day after day, without a suggestion of fatigue. +And in the second, he found her a charming study. It is true that he +was very much in love, very sincerely and passionately in love; but +at the same time, his brain had been trained through too many years to +the habit of analysis; he could no more help studying Weir and drawing +her on to reveal herself than he could help loving her. She was not a +difficult problem to solve, individual as she was, because she was so +natural. Her experience with the world had been too brief to give her +an opportunity to encase herself in any shell which would not fall +from her at the first reaction to primitive conditions; and above all, +she was in love. + +In the love of a woman there is always a certain element of +childishness, which has a reflex, if but temporary action upon her +whole nature. The phenomenon is due partly to the fact that she is +under the dominant influence of a wholly natural instinct, partly to +the fact that the object of her love is of stronger make than herself, +mentally, spiritually, and physically. This sense of dependence and +weakness, and, consequently, of extreme youth, remains until she +has children. Then, under the influence of peculiarly strong +responsibilities, she gives her youth to them, and with it the +plasticity of her nature. + +At present Weir was in the stage where she analyzed herself for her +lover's benefit, and confided to him every sensation she had ever +experienced; and he encouraged her. He had frequently encouraged other +women to do the same thing, and in each case, after the first few +chapters, he had found it a good deal of a bore. The moment a woman +falls in love, that moment she becomes an object of paramount interest +in her own eyes. All her life she has regarded herself from the +outside; her wants and needs have been purely objective; consequently +she has not known herself, and her spiritual nature has claimed but +little of her attention. But under the influence of love she plunges +into herself, as it were, and her life for the time being is purely +subjective. She broadens, expands, develops, concentrates; and her +successive evolutions are a perpetual source of delight and absorbing +study. Moreover, her sense of individuality grows and flourishes, +and becomes so powerful that she is unalterably certain--until it is +over--that her experience is an isolated and wholly remarkable +one. Naturally she must talk to someone; she is teeming with her +discoveries, her excursions into the heretofore unexplored depths +of human nature; the necessity for a confidant is not one to be +withstood, and who so natural or understanding a confidant as her +lover? If the lover be a clever man and an analyst, he is profoundly +interested at first, particularly if she have some trick of mind which +gives her, or seems to give her, the smack of individuality. If he be +a true lover, and a man with any depth of feeling and of mind, he +does not tire, of course; but otherwise he eventually becomes either +oppressed or frightened; he either wishes that women would not take +themselves so seriously and forget to be amusing, or her belief in her +peculiar and absolute originality communicates itself to him, and he +does not feel equal to handling and directing so remarkable a passion. + +There was no question about the strength and verity of Dartmouth's +love for Weir, and he had yet to be daunted by anything in life; +consequently he found his present course of psychological research +without flaw. Moreover, the quaintness of her nature pervaded all +her ideas. She had an old-fashioned simplicity and directness which, +combined with a charming quality of mind and an unusual amount of +mental development, gave her that impress of originality which he had +recognized and been attracted by. He was gratified also to find that +the old-time stateliness, almost primness, which had been to him +from the first her chiefest exterior charm did not disappear with +association. She might sit on a rock muffled to her ears in furs, and +with her feet dangling in the air, and yet manage to look as dignified +as a duchess. She might race with him on horseback and clamber down a +cliff with the thoughtlessness of a child, but she always looked as +if she had been brought up on a chessboard. Dartmouth used to tell her +that her peculiarly erect carriage and lofty fashion of carrying her +head gave her the effect of surveillance over an invisible crown with +an unreliable fit, and that she stepped like the maiden in the fairy +tale who was obliged to walk upon peas. He made a tin halo one day, +and put it suddenly on her head when her back was turned, and she +avenged herself by wearing it until he went down on his knees and +begged her to take it off. When she sat in her carved high-back chair +at the head of her father's table, with the deep collar and cuffs +of linen and heavy lace to which she was addicted, and her dark, +sensuous, haughty, tender face motionless for the moment, against the +dark background of the leather, she looked like a Vandyke; and at such +times Dartmouth's artistic nature was keenly responsive, and he forgot +to chaff. + + + + +IV. + + +Dartmouth had been at Rhyd-Alwyn two weeks, when Sir Iltyd turned +to him one night as he was leaving the dining-room and asked him to +follow him into the library for a few moments. + +"I feel quite alarmed," said Harold to Weir, as the door closed behind +her father. "Do you suppose he is going to tell me that I do not give +satisfaction?" + +"Harold!" exclaimed Weir, reprovingly, "I wish you would not talk as +if you were a butler; you look much more dignified than you ever talk. +You look like an English nobleman, and you talk like any ordinary +young man about town." + +"My dearest girl, would you have me a Sir Charles Grandison? The +English nobleman of your imagination is the gentleman who perambulates +the pages of Miss Burney's novels. The present species and the young +man about town are synonymous animals." + +"There you are again! You always make me laugh; I cannot help that; +but I wish you would do yourself justice, nevertheless. You may not +know it, but if you would only put on a ruff and satin doublet and +hose and wig, and all the rest of it, you would look exactly like one +of the courtiers of the court of Queen Elizabeth. You are a perfect +type of the English aristocrat." + +"My dear Lady Jane Grey, if you had been an American girl, you would +have said a perfect gentleman, and I should never have spoken to you +again. As a matter of fact, I always feel it a sort of sacrilege that +I do not address you in blank verse; only my attempts thereat are +so very bad. But it is never too late to mend. We will read Pope +together, Shakespeare, and all the rest of the old boys. We will +saturate our minds with their rhythm, and we will thereafter +communicate in stately phrase and rolling periods." + +"It would be a great deal better than slang and 'facetiousness,' as +you call it. That is all very well for Lord Bective Hollington; it +suits him; but you should aim at a higher standard." + +Dartmouth, who was standing by the chimney-piece near the chair on +which she was sitting, put his hand under her chin and raised her +face, smiling quizzically as he did so. + +"My dear child," he said, "you are too clever to fall into the common +error of women, and idealize your lover. The tendency is a constituent +part of the feminine nature, it is true. The average woman will +idealize the old tweed coat on her lover's back. But your eyes are too +clear for that sort of thing. I am a very ordinary young man, my dear. +Becky is twice as clever--" + +"He is not!" burst in Weir, indignantly. "A man who can do nothing but +chaff and joke and talk witty nonsense!" + +"If you knew him better you would know that under all that persiflage +there is much depth of feeling and passion. I do not claim any unusual +amount of intellectuality for him, but he has a wonderful supply of +hard common-sense, and remarkably quick perceptions. And I have great +respect for his judgment." + +"That may be," said Weir, indifferently; "I care nothing about him." +She rose and stood in front of him and leaned her elbows on his +shoulders. "You may underrate yourself, if you like," she went on, +"but I know that you are capable of accomplishing anything you wish, +and of distinguishing yourself. I recall the conversations I have had +with you in your serious moments, if you do not, and I expect you to +be a great man yet." + +Dartmouth flung his cigar impatiently into the fire. "My dear girl, +my grandmother preached that same thing to me from the day I was old +enough to reason, to the day she died. But I tell you, Weir, I have +not got it in me. I have the ambition and the desire--yes; but no +marked ability of any sort. Some day, when we are ready to settle +down, I will write, and publish what I write. Men will grant me a +certain standing as a thinker, I believe, and perhaps they will also +give me credit for a certain nice use of words; I have made a study of +literary style all my life. But that is the most I shall ever attain. +I am not a man of any genius or originality, and you may as well make +up your mind to the inevitable at once." + +"Harold," said Weir, without taking the slightest notice of his +outburst, "do you remember that extraordinary experience of yours that +night in Paris? I believe you have the soul of a poet in you, only as +yet your brain hasn't got it under control. Did you ever read the life +of Alfieri? He experienced the same desire to write, over and over +again, but could accomplish nothing until after he was thirty. +Disraeli illustrated his struggles for speech in 'Contarini Fleming' +most graphically, you remember." + +"Neither Alfieri nor Contarini Fleming ever had any such experience as +mine. Their impulse to write was not only a mental concept as well as +a spiritual longing, but it was abiding. I never really experienced +a desire to write poetry except on that night. I have occasionally +wished that I had the ability, but common-sense withheld me from +brooding over the impossible. The experience of that night is one +which can be explained by no ordinary methods. I can make nothing +of it, and for that reason I prefer not to speak of it. I abominate +mysteries." + +"Well," she said, "some day I believe it will be explained. I believe +it was nothing more than an extraordinarily strong impulse to write, +and that you exaggerate it into the supernatural as you look back upon +it. I did not think so when you first told me; you were so dramatic +that you carried me off my feet, and I was an actor in the scene. But +that is the way I look at it now, and I believe I am correct." + +"It may be," said Dartmouth, moodily, "but I hope it won't affect me +that way again, that is all." He caught her suddenly to him and kissed +her. "Let us be contented as we are," he said. "Ambition is love's +worst enemy. Geniuses do not make their wives happy." + +"They do when their wives understand and are in absolute sympathy with +them," she said, returning his caress; "and that I should always be +with you. But do not imagine that I am in love with the idea of your +being a famous man. I care nothing for fame in itself. It is only that +I believe you to be capable of great things, and that you would be +happier if they were developed." + +"Well, well," he said, laughing; "have your own way, as you will in +spite of me. If ever the divine fire lays me in ashes, you may triumph +in your predictions. But I must go and interview your father; I have +kept him waiting too long already." + +They went out into the hall, and Dartmouth left her there and went to +the library. Sir Iltyd was sitting before a large table, reading by +the light of a student's lamp, which looked like an anachronism in +the lofty, ancient room. He closed his book as Dartmouth entered, and +rising, waved his hand toward a chair on the other side of the table. + +"Will you sit down?" he said; "I should like to have a little talk +with you." + +Dartmouth obeyed, and waited for the old gentleman to introduce the +subject. Sir Iltyd continued in a moment, taking up a small book and +bringing it down lengthwise on the desk at regular intervals while he +spoke: + +"Of course, you must know, Harold, that it has not taken me two weeks +to discover my personal feelings toward you. I should have liked or +disliked you on the first evening we met, and, as a matter of fact, my +sensations towards you have undergone no change since that night. If +it had happened that I disliked you, I should not have allowed the +fact to bias my judgment as to whether or not you were a suitable +husband for my daughter, but it would not have taken me two weeks +to make up my mind. As it is I have merely delayed my consent as an +unnecessary formality; but perhaps the time has come to say in so many +words that I shall be very glad to give my daughter to you." + +"Thank you," said Dartmouth. The words sounded rather bald, but it +was an unusual situation, and he did not know exactly what to say. +Something more was evidently expected of him, however, and he plunged +in recklessly: "I am sure I need not say that I am highly honored +by your regard and your confidence, nor protest that you will never +regret it. To tell you that I loved Weir with all my heart would be +trite, and perhaps it is also unnecessary to add that I am not a man +of 'veering passions'--that is, of course when my heart is engaged as +well." + +Sir Iltyd smiled. "I should imagine that the last clause was added +advisedly. I was a man of the world myself in my young days, and +I recognize one in you. Judging from your physiognomy and general +personality I should say that you have loved a good many women, and +have lived in the widest sense of the word." + +"Well--yes," admitted Dartmouth, with a laugh. "That sort of thing +leaves a man's heart untouched, however." + +"It may, and I am willing to believe that you have given your heart to +Weir for good and all." + +"I think I have," said Dartmouth. + +And then the question of settlements was broached, and when it had +been satisfactorily arranged, Dartmouth lingered a few moments longer +in conversation with his host, and then rose to go. Sir Iltyd rose +also and walked with him to the door. + +"Do you mind our being married in a month?" asked Dartmouth, as they +crossed the room. "That will give Weir all the time she wants, and we +should like to spend the spring in Rome." + +"Very well; let it be in a month. I cannot see that the date is of any +importance; only do not forget me in the summer." + +"Oh, no," said Dartmouth; "we expect you to harbor us off and on all +the year around." + +And then Sir Iltyd opened the door and bowed with his old-time +courtier-like dignity, and Dartmouth passed out and into the hall. + + + + +V. + + +He found Weir kneeling on the hearth-rug. The hall was an immense +place with a vaulted ceiling upheld by massive beams; the walls were +wainscotted almost to the top with oak which had been polished for +many a century; and the floor, polished also, was covered with rugs +which had been very handsome in their day. There were several superb +suits of armor and a quantity of massive, carved oaken furniture, +extremely uncomfortable but very picturesque. In the open fire-place, +which would have held many more than Harold and Weir within its +depths, great logs were burning. The lamps had been brought in but +had not been turned up, and save for the firelight the great cathedral +apartment was a thicket of shadows, out of which the steel warriors +gleamed, menacing guardians of the girl. + +Weir made a pretty picture kneeling on the hearth-rug, with the +fire-light playing on her dark face and pliant figure, in its +closely-fitting black gown, throwing golden flickers on her hair, +and coquetting with the lanterns in her eyes. She rose as Dartmouth +approached, and he gave her one of his brilliant, satisfied smiles. + +"We are to be married a month from to-day," he said. "A month from +to-day and we shall be knocking about Europe and pining for English +civilization." He drew her down on the cushioned seat that ran along +the wall by the chimney-piece. "We cannot go out to-night; there is a +storm coming up. Ah, did I not tell you?" as a gust of wind shrieked +and rattled the sash. + +She gave a little shiver and drew closer to him. "I hate a storm," she +said. "It always brings back--" she stopped abruptly. + +"Brings back what?" + +"Nothing," hastily. "So father has given his consent? But I knew he +would. I knew he liked you the moment you met; and when he alluded +that night to your small hands and feet I knew that the cause was won. +Had they been at fault, nothing could have persuaded him that you did +not have a broad river of red blood in you somewhere, and he never +would have approved of you had you been the monarch of a kingdom." + +Dartmouth smiled. "The men at college used to laugh at my hands, until +I nearly choked one of them to death one day, after which they never +laughed at them again. There is no doubt now about my having been +destined at birth for a Welsh maiden, and equipped accordingly. But +you know your father pretty thoroughly." + +"I have lived alone with him so long that I can almost read his mind, +and I certainly know his peculiarities." + +"It must have been a terribly lonely life for you. How old were you +when your mother died?" + +She moved with the nervous motion habitual to her whenever her +mother's name was mentioned. "I was about nine," she said. + +"_Nine_? And yet you remember nothing of her? Weir, it is impossible +that you cannot remember her." + +"I do not remember her," she said. + +"I saw her picture in the library to-night. She must have been very +beautiful, but like you only in being dark. Otherwise, there is not a +trace of resemblance. But surely you must remember her, Weir; you are +joking. I can remember when I was four years of age perfectly, and +many things that happened." + +"I remember nothing that happened before I was nine years old," she +said. + +He bent down suddenly and looked into her face. "Weir, what do you +mean? There is always an uncomfortable suggestion of mystery whenever +one speaks of your mother or your childhood. What is the reason you +cannot remember? Did you have brain fever, and when you recovered, +find your mind a blank? Such things have happened." + +"No," she said, desperately, as if she had nerved herself for an +effort. "That was not it. I have often wanted to tell you, but I +cannot bear to speak of it. The old horror always comes back when +I think of it. But I feel that I ought to tell you before we are +married, and I will do so now since we are speaking of it. I did not +have brain fever, but when I was nine years old--I died." + +"You what?" + +"Yes, it is true. They called it catalepsy, a trance; but it was not; +I was really dead. I was thrown from a horse a few months after my +mother's death, and killed instantly. They laid me in the family +vault, but my father had ice put about me and would not have me +covered, and went every hour to see me, as he told me afterward. I +remember nothing; and they say that when people are in a trance they +are conscious of everything that passes around them. I knew nothing +until one night I suddenly opened my eyes and looked about me. It was +just such a night as this, only in mid-winter; the wind was howling +and shrieking, and the terrible gusts shook the vault in which I lay. +The ocean roared like thunder, and I could hear it hurl itself in its +fury against the rocks at the foot of the castle. A lamp was burning +at my feet, and by its flickering light I could see in their niches +on every side of me the long lines of dead who had lain there for +centuries. And I was alone with them, locked in with them; no living +creature within call! And I was so deathly cold. There was a great +block of ice on my chest, and slabs of it were packed about my limbs +so tightly that I could not move. I could only feel that horrible, +glassy cold which I knew had frozen the marrow in my bones and turned +my blood to jelly; and the pain of it was something which I have no +words to describe. I tried to call out, but the ice was on my chest, +and I could hardly breathe. Then for a moment I lay trying to collect +my thoughts. I did not know where I was. I did not know that I was in +the vault of my ancestors. I only felt that I had been wandering and +wandering in some dim, far-off land looking for someone I could never +find, and that suddenly I had come into another world and found rest. +But although I did not know that I was in the vault at Rhyd-Alwyn, and +that my name was Weir Penrhyn, I knew that I was laid out as a corpse, +and that the dead were about me. Child as I was, it seemed to me that +I must go frantic with the horror of the thing, stretched out in that +ghastly place, a storm roaring about me, bound hand and foot, unable +to cry for help. I think that if I had been left there all night I +should have died again or lost my mind, but in a moment I heard a +noise at the grating and men's voices. + +"'I must go in and see her once more,' I heard a strange voice say. +'It seems cruelty to leave her alone in this storm.' And then a +man came in and bent over me. In a moment he called sharply, +'Madoc!--bring me the light.' And then another man came, and I looked +up into two strange, eager, almost terrified faces. I heard incoherent +and excited voices, then the ice was dashed off my chest and I was +caught up in a pair of strong arms and borne swiftly to the house. +They took me to a great blazing fire and wrapped me in blankets and +poured hot drinks down my throat, and soon that terrible chill began +to leave me and the congealed blood in my veins to thaw. And in a few +days I was as well as ever again. But I remembered no one. I had to +become acquainted with them all as with the veriest strangers. I had +the natural intelligence of my years, but nothing more. Between the +hour of my soul's flight from its body and that of its return it had +been robbed of every memory. I remembered neither my mother nor any +incident of my childhood. I could not find my way over the castle, +and the rocks on which I had lived since infancy were strangers to me. +Everything was a blank up to the hour when I opened my eyes and found +myself between the narrow walls of a coffin." + +"Upon my word!" exclaimed Dartmouth. "Why, you are a regular heroine +of a sensational novel." + +Weir sprang to her feet and struck her hands fiercely together, +her eyes blazing. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself," she +cried, passionately. "Can you never be serious? Must you joke about +everything? I believe you will find something to laugh at in the +marriage service. That thing I have told you is the most serious and +horrible experience of my life, and yet you treat it as if I were +acting a part in a melodrama in a third-rate theatre! Sometimes I +think I hate you." + +Dartmouth caught her in his arms and forced her to sit down again +beside him. "My dear girl," he said, "why is it that a woman can never +understand that when a man feels most he chaffs, especially if he has +cultivated the beastly habit. Your story stirred me powerfully; the +more so because such things do not happen to every-day girls--" + +"Harold!" + +"Do not wrong me; I am in dead earnest. As a plain matter of fact, I +never heard of anything so horrible. Thank heaven it happened when you +were so young! No woman's will and spirit could rise superior to such +a memory if it were a recent one. But am I forgiven?" + +"As you are perfectly incorrigible, I suppose there is no use being +angry with you," she said, still with a little pout on her lips. "But +I will forgive you on one condition only." + +"Name it." + +"You are never to mention the subject to me again after to-night." + +"I never will; but tell me, has the memory of your childhood never +come back for a moment?" + +"Never. All I remember is that sense of everlasting wandering and +looking for something. For a long while I was haunted with the idea +that there was something I still must find. I never could discover +what it was, but it has left me now. If you had not been so unkind, I +should have said that it is because I am too happy for mysterious and +somewhat supernatural longings." + +"But as it is, you won't. It was an odd feeling to have, though. +Perhaps it was a quest for the memories of your childhood--for a lost +existence, as it were. If ever it comes again, tell me, and we will +try and work it out together." + +"Harold!" she exclaimed, smiling outright this time, "you will be +trying to analyze the cobwebs of heaven before long." + +"No," he said, "they are too dense." + + + + +VI. + + +It was eleven o'clock when they parted for the night. Dartmouth went +up to his room and sat down at his desk to write a letter to his +father. In a moment he threw down the pen; he was not in a humor +for writing. He picked up a book (he never went to bed until he felt +sleepy), and crossed the room and sat down before the fire. But he +had not read two pages when he dropped it with an exclamation of +impatience: the story Weir had told him was written between every +line. She had told it so vividly and realistically that she had +carried him with her and almost curdled his blood. He had answered her +with a joke, because, in spite of the fact that he had been strongly +affected, he was angry as well. He hated melodrama, and the idea of +Weir having had an experience which read like a sensational column in +a newspaper was extremely distasteful to him. He sympathized with her +with all his heart, but he had a strong distaste for anything +which savored of the supernatural. Nevertheless, he was obliged to +acknowledge that this horrible, if commonplace experience of Weir's +had taken possession of his mind, and refused to be evicted. The scene +kept presenting itself in all its details again and again, and finally +he jumped to his feet in disgust and determined to go to the long +gallery which overhung the sea, and watch the storm. Rhyd-Alwyn was +built on a steep cliff directly on the coast, and exposed to all the +fury of the elements. In times of storm, and when the waves were high, +the spray flew up against the lower windows. + +He left his room and went down the wide hall, then turned into a +corridor, which terminated in a gallery that had been built as a sort +of observatory. The gallery was long and very narrow, and the floor +was bare. But there were seats under the windows, and on a table were +a number of books; it was a place Dartmouth and Weir were very fond of +when it was not too cold. + +It was a clear, moonlit night, in spite of the storm. There was no +rain; it was simply a battle of wind and waves. Dartmouth stood at one +of the windows and looked out over the angry waters. The billows were +piling one above the other, black, foam-crested, raging like wild +animals beneath the lash of the shrieking wind. Moon and stars gazed +down calmly, almost wonderingly, holding their unperturbed watch +over the war below. Sublime, forceful, the sight suited the somewhat +excited condition of Dartmouth's mind. Moreover, he was beginning to +feel that one of his moods was insidiously creeping upon him: not an +attack like the last, but a general feeling of melancholy. If he could +only put that wonderful scene before him into verse, what a solace +and distraction the doing of it would be! He could forget--he pulled +himself together with something like terror. In another moment there +would be a repetition of that night in Paris. The best thing he could +do was to go back to his room and take an anodyne. + +He turned to leave the gallery, but as he did so he paused suddenly. +Far down, at the other end, something was slowly coming toward him. +The gallery was very long and ill-lighted by the narrow, infrequent +windows, and he could not distinguish whom it was. He stood, however, +involuntarily waiting for it to approach him. But how slowly it came, +as one groping or one walking in a dream! Then, as it gradually +neared him, he saw that it was a woman, dimly outlined, but still +unmistakably a woman. He spoke, but there was no answer, nothing but +the echo of his voice through the gallery. Someone trying to play a +practical joke upon him! Perhaps it was Weir: it would be just like +her. He walked forward quickly, but before he had taken a dozen +steps the advancing figure came opposite one of the windows, and the +moonlight fell about it. Dartmouth started back and caught his breath +as if someone had struck him. For a moment his pulses stood still, and +sense seemed suspended. Then he walked quickly forward and stood in +front of her. + +"Sioned!" he said, in a low voice which thrilled through the room. +"Sioned!" He put out his hand and took hers. It was ice-cold, and its +contact chilled him to the bone; but his clasp grew closer and his +eyes gazed into hers with passionate longing. + +"I am dead," she said. "I am dead, and I am so cold." She drew closer +and peered up into his face. "I have found you at last," she went on, +"but I wandered so far. There was no nook or corner of Eternity in +which I did not search. But although we went together, we were hurled +to the opposite poles of space before our spiritual eyes had met, and +an unseen hand directed us ever apart. I was alone, alone, in a great, +gray, boundless land, with but the memory of those brief moments of +happiness to set at bay the shrieking host of regrets and remorse +and repentance which crowded about me. I floated on and on and on for +millions and millions of miles; but of you, my one thought on earth, +my one thought in Eternity, I could find no trace, not even the +whisper of your voice in passing. I tossed myself upon a hurrying wind +and let it carry me whither it would. It gathered strength and haste +as it flew, and whirled me out into the night, nowhere, everywhere. +And then it slackened--and moaned--and then, with one great sob, it +died, and once more I was alone in space and an awful silence. And +then a voice came from out the void and said to me, 'Go down; he +is there;' and I knew that he meant to Earth, and for a moment I +rebelled. To go back to that terrible--But on Earth there had been +nothing so desolate as this--and if you were there! So I came--and I +have found you at last." + +She put her arms about him and drew him down onto the low window-seat. +He shivered at her touch, but felt no impulse to resist her will, and +she pressed his head down upon her cold breast. Then, suddenly, all +things changed; the gallery, the moonlight, the white-robed, ice-cold +woman faded from sense. The storm was no longer in his ears nor +were the waves at his feet. He was standing in a dusky Eastern room, +familiar and dear to him. Tapestries of rich stuffs were about him, +and the skins of wild animals beneath his feet. Beyond, the twilight +stole through a window, but did not reach where he stood. And in his +close embrace was the woman he loved, with the stamp on her face +of suffering, of desperate resolution, and of conscious, welcomed +weakness. And in his face was the regret for wasted years and +possibilities, and a present, passionate gladness; _that_ he could see +in the mirror of the eyes over which the lids were slowly falling.... +And the woman wore a clinging, shining yellow gown, and a blaze of +jewels in her hair. What was said he hardly knew. It was enough to +feel that a suddenly-born, passionate joy was making his pulses leap +and his head reel; to know that heaven had come to him in this soft, +quiet Southern night. + + * * * * * + + + + +VII. + + +Dartmouth opened his eyes and looked about him. The storm had died, +the waves were at rest, and he was alone. He let his head fall back +against the frame of the window, and his eyes closed once more. What a +dream!--so vivid!--so realistic! Was it not his actual life? Could +he take up the threads of another? He felt ten years older; and, +retreating down the dim, remote corridors of his brain, were trooping +memories of a long, regretted, troubled, eventful past. In a moment +they had vanished like ghosts and left no trace; he could recall none +of them. He opened his eyes again and looked down the gallery, and +gradually his perceptions grasped its familiar lines, and he was +himself once more. He rose to his feet and put his hand to his head. +That woman whom he had taken for the ghost of one dead and gone had +been Weir, of course. She had arisen in her sleep and attired herself +like the grandmother whose living portrait she was; she had piled up +her hair and caught her white gown up under her bosom; and, in the +shadows and mystery of night, small wonder that she had looked as if +the canvas in the gallery below had yielded her up! But what had her +words meant?--her words, and that dream?--but no--they were not what +he wanted. There had been something else--what was it? He felt as if a +mist had newly arisen to cloud his faculties. There had been something +else which had made him not quite himself as he had stood there with +his arms about the woman who had been Weir, and yet not Weir. Above +the pain and joy and passion which had shaken him, there had been +an unmistakable perception of--an attribute--a quality--of another +sort--of a power, of which he, Harold Dartmouth, had never been +conscious--of--of--ah, yes! of the power to pour out at the feet of +that woman, in richest verse, the love she had awakened, and make them +both immortal. What were the words? They had been written legibly in +his brain; he remembered now. He had seen and read them--yes, at last, +at last! "Her face! her form!" No! no! not that again. Oh, why would +they not come? They had been there, the words; the sense must be +there, the inspiration, the battling for voice and victory. They were +ready to pour through his speech in a flood of song, but that iron +hand forced them back--down, down, setting blood and brain on fire. +Ah! what was that? Far off, at the end of some long gallery, there +was a sweet, dying strain of music, and there were words--gathering in +volume; they were rolling on; they were coming; they were thundering +through his brain in a mighty chorus! There! he had grasped them--No! +that iron hand had grasped them--and was hurling them back. In another +moment it would have forced them down into their cell and turned +the key! He must catch and hold one of them! Yes, he had it! Oh! +victory!--"Her eyes, her hair." + +Dartmouth thrust out his hands as if fighting with a physical enemy, +and he looked as if he had been through the agonies of death. The +conflict in his brain had suddenly ceased, but his physical strength +was exhausted. He turned and walked uncertainly to his room; then he +collected his scattered wits sufficiently to drop some laudanum and +take it, that he might ward off, if possible, the attack of physical +and spiritual prostration which had been the result of a former +experience of a similar kind. Then, dressed as he was, he flung +himself on the bed and slept. + + + + +VIII. + + +When Dartmouth awoke the next day, the sun was streaming across the +bed and Jones's anxious face was bending over him. + +"Oh, Mr. 'Arold," exclaimed Jones, "you've got it again." + +Dartmouth laughed aloud. "One would think I had delirium tremens," he +said. + +He put his hand over his eyes, and struggled with the desire to have +the room darkened. The melancholy had fastened itself upon him, and he +knew that for three or four days he was to be the victim of one of +his unhappiest moods. The laudanum had lulled his brain and prevented +violent reaction after its prolonged tension; but his spirits were at +zero, and his instinct was to shut out the light and succumb to his +enemy without resistance. If he had been anywhere but at Rhyd-Alwyn +he would not have thought twice about it; but if he shut himself up +in his room, not only would Weir be frightened and unhappy, but it +was probable that Sir Iltyd would question the desirability of a +son-in-law who was given to prolonged and uncontrollable attacks of +the blues. He dressed and went down-stairs, but Weir was nowhere to be +found, and after a search through the various rooms and corners of the +castle which she was in the habit of frequenting, he met her maid +and was informed that Miss Penrhyn was not well and would not come +down-stairs before dinner. The news was very unwelcome to Dartmouth. +Weir at least would have been a distraction. Now he must get through a +dismal day, and fight his enemy by himself. To make matters worse, it +was raining, and he could not go out and ride or hunt. He went into +Sir Iltyd's library and talked to him for the rest of the morning. Sir +Iltyd was not exciting, at his best, and to-day he had a bad cold; so +after lunch Dartmouth went up to his tower and resigned himself to his +own company. He sat down before the fire, and taking his head between +his hands allowed the blue devils to triumph. He felt dull as well as +depressed; but for a time he made an attempt to solve the problem of +the phenomenon to which he had been twice subjected. That it was a +phenomenon he did not see any reason to doubt. If he had spent his +life in a vain attempt to write poetry and an unceasing wish for the +necessary inspiration, there would be nothing remarkable in his mind +yielding suddenly to the impetus of accumulated pressure, wrenching +itself free of the will's control, and dashing off on a wild excursion +of its own. But he had never voluntarily taken a pen in his hand +to make verse, nor had he even felt the desire to possess the gift, +except as a part of general ambition. He may have acknowledged the +regret that he could not immortalize himself by writing a great poem, +but the regret was the offspring of personal ambition, not of yearning +poetical instinct. But the most extraordinary phase of the matter was +that such a tempest could take place in a brain as well regulated +as his own. He was eminently a practical man, and a good deal of a +thinker. He had never been given to flights of imagination, and even +in his attacks of melancholy, although his will might be somewhat +enfeebled, his brain could always work clearly and cleverly. The +lethargy which had occasionally got the best of him had invariably +been due to violent nervous shock or strain, and was as natural as +excessive bodily languor after violent physical effort. Why, then, +should his brain twice have acted as if he had sown it with eccentric +weeds all his life, instead of planting it with the choicest seeds he +could obtain, and watering and cultivating them with a patience and an +interest which had been untiring? + +But the explanation of his attempt to put his unborn poem into words +gave him less thought to-day than it had after its first occurrence; +there were other phases of last night's experience weirder and +more unexplainable still. Paramount, of course, was the vision or +dream--which would seem to have been induced by some magnetic property +possessed and exerted by Weir. Such things do not occur without +cause, and he was not the sort of man to yield himself, physically and +mentally, his will and his perceptions, to the unconscious caprice +of a somnambulist. And the scene had cut itself so deeply into the +tablets of his memory that he found himself forgetting more than once +that it was not an actual episode of his past. He wished he could see +Weir, and hear her account of her mental experiences of those hours. +If her dream should have been a companion to his, then the explanation +would suggest itself that the scene might have been a vagary of her +brain; that in some way which he did not pretend to explain, she had +hypnotized him, and that his brain had received a photographic imprint +of what had been in hers. It would then be merely a sort of telepathy. +But why should she have dreamed a dream in which they both were so +unhappily metamorphosed? and why should it have produced so powerful +an impression upon his waking sense? And why, strangest of all, had +he, without thought or self-surprise, gone to her, and with his soul +stirred to its depths, called her "Sioned"? True, she had almost +disguised herself, and had been the living counterfeit of Sioned +Penrhyn; but that was no reason why he should have called a woman who +had belonged to his grandmother's time by her first name. Could +Weir, thoroughly imbued with the character she was unconsciously +representing, have exercised her hypnotic power from the moment she +entered the gallery, and left him without power to think or feel +except through her own altered perceptions? He thrust out his foot +against the fender, almost overturning it, and, throwing back his +head, clasped his hands behind it and scowled at the black ceiling +above him. He was a man who liked things explained, and he felt both +sullen and angry that he should have had an experience which baffled +his powers of analysis and reason. His partial solution gave him no +satisfaction, and he had the uncomfortable sense of actual mystery, +and a premonition of something more to come. This, however, he was +willing to attribute to the depressed condition of his spirits, which +threw its gloom over every object, abstract and concrete, and +which induced the tendency to exaggerate any strange or unpleasant +experience of which he had been the victim. It was useless to try to +think of anything else; his brain felt as if it had resolved itself +into a kaleidoscope, through which those three scenes shifted +eternally. Finally, he fell asleep, and did not awaken until it was +time to dress for dinner. Before he left his room, Weir's maid knocked +at his door and handed him a note, in which the lady of Rhyd-Alwyn +apologized for leaving him to himself for an entire day, and announced +that she would not appear at dinner, but would meet him in the +drawing-room immediately thereafter. Dartmouth read the note through +with a puzzled expression: it was formal and stilted, even for Weir. +She was gone when he came to his senses in the gallery the night +before. Had she awakened and become conscious of the situation? It was +not a pleasant reminiscense for a girl to have, and he felt honestly +sorry for her. Then he groaned in spirit at the prospect of an hour's +tete-a-tete with Sir Iltyd. He liked Sir Iltyd very much, and thought +him possessed of several qualifications valuable in a father-in-law, +among them his devotion to his library; but in his present frame of +mind he felt that history and politics were topics he would like to +relegate out of existence. + +He put the best face on the situation he could muster, however, and +managed to conceal from Sir Iltyd the fact that his spirits were in +other than their normal condition. The old baronet's eyes were not +very sharp, particularly when he had a cold, and he was not disposed +to notice Harold's pallor and occasional fits of abstraction, so long +as one of his favorite topics was under discussion. When Dartmouth +found that he had got safely through the dinner, he felt that he +had accomplished a feat which would have rejoiced the heart of his +grandmother, and he thought that his reward could not come a moment +too soon. Accordingly, for the first time since he had been at +Rhyd-Alwyn, he declined to sit with Sir Iltyd over the wine, and went +at once in search of Weir. + +As he opened the door of the drawing-room he found the room in +semi-darkness, lighted only by the last rays of the setting sun, which +strayed through the window. He went in, but did not see Weir. She was +not in her accustomed seat by the fire, and he was about to call her +name, when he came to a sudden halt, and for the moment every faculty +but one seemed suspended. A woman was standing by the open window +looking out over the water. She had not heard him, and had not turned +her head. Dartmouth felt a certain languor, as of one who is dreaming, +and is half-conscious that he is dreaming, and therefore yields +unresistingly to the pranks of his sleeping brain. Was it Weir, or was +it the woman who had been a part of his vision last night? She wore a +long, shining yellow dress, and her arms and neck were bare. Surely it +was the other woman! She turned her head a little, and he saw her face +in profile; there was the same stamp of suffering, the same pallor. +Weir had never looked like that; before he had known her she had had, +sometimes, a little expression of sadness and abstraction which had +made her look very picturesque, but which had borne no relationship +to suffering or experience. And the scene! the room filled with dying +light, the glimpse of water beyond, the very attitude of the woman at +the casement--all were strangely and deeply familiar to him, although +not the details of the vision of last night. The only things that were +wanting were the Eastern hangings to cover the dark wainscotted old +walls, and the skins on the black, time-stained floor. + +With a sudden effort of will he threw off the sense of mystery which +had again taken possession of him, and walked forward quickly. As Weir +heard him, she turned her head and met his eyes, and although a closer +look at her face startled him afresh, his brain was his own again, +and he was determined that it should remain so. He might yield to +supernatural impressions when unprepared, but not when both brain and +will were defiantly on the alert. That she was not only unaccountably +altered, but that she shrank from him, was evident; and he was +determined to hear her version of last night's adventure without +delay. He believed that she would unconsciously say something which +would throw a flood of light on the whole matter. + +"Where did you get that dress?" he said, abruptly. + +She started sharply, and the color flew to the roots of her hair, +then, receding, left her paler than before. "Why do you ask me that?" +she demanded, with unconcealed, almost terrified suspicion in her +tones. + +"Because," he said, looking straight into her eyes, "I had a peculiar +dream last night, in which you wore a dress exactly like this. It is +rather a remarkable coincidence that you should put it on to-night." + +"Harold!" she cried, springing forward and catching his arm +convulsively in both her hands, "what has happened? What is it? And +how can you talk so calmly when to me it seems--" + +He put his arm around her. "Seems what?" he said, soothingly. "Did +_you_ have a dream, too?" + +"Yes," she said, her face turning a shade paler, "I had a dream." + +"And in it you wore this dress?" + +"Yes." + +"Tell me your dream." + +"No!" she exclaimed, "I cannot." + +Dartmouth put his hand under her chin and pushed her head back +against his shoulder, upturning her face. "You must tell me," he said, +quietly; "every word of it! I am not asking you out of curiosity, but +because the dream I had was too remarkable to be without meaning. I +cannot reach that meaning unassisted; but with your help I believe I +can. So tell me at once." + +"Oh, Harold!" she cried, throwing her arms suddenly about him and +clinging to him, "I have no one else to speak to but you: I cannot +tell my father; he would not understand. No girl ever felt so horribly +alone as I have felt to-day. If it had not been for you I believe I +should have killed myself; but you are everything to me, only--_how_ +can I tell you?" + +He tightened his arms about her and kissed her. + +"Don't kiss me," she exclaimed sharply, trying to free herself. + +"Why not?" he demanded, in surprise. "Why should I not kiss you?" + +She let her head drop again to his shoulder. "True," she said; "why +should you not? It is only that I forget that I am not the woman I +dreamed I was; and for her--it was wrong to kiss you." + +"Weir, tell me your dream at once. It is for your good as well as +mine that I insist. You will be miserable and terrified until you take +someone into your confidence. I believe I can explain your dream, as +well as give you the comfort of talking it over with you." + +She slipped suddenly out of his arms and walked quickly to the end +of the room and back, pausing within a few feet of him. The room was +growing dark, and he could distinguish little of her beyond the tall +outline of her form and the unnatural brilliancy of her eyes, but he +respected her wish and remained where he was. + +"Very well," she said, rapidly. "I will tell you. I went to +sleep without much terror, for I had told my maid to sleep in my +dressing-room. But I suppose the storm and the story I had told you +had unsettled my nerves, for I soon began to dream a horrid dream. +I thought I was dead once more. I could feel the horrible chill and +pain, the close-packed ice about me. I was dead, but yet there was a +spirit within me. I could feel it whispering to itself, although it +had not as yet spread its fire through me and awakened me into life. +It whispered that it was tired, and disheartened, and disappointed, +and wanted rest; that it had been on a long, fruitless journey, and +was so weary that it would not take up the burden of life again just +yet. But its rest could not be long; there was someone it must find, +and before he had gone again to that boundless land, whose haunting +spirits were impalpable as flecks of mist. And then it moaned and +wept, and seemed to live over its past, and I went back with it, or +I was one with it--I cannot define. It recalled many scenes, but +only one made an impression on my memory; I can recall no other." She +paused abruptly, but Dartmouth made no comment; he stood motionless +in breathless expectancy. She put her hand to her head, and after a +moment continued haltingly: + +"I--oh--I hardly know how to tell it. I seemed to be standing with +you in a room more familiar to me than any room in this castle; a room +full of tapestries and skins and cushions and couches; a room which +if I had seen it in a picture I should have recognized as Oriental, +although I have never seen an Oriental room. I have always had an +indescribable longing to see Constantinople, and it seemed to me in +that dream as if I had but to walk to the window and look down upon +it--as if I had looked down upon it many times and loved its beauty. +But although I was with you, and your arms were about me, we were not +as we are now--as we were before the dream: we had suffered all that a +man and a woman can suffer who love and are held apart. And you looked +as you do now, yet utterly different. You looked years older, and you +were dressed so strangely. I do not know how I looked, but I know how +I felt. I felt that I had made up my mind to commit a deadly sin, and +that I gloried in it. I had suffered because to love you was a sin; +but I only loved you the more for that reason. Then you slowly drew +me further into the room and pressed me more closely in your arms and +kissed me again, and then--I--oh--I do not know--it is all so vague I +don't know what it meant--but it seemed as if the very foundations of +my life were being swept away. And yet--oh, I cannot explain! I do not +know, myself." And she would have thrown herself headlong on the sofa +had not Dartmouth sprang forward and caught her. + +"There, never mind," he said, quickly. "Let that go. It is of no +consequence. A dream like that must necessarily end in a climax of +incoherence and excitement." + +He drew her down on the sofa, and for a moment said nothing further. +He had to acknowledge that she had deepened the mystery, and given no +key. A silence fell, and neither moved. Suddenly she raised her head. +"What was your dream?" she demanded. + +"The same. I don't pretend to explain it. And I shall not insult your +understanding by inventing weak excuses. If it means anything we will +give the problem no rest until we have solved it. If we cannot solve +it, then we are justified in coming to the conclusion that there is +nothing in it. But I believe we shall get to the bottom of it yet." + +"Perhaps," she said, wearily; "I do not know. I only feel that I shall +never be myself again, but must go through life with that woman's +burden of sin and suffering weighing me down." She paused a moment, +and then continued: "In that dream I wore a dress like this, and that +is the reason I put it on to-night. I was getting some things in Paris +before I left, and I bought it thinking you would like it; I had heard +you say that yellow was your favorite color. When my maid opened +the door of my wardrobe to-night to take out a dress, and I saw this +hanging there, it gave me such a shock that I caught at a chair to +keep from falling. And then I felt irresistibly impelled to put it on. +I felt as if it were a shroud, vivid in color as it is; but it had +an uncanny fascination for me, and I experienced a morbid delight in +feeling both spirit and flesh revolt, and yet compelling them to do +my will. I never knew that it was in me to feel so, but I suppose I am +utterly demoralized by so realistically living over again that awful +experience of my childhood. If it happened again I should either be +carried back to the vault for good and all, or end my days in the +topmost tower of the castle, with a keeper, and the storms and +sea-gulls for sole companions." + +She sat up in a moment, and putting her hand on his shoulder, looked +him full in the face for the first time. "It seems to me that I know +you now," she said, "and that I never knew you before. When I first +saw you to-night I shrank from you: why, I hardly know, except that +the personality of that woman had woven itself so strongly into mine +that for the moment I felt I had no right to love you. But I have +never loved you as I do to-night, because that dream, however little +else I may have to thank it for, did for me this at least: it seemed +to give me a glimpse into every nook and corner of your character; I +feel now that my understanding of your strange nature is absolute. +I had seen only one side of it before, and had made but instinctive +guesses at the rest; but as I stood with you in that dream, I had, +graven on my memory, the knowledge of every side and phase of your +character as you had revealed it to me many times; and that memory +abides with me. I remember no details, but that makes no difference; +if I were one with you I could not know you better." She slipped her +arms about his neck and pressed her face close to his. "You have one +of your attacks of melancholy to-night," she murmured. "You tried +to conceal it, and the effort made you appear cold. It was the first +thing I thought of when I turned and saw you, in spite of all I felt +myself. And although you had described those attacks before, the +description had conveyed little to me; that your moods were different +from other people's blues had hardly occurred to me, we had been +so happy. But now I understand. I pay for the knowledge with a high +price; but that is life, I suppose." + + + + +IX. + + +Two Days later Dartmouth received a despatch from the steward of his +estates in the north of England announcing that there was serious +trouble among his tenantry, and that his interests demanded he should +be on the scene at once. The despatch was brought to his room, and he +went directly down to the hall, where he had left Weir, and told +her he must leave her for a few days. She had been standing by the +fire-place warming her foot on the fender, but she sat suddenly +down on a chair as he explained to her the nature of the telegram. +"Harold," she said, "if you go you will never come back." + +"My dear girl," he said, "that speech is unworthy of you. You are not +the sort of woman to believe in such nonsense as presentiments." + +"Presentiments may be supernatural," she said, "but not more so +than the experience we have had. So long as you are with me I feel +comparatively untroubled, but if you go I know that something will +happen." + +He sat down on the arm of her chair and took her hand. "You are +low-spirited yet," he said, "and consequently you take a morbid view +of everything. That is all. I am beginning to doubt if the dream we +had was anything more than the most remarkable dream on record; if it +were otherwise, two such wise heads as ours would have discovered the +hidden meaning by this time. And, granting that, you must also grant +that if anything were going to happen, you could not possibly know it; +nor will predicting it bring it about. I will be with you in two days +from this hour, and you will only remember how glad you were to get +rid of me." + +"I hope so," she said. "But--is it absolutely necessary for you to +go?" + +"Not if you don't mind living on bread and cheese for a year or two. +The farms of my ancestral home make a pretty good rent-roll, but if my +tenants become the untrammelled communists my steward predicts, we may +have to camp out on burnt stubble for some time to come. It is in the +hope of inducing them to leave me at least the Hall to take a bride to +that I go to interview them at once. I may be too late, but I will do +my best." + +"You will always joke, I suppose," she said, smiling a little; "but +come back to me." + +He left Rhyd-Alwyn that evening and arrived at Crumford Hall the next +morning. He slept little during the journey. His mood was still upon +him, and without consideration for Weir as an incentive it was more +difficult to fight it off, indeed, it was almost a luxury to yield to +it. Moreover, although it had been easy enough to say he would think +no more about his vision and its accompanying incidents, it was not +so easy to put the determination into practice, and he found himself +spending the night in the vain attempt to untangle the web, and in +endeavoring to analyze the subtle, uncomfortable sense of mystery +which those events had left behind them. Toward morning he lost all +patience with himself, and taking a novel out of his bag fixed his +mind deliberately upon it; and as the story was rather stupid, it had +the comfortable effect of sending him to sleep. + +When he arrived at his place he found that the trouble was less +serious than his steward had represented. The year had been +unproductive, and his tenants had demanded a lowering of their rents; +but neither flames nor imprecations were in order. Dartmouth was +inclined to be a just man, and, moreover, he was very much in love, +and anxious to get away; consequently, after a two days' examination +of the situation in all its bearings, he acceded in great part to +their demands and gave his lieutenant orders to hold the reins lightly +during the coming year. + +On the second night after his arrival he went into his study to write +to Weir. He had been so busy heretofore that he had sent her but a +couple of lines at different times, scribbled on a leaf of his note +book, and he was glad to find the opportunity to write her a letter. +He had hoped to return to her instead, but had found several other +matters which demanded his attention, and he preferred to look into +them at once, otherwise he would be obliged to return later on. + +His study was a comfortable little den just off the library, and its +four walls had witnessed the worst of his moods and the most roseate +of his dreams. In it he had frequently sat up all night talking +with his grandmother, and the atmosphere had vibrated with some hot +disputes. There was a divan across one end, some bookshelves across +the other, and on one side was a desk with a revolving chair before +it. Above the desk hung a battle-axe which he had brought from +America. Opposite was a heavily curtained window, and near it a door +which led into his private apartments. Between was a heavy piece of +furniture of Byzantine manufacture. As he entered the little room +for the first time since his arrival, he stood for a moment with a +retrospective smile in his eyes. He almost fancied he could see his +grandmother half-reclining on one end of the divan, with a pillow +beneath her elbow, her stately head, with its tower of white hair, +thrown imperiously, somewhat superciliously back, as her eyes flashed +and her mouth poured forth a torrent of overwhelming argument. "Poor +old girl!" he thought; "why do women like that have to die? How she +and Weir would have--argued, to put it mildly. I am afraid I should +have had to put a continent between them. But I would give a good deal +to see her again, all the same." + +He shut the door, sat down before his desk, and took a bunch of keys +from his pocket. As he did so, his eyes fell upon one of curious +workmanship, and he felt a sudden sense of pleasant anticipation. That +key opened the Byzantine chest opposite, somewhere in whose cunningly +hidden recesses lay, he was convinced, the papers which he had once +seen in his grandmother's clenched hands. He did not believe she had +destroyed them; she had remarked a few days before her death--which +had been sudden and unexpected--that she must soon devote an +unpleasant hour to the burning of old letters and papers. She +had spoken lightly, but there had been a gleam in her eyes and a +tightening of her lips which had suggested the night he had seen her +look as if she wished that the papers between her fingers were a human +throat. Should he find those papers and pass away a dull evening? +There was certainly nothing but the obstinacy of the chest to prevent, +and she would forgive him more than that. He had always had a strong +curiosity in regard to those papers, but his curiosity so far had been +an inactive one; he had never before been alone at the Hall since +his grandmother's death. He wheeled about on his chair and looked +whimsically at the divan. "Have I your permission, O most fascinating +of grandmothers?" he demanded aloud. "No answer. That means I have. So +be it." + +He wrote to Weir, then went over and kneeled on one knee before the +chest. It looked outwardly like a high, deep box, and was covered +with heavy Smyrna cloth, and ornamented with immense brass handles +and lock. Dartmouth fitted the key into a small key-hole hidden in +the carving on the side of the lock, and the front of the chest fell +outward. He let it down to the floor, then gave his attention to the +interior. It was as complicated as the exterior was plain. On one side +of the central partition were dozens of little drawers, on the other +as many slides and pigeon-holes and alcoves. On every square inch of +wood was a delicate tracery, each different, each telling a story. The +handles of the drawers, the arcades of the alcoves, the pillars of +the pigeon-holes--all were of ivory, and all were carved with the +fantastic art of the Mussulman. It was so beautiful and so intricate +that for a time Dartmouth forgot the papers. He had seen it before, +but it was a work of art which required minute observation and study +of its details to be appreciated. After a time, however, he recurred +to his quest and took the drawers out, one by one, laying them on the +floor. They were very small, and not one of them contained so much as +a roseleaf. At the end of each fourth shelf which separated the rows +of drawers, was a knob. Dartmouth turned one and the shelf fell from +its place. He saw the object. Behind each four rows of drawers was a +room. Each of these rooms had the dome ceiling and Byzantine +pillars of a mosque, and each represented a different portion of the +building--presumably that of St. Sophia. The capitals of the pillars +were exquisite, few being duplicated, and the shafts were solid +columns of black marble, supported on bases of porphyry. The floor was +a network of mosaics, and the walls were a blaze of colored marbles. +The altar, which stood in the central room, was of silver, with +trappings of gold-embroidered velvet, and paraphernalia of gold. +Dartmouth was entranced. He had a keen love of and appreciation +for art, but he had never found anything as interesting as this. He +congratulated himself upon the prospect of many pleasant hours in its +company. + +He let it go for the present and pressed his finger against every inch +of the walls and floor and ceilings of the mosque, and of the various +other apartments. It was a good half-hour's work, and the monotony and +non-success induced a certain nervousness. His head ached and his hand +trembled a little. When he had finished, and no panel had flown back +at his touch, he threw himself down on one hand with an exclamation of +impatience, and gazed with a scowl at the noncommittal beauty before +him. He cared nothing for its beauty at that moment. What he wanted +were the papers, and he was determined to find them. He stood up and +examined the top of the chest. There was certainly a space between the +visible depths of the interior and the back wall. He rapped loudly, +but the wood and the stuff with which it was covered were too thick; +there was no answering ring. He recalled the night when he had +cynically examined the fragments of the broken cabinet at Rhyd-Alwyn. +He felt anything but cynical now; indeed, he was conscious of a +restless eagerness and a dogged determination with which curiosity had +little to do. He would find those papers if he died in the attempt. + +He knelt once more before the chest, and once more pressed his +finger along its interior, following regular lines. Then he shook the +pillars, and inserted his penknife in each most minute interstice of +the carving; he prodded the ribs of the arches, and brought his fist +down violently on the separate floors of the mosque. At the end of an +hour he sprang to his feet with a smothered oath, and cutting a slit +in the cover of the chest with his penknife, tore it off and examined +the top and sides as carefully as his strained eyes and trembling +hands would allow. He was ashamed of his nervousness, but he was +powerless to overcome it. His examination met with no better success, +and he suddenly sprang across the room and snatched the battle-axe +from the wall. He walked quickly back to the chest. For a moment he +hesitated, the thing was so beautiful! But only for a moment. The +overmastering desire to feel those papers in his hands had driven out +all regard for art. He lifted the axe on high and brought it down on +the top of the chest with a blow which made the little room echo. He +was a powerful man, and the axe was imbedded to its haft. He worked it +out of the tough wood and planted another blow, which widened the rift +and made the stout old chest creak like a falling tree. The mutilated +wood acted upon Dartmouth like the smell of blood upon a wolf: the +spirit of destruction leaped up and blazed within him, a devouring +flame, and the blows fell thick and fast. He felt a fierce delight +in the havoc he was making, in the rare and exquisite beauty he was +ruining beyond hope of redemption. He leaned down, and swinging the +axe outward, sent it straight through the arcades and pillars, the +mosques and images, shattering them to bits. Then he raised the axe +again and brought it down on the seam which joined the back to the +top. The blow made but little impression, but a succession of blows +produced a wide gap. Harold inserted the axe in the rift, and kneeling +on the chest, attempted to force the back wall outward. For a time it +resisted his efforts, then it suddenly gave way, and Dartmouth dropped +the axe with a cry. From a shelf below the roof a package had sprung +outward with the shock, and a small object had fallen with a clatter +on the prostrate wall. Dartmouth picked it up in one hand and the +papers in the other, his fingers closing over the latter with a joy +which thrilled him from head to foot. It was a joy so great that it +filled him with a profound peace; the excitement of the past hour +suddenly left him. He went over to his desk and sat down before it. +With the papers still held firmly in his hand, he opened the locket. +There were two pictures within, and as he held them up to the light he +was vaguely conscious that he should feel a shock of surprise; but he +did not. The pictures were those of Lady Sioned Penrhyn and--himself! +With the same apparent lack of mental prompting as on the night in the +gallery when he had addressed Weir with the name of her grandmother, +he raised the picture of the woman to his lips and kissed it fondly. +Then he laid it down and opened the packet. Within were a thick piece +of manuscript and a bundle of letters. He pressed his hand lovingly +over the closely written sheets of the manuscript, but laid them down +and gave his attention to the letters. They were roughly tied into a +bundle with a bit of string. He slipped the string off and glanced at +the address of the letter which lay uppermost. The ink, though faded, +was legible enough--"Lady Sioned-ap-Penrhyn, Constantinople." He +opened the letter and glanced at the signature. The note was signed +with the initials of his grandfather, Lionel Dartmouth. They were +peculiarly formed, and were in many of the library books. + +He turned back to the first page. As he did so he was aware of a +new sensation, which seemed, however, but a natural evolution in his +present mental and spiritual exaltation. It was as if the page were a +blank sheet and he were wielding an invisible pen. Although, before +he took up the letter, he had had no idea of its contents beyond +a formless, general intuition, as soon as he began to read he was +clearly aware of every coming word and sentence and sentiment in it. +So strong was the impression, that once he involuntarily dropped the +note and, picking up a pen, began hastily writing what he knew was on +the unread page. But his mind became foggy at once, and he threw down +the pen and returned to the letter. Then the sense of authorship and +familiarity returned. He read the letters in the order in which they +came, which was the order of their writing. Among them were some pages +of exquisite verse: and verses and letters alike were the words of a +man to a woman whom he loved with all the concentration and intensity +of a solitary, turbulent, passionate nature; who knew that in this +love lay his and her only happiness; and who would cast aside the +orthodoxy of the world as beneath consideration when balanced against +the perfecting of two human lives. They reflected the melancholy, +ill-regulated nature of the man, but they rang with a tenderness and +a passion which were as unmistakable as the genius of the writer; and +Harold knew that if the dead poet had never loved another woman he +had loved Sioned Penrhyn. Or had he loved her himself? Or was it Weir? +Surely these letters were his. He had written them to that beautiful +dark-eyed woman with the jewels about her head. He could read the +answers between the lines; he knew them by heart; the passionate words +of the unhappy woman who had quickened his genius from its sleep. Ah, +how he loved her, his beautiful Weir!--No--Sioned was her name, Sioned +Penrhyn, and her picture hung in the castle where the storms beat upon +the grey Welsh cliffs thousands of miles away.... + +If he had but met her earlier--he might to-day be one of that +brilliant galaxy of poets whose music the whole world honored. Oh! the +wasted years of his life, and his half-hearted attempts to give to +the world those wonderful children of his brain! He had loved and been +jealous of them, those children, and they had multiplied until it had +seemed as if they would prove stronger than his will. But he had let +them sing for himself alone; he would give the world nothing until +one day in that densely peopled land of his brain there should go up +a paean of rejoicing that a child, before which their own glory paled, +had been born. And above the tumult should rise the sound of such a +strain of music as had never been heard out of heaven; and before it +the world should sink to its knees.... + +And it had come to pass at last, this dream. This woman had awakened +his nature from its torpor, and with the love had come, leaping, +rushing, thundering, a torrent of verse such as had burst from no +man's brain in any age. + +And to her he owed his future, his fame, and his immortal name. And +she would be with him always. She had struggled and resisted and +refused him speech, but the terrible strength of her nature had +triumphed over dogmas and over the lesser duties she owed to others; +of her free will she had sent for him. He would be with her in an +hour, and to-morrow they would have left codes and conventions behind +them. There was a pang in leaving this beautiful room where his +poem had been born, and beneath which lay such a picture as man sees +nowhere else on earth. But to that which was to come, what was this? +He would write a few lines to the woman who bore his name, and +then the time would have come to go. She too was a beautiful and a +brilliant woman, but her nature was narrow and cold, and she had never +understood him for a moment. There! he had finished, and she would be +happier without him. She had her world and her child--that beautiful +boy!--But this was no time for pangs. He had chosen his destiny, and a +man cannot have all things. It was time to go. Should he take one last +glance at the boy laughing in the room beyond? He had but to push the +tapestry aside, yes--there--God! + +Ah, it was grateful to get into the cool air of the street, and before +him, only a short distance away, were the towers of the Embassy. Would +he never reach them? The way had been so long--could it be that his +footsteps were already echoing on the marble floor which led to that +chamber? Yes, and the perfume of that jasmine-laden room was stealing +over his senses, and the woman he loved was in his arms. How the +golden sunset lay on the domes and minarets below! How sonorous +sounded the voices of the muezzins as they called the people to +prayer! There was music somewhere, or was it the wails for the dead +down in Galata? It was all like a part of a dream, and the outlines +were blurred and confused--What was that? A thunderclap? Why were he +and Sioned lying prostrate there, she with horror in her wide open, +glassy eyes, he with the arms which had held her lying limply on +the blood stained floor beside him? He seemed to see them both as he +hovered above. It was death? Well, what matter? She had gone out with +him, and in some cloud-walled castle, murmurous with harmonies of +quiring spheres, and gleaming with their radiance, they would dwell +together. Human vengeance could not reach them there, and for love +there is no death. The soul cannot die, and love, its chiefest +offspring, shares its immortality. It persists throughout the ages, +like the waves of music that never cease. He would take her hand and +lead her upward--Where was she? Surely she must be by his side. But he +could see no one, feel no presence. God! had he lost her? Had she +been borne upward and away, while he had lingered, fascinated with +the empty clay that a moment since had been throbbing with life +and keenest happiness? But he would find her--even did he go to the +confines of Eternity. But where was he? He could see the lifeless +shells no longer. He was roaming--on--on--in a vast, grey, pathless +land, without light, without sound, unpeopled, forsaken. These were +the plains of Eternity!--the measureless, boundless, sun-forgotten +region, whose monarch was Death, and whose avenging angel--Silence! An +eternal twilight more desolate than the blackness of night, a twilight +as of myriads of ghostly lanterns shedding their colorless rays upon +an awful, echoless solitude He would never find her here The dead of +ages were about him--the troubled spirits who had approached the pale, +stern gates of the Hereafter with rapture, and found within their +portals not rest, but a ceaseless, weary, purposeless wandering, the +world tired souls of aged men pursuing their never-ending quest in +meek, faltering wonder, and longing for the goal which surely they +must reach at last, the white, unquestioning souls of children +floating like heavenly strains of unheard music in the void immensity, +but one and all invisible imponderable. They were there, the monarchs +of buried centuries and the thousands who had knelt at their thrones, +the high and the low, the outcast and the shrived, but each as alone +as if the solitary inhabitant of all Space And _he_, who would have +fled from his fellow-men on earth, must long in vain for the sound of +human voice or the rapture of human touch He must go on--on--in these +colorless, shadowless, haunted plains, until the last trumpet-blast +should awaken the echoes of the Universe and summon him to confront +his Maker and be judged Oh! if but once more he could see the earth he +had scorned! Was it spinning on its way still, that dark, tiny ball? +How long since he had given that last glance of farewell? It must +be years and years and years, as reckoned by the time of men, for in +Eternity there is no time. And Sioned--where was she? Desolate and +abandoned, shrieked at by sudden winds, flying terrified and helpless +over level, horizonless plains only to fling herself upon the grey +waves of Death's noiseless ocean? Oh, if he could but find her and +make her forget! Together, what would matter death and silence and +everlasting unrest? All would be forgot, all but the exquisite pain of +the regret for the years he had wasted on earth, and for the solitary +heritage he had left the world. Those children of his brain! They were +with him still. Would that he had left them below to sing his name +down through the ages! They were a torment to him here, in their +futility and inaction. They could not sing to these shapeless ghosts +about him; their voices would be unheeded music; nor would any strain +sweep downward to that world whose tears he might have drawn, whose +mirth provoked, whose passions played upon at his will. The one grand +thing he had done must alone speak for him. There was in it neither +pathos nor mirth; it had sprung to the cloud-capped point of human +genius, and its sublimity would prove its barrier to the world's +approval. But it would give him fame when--God! what was that thought? +The manuscript of that poem had lain in the room where he had met +his death. Had the hand that had slain him executed a more terrible +vengeance still? Oh, it could not be! No man would be so base. And +yet, what mercy had he the right to expect? And the nature of the +man--cold--relentless--To consign the man who had wronged him to +eternal oblivion--would he not feel as he watched the ashes in the +brazier, that such vengeance was sweeter than even the power to +kill? And he was impotent! He was a waif tossed about in the chaos +of eternity, with no power to smite the man whose crime +had--perhaps--been greater than the thrusting of two lives from +existence a few years before their time. He was as powerless as the +invisible beggar who floated at his side. And that man was on earth +yet, perchance, coldly indifferent in his proud position, inwardly +gloating at the fullness of his revenge.... + +Years, years, years! They slipped from his consciousness like water +from the smooth surface of a rock. And yet each had pressed more +heavily and stung more sharply than the last. Oh, if he could but +know that his poem had been given to the world--that it had not been +blotted from existence! This was what was meant by Hell. No torture +that man had ever pictured could approach the torments of such regret, +such uncertainty, such pitiable impotence. Truly, if his sin had been +great, his punishment was greater. + +But why was he going downward? What invisible hand was this which was +resistlessly guiding him through the portals of the shadow land, past +the great sun and worlds of other men, and down through this quivering +ether? What? He was to be born again? A bit of clay needed an atom of +animate force to quicken it into life, and he must go again? And it +was to the planet Earth he was going? Ah! his poem! his poem! He +could write it again, and of what matter the wasted generations? And +Sioned--they would meet again. Sooner or later, she too must return, +and on Earth they would find what had been denied them above. What +was that? His past must become a blank? His soul must be shorn of its +growth? He must go back to unremembering, unforseeing infancy, and +grow through long, slow years to manhood again? Still, his genius +and his intelligence in their elements would be the same, and with +development would come at last the fruition of all his fondest hopes. +And Sioned? He would know her when they met. Their souls must be +the same as when the great ocean of Force had tossed them up; and +evolution could work no essential change. Ah! they had entered the +blue atmosphere. And, yes--there lay the earth below them. How he +remembered its green plains and white cities and blue waters! And that +great island--yes, it was familiar enough. It was the land which had +given him birth, and which should have knelt at his feet and granted +him a resting-place amidst its illustrious dead. And this old castle +they were descending upon? He did not remember it. Well, he was to be +of the chosen of earth again. He would have a proud name to offer +her, and this time it should be an unsullied one. This time the world +should ring with his genius, not with his follies. This time--Oh, +what was this? Stop! Stop! No; he could not part with it. The grand, +trained intellect of which he had been so proud--the perfected genius +which had been his glory--they should not strip them from him--they +were part of himself; they were his very essence; he would not give +them up! Oh, God! this horrible shrinking! This was Hell; this was +not re-birth. Physical torture? The words were meaningless beside +this warping, this tearing apart of spirit and mind--those precious +children of his brain--limb from limb. Their shrieks for +help!--their cries of anguish and horror! their clutches! their last +spasmodic--despairing--weakening embrace! He _would_ hold them! His +clasp would defy all the powers of Earth and Air! No, they should not +go--they should not. Oh! this cursed hand, with its nerves of steel. +It would conquer yet, conquer and compress him down into an atom +of impotence--There! it had wrenched them from him; they were +gone--gone--forever. But no, they were there beside him; their moans +for help filled the space about him; yes, moans--they were cries +no longer--and they were growing fainter--they were +fading--sinking--dying--and he was shrinking-- + + + + +X. + + +Harold opened his eyes. The night had gone; the sun was struggling +through the heavy curtains; the lamps and the fire had gone out, and +the room was cold. He was faint and exhausted. His forehead was damp +with horror, and his hands were shaking. That terrible struggle in +which intellect and its attainments had been wrenched apart, in which +the spirit and its memories had been torn asunder! He closed his eyes +for a moment in obedience to his exhausted vitality. Then he rose +slowly to his feet, went into his bedroom, and looked into the glass. +Was it Harold Dartmouth or the dead poet who was reflected there? He +went back, picked up the locket, and returned to the glass. He looked +at the picture, then at his own face, and again at the picture. They +were identical; there was not a line or curve or tint of difference. +He returned to his chair and rested his head on his hand. Was he this +man re-born? Did the dead come back and live again? Was it a dream, or +had he actually lived over a chapter from a past existence? He was a +practical man-of-the-world, not a vague dreamer--but all nature was +a mystery; this would be no stranger than the general mystery of life +itself. And he was not only this man reproduced in every line +and feature; he had his nature as well. His grandmother had never +mentioned her husband's name, but the Dartmouths had been less +reticent. They were fond of reiterating anecdotes of Lionel +Dartmouth's lawless youth, of his moody, melancholy temperament, and +above all, of the infallible signs he had shown of great genius. That +his genius had borne no fruit made no difference in their estimate; he +had died too soon, that was all--died of fever in Constantinople, the +story ran; there had never been a suggestion of scandal. And he had +come back to earth to fulfill the promise of long ago, and to give to +the world the one splendid achievement of that time. It had triumphed +over death and crime and revenge--but--He recalled those nights +of conflict in his mind. Would will and spirit ever conquer that +mechanical defect in his brain which denied his genius speech? + +He drew his hand across his forehead; he was so tired. He pushed the +manuscript and letters into a drawer of the desk, and turning the +key upon them, opened the window and stepped out into the air. +His vitality was at as low an ebb as if from physical overwork and +fasting. He made no attempt to think, or to comment on the events +just past. For the moment they lost their interest, and he strolled +aimlessly about the park, his exhausted forces slowly recuperating. +At the end of an hour he returned to the house and took a cold +shower-bath and ate his breakfast. Then he felt more like himself. He +had a strong desire to return to his study and the lost manuscript, +but, with the wilful and pleasing procrastination of one who knows +that satisfaction is within his grasp, he put the temptation aside +for the present, and spent the day riding over his estates with his +steward. He also gave his business affairs a minute attention which +delighted his servant. After dinner he smoked a cigar, then went into +his study and locked the door. He sat down before the desk, and for +a moment experienced a feeling of dread. He wanted no more visions: +would contact with those papers induce another? He would like to read +that poem with the calm criticism of a trained and cultivated mind; he +had no desire to be whirled back into his study at Constantinople, his +brain throbbing and bursting with what was coming next. He shrugged +his shoulders. It was a humiliating confession, but there were forces +over which he had no control; there was nothing to do but resign +himself to the inevitable. + +He opened the drawer and took out the manuscript. To his unspeakable +satisfaction he remained calm and unperturbed. He felt merely a +cold-blooded content that he had balked his enemies and that his +ambition was to be gratified. Once, before he opened the paper, he +smiled at his readiness to accept the theory of reincarnation. It had +taken complete possession of him, and he felt not the slightest desire +to combat it. Did a doubt cross his mind, he had but to recall the +park seen by his spiritual eyes, as he descended upon it to be born +again. It was the park in which he, Harold Dartmouth, had played as +a child during his annual visits to his parents; the park surrounding +the castle in which he had been born, and which had belonged to his +father's line for centuries. For the first time in his life he did +not reason. It seemed to him that there was no corner or loophole +for argument, nothing but a cold array of facts which must be +unconditionally accepted or rejected. + +He spread out the poem. It was in blank verse, and very long. He was +struck at once with its beauty and power. Although his soul responded +to the words as to the tone of a dear but long unheard voice, still he +was spared the mental exaltation which would have clouded his judgment +and destroyed his pleasure. He leaned his elbows on the desk, and, +taking his head between his hands, read on and on, scarcely drawing +breath. Poets past and present had been his familiar friends, but in +them he had found no such beauty as this. The grand sweep of the poem, +the depth of its philosophy, the sublimity of its thought, the melody +of its verse, the color, the radiant richness of its imagery, +the sonorous swell of its lines, the classic purity of its +style--Dartmouth felt as if an organ were pealing within his soul, +lifting the song on its notes to the celestial choir which had sent it +forth. Heavenly fingers were sweeping the keys, heavenly voices were +quiring the melody they had with wanton hand flung into a mortal's +brain. As Harold read on he felt that his spirit had dissolved and was +flowing through the poem, to be blended, unified with it forever. +He seemed to lose all physical sensation, not from the causes of +the previous night, but from the spiritual exaltation and absorption +induced by the beauty and grandeur of the theme. When he had finished, +he flung out his arms upon the desk, buried his head in them, and +burst into tears. The tears were the result, not so much of extreme +nervous tension, as of the wonder and awe and ecstacy with which his +own genius had filled him. In a few moments his emotion had subsided +and was succeeded by a state less purely spiritual. He stood up, and +leaning one hand on the desk, looked down at the poem, his soul filled +with an exultant sense of power. Power was what he had gloried in all +his life. His birth had given it to him socially, his money had lent +its aid, and his personal fascination had completed the chapter. But +he had wanted something more than the commonplace power which fate +or fortune grants to many. He had wanted that power which lifts a man +high above his fellow-men, condemning him to solitude, perhaps, but, +in that fiercely beating light, revealing him to all men's gaze. If +life had drifted by him, it had been because he was too much of a +philosopher to attempt the impossible, too clever to publish his +incompetence to the world. + +His inactivity had not been the result of lack of ambition, and yet, +as he stood there gazing down upon his work, it seemed to him that he +had never felt the stirrings of that passion before. With the power to +gratify his ambition, ambition sprang from glowing coals into a mighty +flame which roared and swept about him, darted into every corner +and crevice of his being, pulsated through his mind and spirit, and +temporarily drove out every other instinct and desire. He threw back +his head, his eyes flashing and his lips quivering. For the moment +he looked inspired, as he registered a vow to have his name known in +every corner of the civilized world. That he had so far been unable +to accomplish anything in his present embodiment gave him no +uneasiness at the moment. Sooner or later the imprisoned song would +force its way through the solid masonry in which it was walled up--He +gave a short laugh and came down to earth; his fancy was running away +with him. + +He folded the poem compactly and put it in his breast pocket, +determined that it should never leave him again until a copy was in +the hands of the printer. It should be sent forth from Constantinople. +The poem must be the apparent offspring of his present incarnation; +and as he had never been in Constantinople he must go there and remain +for several months before publication. + +He went into the library and sat down before the fire. He closed +his eyes and let his head fall back on the soft cushion, a pleasant +languor and warmth stealing through his frame. What a future! Power, +honor, adoration--the proudest pedestal a man can stand upon. And, as +if this were not enough, an unquestioned happiness with the woman he +loved with his whole heart. To her advent into his life he owed his +complete and final severance from the petty but infinite distractions +and temptations of the world. His present without flaw, and his future +assured, what was to prevent his gifts from flowering thickly +and unceasingly in their peaceful soil and atmosphere of calm? He +remembered that his first irresistible impulse to write had come +on the night he had met her. Would he owe to her his final power to +speak, as he had owed to that other-- + +He sat suddenly erect, then leaned forward, gazing at the fire with +eyes from which all languor had vanished. He felt as if a flash of +lightning had been projected into his brain. That other? Who was that +other?--why was she so marvellously like Weir? Her grandmother? Yes, +but why had he felt for Weir that sense of recognition and spiritual +kinship the moment he had seen her? + +He sprang to his feet and strode to the middle of the room. Great +God! Was Weir reembodied as well as himself? Lady Sioned Penrhyn was +indisputably the woman he had loved in his former existence--that was +proved once for all by the scene in the gallery at Rhyd-Alwyn and +by the letters he had found addressed to her. He recalled Weir's +childhood experience. Had she really died, and the desperate, +determined spirit of Sioned Penrhyn taken possession of her body? +Otherwise, why that sense of affinity, and her strange empire over him +the night of their mutual vision? There was something more than racial +resemblance in form and feature between Sioned and Weir Penrhyn; there +was absolute identity of soul and mind. + +He strode rapidly from one end of the room to the other. Every +nerve in his body seemed vibrating, but his mind acted rapidly and +sequentially. He put the links together one by one, until, from the +moment of his last meeting with Sioned Penrhyn at Constantinople to +the climax of his vision in his study, the chain was complete. Love, +then, as well as genius, had triumphed over the vengeance of Dafyd +Penrhyn and Catherine Dartmouth. In that moment he felt no affection +for his grandmother. She had worshipped and spoilt him, and had shown +him only her better side; but the weakness and evil of her nature had +done him incalculable injury, and he was not prepared to forgive her +at once. + +He returned to his seat. Truly they all were the victims of inexorable +law, but the law was just, and if it took to-day it gave to-morrow. If +he and Sioned Penrhyn had been destined to short-lived happiness and +tragic death in that other existence, there was not an obstacle or +barrier between them in the present. And if--He pushed his chair +suddenly back and brought his brows together. A thought had struck him +which he did not like. He got up and put another log on the fire. Then +he went over to the table and took up a book--a volume of Figuier. He +sat down and read a few pages, then threw down the book, and drawing +writing materials toward him, wrote a half-dozen business letters. +When they were finished, together with a few lines to Weir, and no +other correspondence suggested itself, he got up and walked the length +of the room several times. Suddenly he brought his fist violently down +on the table. + +"I am a fool," he exclaimed. "The idea of a man with my experience +with women--" And then his voice died away and his hand relaxed, an +expression of disgust crossing his face. He sank into a chair by the +table and leaned his head on his hand. It was true that he was a +man of the world, and that for conventional morality he had felt the +contempt it deserved. Nevertheless, in loving this girl the finest and +highest instincts of his nature had been aroused. He had felt for her +even more of sentiment than of passion. When a man loves a girl whose +mental purity is as absolute as her physical, there is, intermingled +with his love, a leavening quality of reverence, and the result is +a certain purification of his own nature. That Dartmouth had +found himself capable of such a love had been a source of keenest +gratification to him. He had been lifted to a spiritual level which he +had never touched before, and there he had determined to remain. + +And to have this pure and exquisite love smirched with the memory of +sin and vulgar crime! To take into his arms as his wife the woman on +whose soul was written the record of temptation and of sin! It was +like marrying one's mistress: as a matter of fact, what else was it? +But Weir Penrhyn! To connect sin with her was monstrous. And yet, the +vital spark called life--or soul, or intelligence, or personal force; +whatever name science or ignorance might give it--was unchanged in +its elements, as his own chapter of memories had taught him. Every +instinct in Sioned's nature was unaltered. If these instincts were +undeveloped in her present existence, it was because of Weir's +sheltered life, and because she had met him this time before it was +too late. + +He sprang to his feet, almost overturning the chair. "I can think no +more to-night," he exclaimed. "My head feels as if it would burst." + +He went into his bedroom and poured out a dose of laudanum. When he +was in bed he drank it, and he did not awake until late the next day. + + + + +XI. + + +In the life of every man there comes a time when he is brought face +to face with the great problem of morality. The murderer undoubtedly +comprehends the problem in all its significance when he is about to +mount the scaffold, the faithless wife when she is dragged through the +divorce court, and her family and friends are humbled to the dust. + +Dartmouth worked it out the next night as he sat by his library fire. +He had given the afternoon to his business affairs, but when night +threw him back into the sole companionship of his thoughts, he +doggedly faced the question which he had avoided all day. + +What was sin? Could anyone tell, with the uneven standard set up by +morality and religion? The world smiled upon a loveless marriage. What +more degrading? It frowned upon a love perfect in all but the sanction +of the Church, if the two had the courage to proclaim their love. It +discreetly looked another way when the harlot of "Society" tripped +by with her husband on one hand and her lover on the other. A man +enriched himself at the expense of others by what he was pleased to +call his business sharpness, and died revered as a philanthropist; the +common thief was sent to jail. + +Dartmouth threw back his head and clasped his hands behind it. Of +what use rehearsing platitudes? The laws of morality were concocted to +ensure the coherence and homogeneity of society; therefore, whatever +deleteriously affected society was crime of less or greater magnitude. +He and Sioned Penrhyn had ruined the lives and happiness of two +people, had made a murderer of the one, and irrevocably hardened the +nature of the other: Catherine Dartmouth had lived to fourscore, and +had died with unexpiated wrong on her conscience. They had left two +children half-orphaned, and they had run the risk of disgracing two +of the proudest families in Great Britain. Nothing, doubtless, but the +cleverness and promptitude of Sir Dafyd Penrhyn, the secretive nature +of Catherine Dartmouth, the absence of rapid-news transit, and the +semi-civilization of Constantinople at that time, had prevented the +affair from becoming public scandal. Poor Weir! how that haughty head +of hers would bend if she knew of her grandmother's sin, even did she +learn nothing of her own and that sin's kinship! + +Dartmouth got up and walked slowly down the long room, his hands +clasped behind him, his head bent. Heaven knew his "sins" had been +many; and if disaster had never ensued, it had been more by good luck +than good management. And yet--he could trace a certain punishment in +every case; the woman punished by the hardening of her nature and +the probability of complete moral dementia; the man by satiety and an +absolute loss of power to value what he possessed. Therefore, for the +woman a sullen despair and its consequences; for the man a feverish +striving for that which he could never find, or, if found, would have +the gall in the nectar of having let slip the ability to unreservedly +and innocently enjoy. + +And if sin be measured by its punishment! He recalled those years in +eternity, with their hell of impotence and inaction. He recalled the +torment of spirit, the uncertainty worse than death. And Weir? Surely +no two erring mortals had ever more terribly reaped the reward of +their wrong-doing. + +What did it signify? That he was to give her up? that a love which had +begun in sin must not end in happiness? But his love had the strength +of its generations; and the impatient, virile, control-disdaining +nature of the man rebelled. Surely their punishment had been severe +enough and long enough. Had they not been sent back to earth and +almost thrown into each other's arms in token that guilt was expiated +and vengeance satisfied? Dartmouth stopped suddenly as this solution +presented itself, then impatiently thrust a chair out of his way +and resumed his walk. The consciousness that their affection was the +perpetuation of a lustful love disheartened and revolted him. Until +that memory disappeared his punishment would not be over. + +He stopped and leaned his hand on the table. "I thought I was a big +enough man to rise above conventional morality," he said. "But I doubt +if any man is when circumstances have combines to make him seriously +face the question. He might, if born a red Indian, but not if +saturated in his plastic days with the codes and dogmas of the world. +They cling, they cling, and reason cannot oust them. The society in +whose enveloping, penetrating atmosphere he has lived his life decrees +that it is a sin to seduce another man's wife or to live with a woman +outside the pale of the Church. Therefore sin, down in the roots of +his consciousness, he believes it; therefore, to perpetuate a sinful +love--I am becoming a petty moralist," he broke off impatiently; "but +I can't help it. I am a triumph of civilization." + +He stood up and threw back his shoulders. "Let it go for the present," +he said. "At another time I may look at it differently or reason +myself out of it. Now I will try--" + +He looked towards his study door with a flash in his eyes. He half +turned away, then went quickly into the little room and sat down +before the desk. Every day he would make the attempt to write, and +finally that obstinate wedge in his brain would give way and his soul +be set free. + +He drew paper before him and took up a pen. For an hour he sat +motionless, bending all his power of intellect, all the artistic +instincts of his nature to the luring of his song-children from that +closed wing in his brain. But he could not even hear their peremptory +knocks as on the nights when he had turned from those summonses in +agony and terror. He would have welcomed them now and dragged the +visitants into the sunlight of his intelligence and forced the song +from their throats. + +He took the poem from his pocket and read it over. But it gave him no +inspiration, it dulled his brain, rather, and made him feel baffled +and helpless. But he would not give up; and dawn found him still with +his pen in his hand. Then he went to bed and slept for a few hours. +That day he gave little attention to his affairs. His melancholy, held +at bay by the extraordinary experience through which he had passed, +returned and claimed him. He shut himself up in his library until the +following morning, and alternated the hours with fruitless attempts to +write and equally fruitless attempts to solve the problem in regard +to Weir. The next day and night, with the exception of a few hours' +restless sleep, were spent in the same way. + +At the end of the third day not a word had flowed from his pen, not +a step nearer had he drawn to Weir. A dull despair took possession +of him. Had those song-children fled, discouraged, and was he to be +withheld from the one consolation of earthly happiness? He pushed back +the chair in which he had been sitting before his desk and went into +the library. He opened one of the windows and looked out. How quiet it +was! He could hear the rising wind sighing through the yews, but all +nature was elsewise asleep. What was she doing down at Rhyd-Alwyn? +Sleeping calmly, or blindly striving to link the past with the +present? He had heard from her but once since he left. Perhaps she too +had had a revelation. He wondered if it were as quiet there as here, +or if the waves at the foot of the castle still thundered unceasingly +on. He wondered if she would shrink from him when the truth came to +her. Doubtless, for she had been reared in the most rigid of moral +conventions, and naturally catholic-minded as she was, right, to her, +was right, and wrong was wrong. He closed the window and, throwing +himself on a sofa, fell asleep. But his dreams were worse than his +waking thoughts. He was wandering in eternal darkness looking for +someone lost ages ago, and a voice beside him was murmuring that he +would never find her, but must go on--on--forever; that the curse +of some crime committed centuries ago was upon him, and that he must +expiate it in countless existences and eternal torment. And far off, +on the very confines of space, floated a wraith-like thing with +the lithe grace of a woman whom he had loved on earth. And she was +searching for him, but they described always the same circle and never +met. And then, finally, after millions of years, an invisible hand +clutched him and bore him upward onto a plane, hitherto unexplored, +then left him to grope his way as he could. All was blackness and +chaos. Around him, as he passed them, he saw that dark suns were +burning, but there was nothing to conduct their light, and they shed +no radiance on the horrors of their world. Below him was an abyss in +which countless souls were struggling, blindly, helplessly, until they +should again be called to duty in some sphere of material existence. +The stillness at first was deathlike, oppressive; but soon he became +aware of a dull, hissing noise, such as is produced on earth by the +fusion of metals. The invisible furnaces were lost in the impenetrable +darkness, but the heat was terrific; the internal fires of earth or +those of the Bible's hell must be sickly and pale in comparison with +this awful, invisible atmosphere of flame. Now and then a planet, +which, obeying Nature's laws even here, revolved around its mockery +of a sun, fell at his feet a river of fire. There was stillness +no longer. The roaring and the exploding of the fusing metals, or +whatever it might be, filled the vast region like the hoarse cries +of wild beasts and the hissing of angry serpents. It was deafening, +maddening. And there was no relief but to plunge into that abyss and +drown individuality. He flew downward, and as he paused a moment on +the brink, he looked across to the opposite bank and saw a figure +about to take the leap like himself. It was a dim, shadowy shape, but +even in the blackness he knew its waving grace. And she pointed down +into the abyss of blind, helpless, unintelligent torment, and then-- + + + + +XII. + + +Dartmouth suddenly found himself standing upright, his shoulders +clutched in a pair of strong hands, and Hollington's anxious face a +few inches from his own. + +"What the devil is the matter with you, Hal?" exclaimed Hollington. +"Have you set up a private lunatic asylum, or is it but prosaic +dyspepsia?" + +"Becky!" exclaimed Dartmouth, as he grasped the situation. "I _am_ so +glad to see you. Where did you come from?" + +"You frightened your devoted Jones to death with one of your +starvation moods, and he telegraphed for me. The idea of a man having +the blues in the second month of his engagement to the most charming +girl in Christendom!" + +"Don't speak to me of her," exclaimed Dartmouth, throwing himself into +a chair and covering his face with his hands. + +"Whew! What's up? You haven't quarrelled already? Or won't the +governor give his consent?" + +"No," said Dartmouth, "that's not it." + +"Then what the devil is the matter? Is--is she dead?" + +"No." + +"Was she married to some other man before?" + +"No!" + +"I beg your pardon; I was merely exhausting the field of conjecture. +Will you kindly enlighten me?" + +"If I did, you would say I was a lunatic." + +"I have been inclined to say so occasionally before--" + +"Becky, Weir Penrhyn is my--" And then he stopped. The ludicrous side +of the matter had never appealed to him, but he was none the less +conscious of how ridiculous the thing would appear to another. + +"Your what? Your wife? Are you married to her already, and do you want +me to break it to the old gentleman? What kind of a character is he? +Shall I go armed?" + +"She is not my wife, thank God! If she were--" + +"For heaven's sake, Harold, explain yourself. Can it be possible that +Miss Penrhyn is like too many other women?" + +Dartmouth sprang to his feet, his face white to the lips. + +"How dare you say such a thing?" he exclaimed. "If it were any other +man but you, I'd blow out his brains." + +Hollington got up from the chair he had taken and, grasping Dartmouth +by the shoulders, threw him back into his chair. + +"Now look here, Harold," he said; "let us have no more damned +nonsense. If you will indulge in lugubrious hints which have but +one meaning, you must expect the consequences. I refuse to listen to +another word unless you come out and speak plain English." + +He resumed his seat, and Dartmouth clasped his hands behind his head +and stared moodily at the fire. In a few moments he turned his eyes +and fixed them on Hollington. + +"Very well," he said, "I will tell you the whole story from beginning +to end. Heaven knows it is a relief to speak; but if you laugh, I +believe I shall kill you." + +"I will not laugh," said Hollington. "Whatever it is, I see it has +gone hard with you." + +Dartmouth began with the night of the first attempt of his +suppressed poetical genius to manifest itself, and gave Hollington a +comprehensive account of each detail of his subsequent experiences, +down to the reading of the letters and the spiritual retrospect they +had induced. He did not tell the story dramatically; he had no +fire left in him; he stated it in a matter-of-fact way, which was +impressive because of the speaker's indisputable belief in his own +words. Hollington felt no desire to laugh; on the contrary, he was +seriously alarmed, and he determined to knock this insane freak of +Harold's brain to atoms, if mortal power could do it, and regardless +of consequences to himself. + +When Dartmouth had finished, Hollington lit a cigar and puffed at it +for a moment, meditatively regarding his friend meanwhile. Then he +remarked, in a matter-of-fact tone: + +"So you are your own grandfather, and Miss Penrhyn is her own +grandmother." + +Dartmouth moved uneasily. "It sounds ridiculous--but--don't chaff." + +"My dear boy, I was never more serious in my life. I merely wanted to +be sure that I had got it straight. It is A.B.C. by this time to you, +but it has exploded in my face like a keg of gunpowder, and I am a +trifle dazed. But, to come down to deadly earnest, will you allow me +to speak to you from the medical point of view? You know I had some +idea at one time of afflicting the community with one more physician, +until we stumbled on those coal mines, and my prospective patients +were spared premature acquaintance with the golden stairs. May I +speak as an unfledged doctor, but still as one burdened with unused +knowledge?" + +"You can say what you like." + +"Very well, then. You may or may not be aware that what you are +pleased to call the blues, or moods, are, in your case, nothing more +or less than melancholia. When they are at their worst they are the +form known as melancholia attonita. In other words, you are not only +steeped in melancholy, but your brain is in, a state of stupor: +you are all but comatose. These attacks are not frequent, and are +generally the result of a powerful mental shock or strain. I +remember you had one once after you had crammed for two months for an +examination and couldn't pull through. You scared the life out of +the tutors and the boys, and it was not until I threatened to put +you under the pump that you came to. Your ordinary attacks are not so +alarming to your friends, but when indulged in too frequently, they +are a good deal more dangerous." + +He paused a moment, but Dartmouth made no reply, and he went on. + +"Any man who yields habitually to melancholia may expect his brain, +sooner or later, to degenerate from its original strength, and relax +the toughness and compactness of its fibre. Absolute dementia may not +be the result for some years, but there will be occasional and +painful indications of the end for a long space before it arrives. The +indications, as a rule, will assume the form of visions and dreams and +wild imaginings of various sorts. Now do you understand me?" + +"You mean," said Dartmouth, wheeling about and looking him directly in +the eyes, "you mean that I am going mad?" + +"I mean, my dear boy, that you will be a raving maniac inside of a +month, unless you dislodge from your brain this horrible, unnatural, +and ridiculous idea." + +"Do I look like a madman?" demanded Dartmouth. + +"Not at the present moment, no. You look remarkably sane. A man with +as good a brain as yours does not let it go all at once. It will slide +from you imperceptibly, bit by bit, until one day there will be a +climax." + +"I am not mad," said Dartmouth; "and if I were, my madness would be an +effect, not a cause. What is more, I know enough about melancholia to +know that it does not drift into dementia until middle age at least. +Moreover, my brain is not relaxed in my ordinary attacks; my +spirits are prostrate, and my disgust for life is absolute, but my +brain--except when it has been over-exerted, as in one or two climaxes +of this experience of mine--is as clear as a bell. I have done some of +my best thinking with my hand on the butt of a pistol. But to return +to the question we are discussing. You have left one or two of the +main facts unexplained. What caused Weir's vision? She never had an +attack of melancholia in her life." + +"Telepathy, induction, but in the reverse order of your solution of +the matter. Your calling her by her grandmother's name was natural +enough in your condition--you have acknowledged that your melancholia +had already taken possession of you. Miss Penrhyn had, for some reason +best known to her sleeping self, got herself up to look like her +grandmother, and, she being young and pretty, her semi-lunatic +observer addressed her as Sioned instead of heaven knows what +jaw-breaking Welsh title. Then you went ahead and had the vision, +which was quite in keeping with your general lunar condition. I +believe you said there was a moon." + +Dartmouth frowned. "I asked you not to chaff," he said. "What is more, +I have had melancholia all my life, but delusion never before. But let +that pass. The impulse to write--what do you say to that?" + +"The impulse was due to the genius which you have undoubtedly +inherited from your grandfather. The inability to put your ideas +into verbal form is due to amnesic aphasia. The portion of your brain +through which your genius should find speech is either temporarily +paralyzed or else deficient in composition. You had better go up and +see Jackson. He can cure you if anyone can." + +"Do you believe I can be cured?" + +"You can certainly make the attempt." + +Dartmouth threw back his head and covered his face with his hands. "O +God!" he exclaimed, "if you knew the agony of the longing to feel the +ecstasy of spiritual intoxication, and yet to feel as if your brain +were a cloud-bank--of knowing that you are divinely gifted, that the +world should be ringing with your name, and yet of being as mute as if +screwed within a coffin!" + +"My dear boy, it will all come out right in the end. Science and your +own will can do much, and as for the rest, perhaps Miss Penrhyn +will do for you what those letters intimate Sioned did for your +grandfather." + +Dartmouth got up and leaned his elbow on the mantelpiece. + +"I do not know that I shall marry Weir Penrhyn," he said. + +"Why not? Because your grandfather had an intrigue with her +grandmother?--which, by the way, is by no means clearly proved. That +there was a plan on foot to that end the letters pretty well show, +but--" + +"I don't care a hang about the sins of my ancestors, or of Weir's +either--if that were all. If I do not marry her it will be because I +do not care to shatter an ideal into still smaller bits. I loved her +with what little good was left in me. I placed her on a pedestal and +rejoiced that I was able so to do. Now she is the woman whose guilty +love sent us both to our death. I could never forget it. There would +always be a spot on the sun." + +"My God, Harold," exclaimed Hollington, "you _are_ mad. Of all the +insane, ridiculous, idiotic speeches that ever came from man's lips, +that is the worst." + +"I can't help it, Becky. The idea, the knowledge, is my very life and +soul; and when you think it all over you will see that there are many +things that cannot be explained--Weir's words in the gallery, for +instance. They coincide exactly with the vision I had four nights +later. And a dozen other things--you can think them out for yourself. +When you do, you will understand that there is but one light in which +to look at the question: Weir Penrhyn and I are Lionel Dartmouth and +Sioned Penrhyn reborn, and that is the end of the matter." + +Hollington groaned, and threw himself back in his chair with an +impatient gesture. + +"Well," he said, after a few moments' silence, "accepting your +remarkable premisses for the sake of argument, will you kindly +enlighten me as to since when you became so beautifully complete +and altogether puerile a moralist? Suppose you did sin with her some +three-quarters of a century ago, have not time and suffering purified +you both--or rather her? I suppose it does not make so much difference +about you." + +"It is not that. It is the idea that is revolting--that this girl +should have been my mistress at any time--" + +"But, great heaven! Harold, such a sin is a thing of the flesh, not of +the spirit, and the physical part of Sioned Penrhyn has enriched the +soil of Constantinople these sixty years. She has committed no sin in +her present embodiment." + +"Sin is an impulse, a prompting, of the spirit," said Dartmouth. + +Hollington threw one leg over the arm of the chair, half turning his +back upon Dartmouth. + +"Rot!" he said. + +"Not at all. Otherwise, the dead could sin." + +"I am gratified to perceive that you are still able to have the last +word. All I can say is, that you have done what I thought no living +man could do. I once read a novel by a famous American author in which +one of the characters would not ask the heroine to marry him after her +husband's death because he had been guilty of the indelicacy of loving +her (although mutely, and by her unsuspected) while she was a married +woman. I thought then that moral senility could go no further, but you +have got ahead of the American. Allow me to congratulate you." + +"You can jibe all you like. I may be a fool, but I can't help it. +I have got to that point where I am dominated by instinct, not by +reason. The instincts may be wrong, because the outgrowth of a false +civilization, but there they are, nevertheless, and of them I am the +product. So are you, and some day you will find it out. I do not say +positively that I will not marry Weir Penrhyn. I will talk it over +with her, and then we can decide." + +"A charming subject to discuss with a young girl. It would be kinder, +and wiser, and more decent of you never to mention the matter to her. +Of what use to make the poor girl miserable?" + +"She half suspects now, and it would come out sooner or later." + +"Then for heaven's sake do it at once, and have it over. Don't stay +here by yourself any longer, whatever you do. Go to-morrow." + +"Yes," said Dartmouth, "I will go to-morrow." + + + + +XIII. + + +When Dartmouth entered the drawing-room at Rhyd-Alwyn the next +evening, a half hour after his arrival, he found Sir Iltyd alone, and +received a warm greeting. + +"My dear boy," the old gentleman exclaimed, "I am delighted to see +you. It seems an age since you left, and your brief reports of +your ill-health have worried me. As for poor Weir, she has been ill +herself. She looks so wretched that I would have sent for a physician +had she not, in her usual tyrannical fashion, forbidden me. I did not +tell her you were expected to-night; I wanted to give her a pleasant +surprise. Here she is now." + +The door was pushed open and Weir entered the room. Dartmouth checked +an involuntary exclamation and went forward to meet her. She had on a +long white gown like that she had worn the morning he had asked her to +marry him, but the similarity of dress only served to accentuate the +change the intervening time had wrought. It was not merely that +she had lost her color and that her face was haggard; it was an +indefinable revolution in her personality, which made her look ten +years older, and left her without a suggestion of girlishness. She +still carried her head with her customary hauteur, but there was +something in its poise which suggested defiance as well, and which was +quite new. And the lanterns in her eyes had gone out; the storms had +been too heavy for them. All she needed was the costume of the First +Empire to look as if she had stepped out of the locket he had brought +from Crumford Hall. + +As she saw Dartmouth, the blood rushed over her face, dyeing it to the +roots of her hair, then receded, leaving it whiter than her gown. When +he reached her side she drew back a little, but he made no attempt to +kiss her; he merely raised her hand to his lips. As he did so he could +have sworn he saw the sun flashing on the domes beneath the window; +and over his senses stole the perfume of jasmine. The roar without was +not that of the ocean, but of a vast city, and--hark!--the cry of the +muezzin. How weird the tapestry looked in the firelight, and how the +figures danced! And he had always liked her to wear white, better even +than yellow. He roused himself suddenly and offered her his arm. The +butler was announcing dinner. + +They went into the dining-room, and Dartmouth and Sir Iltyd talked +about the change of ministry and the Gladstone attitude on the Irish +question for an hour and a quarter. Weir neither talked nor ate, but +sat with her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Dartmouth understood +and sympathized. He felt as if his own nerves were on the rack, as if +his brain had been rolled into a cord whose tension was so strained +that it might snap at any moment. But Sir Iltyd was considerate. +He excused himself as soon as dessert was removed, on the plea of +finishing an important historical work just issued, and the young +people went directly to the drawing-room. As Dartmouth closed the door +Weir turned to him, the color springing into her face. + +"Tell me," she said, peremptorily; "have you discovered what it +meant?" + +He took her hand and led her over to the sofa. She sat down, but stood +up again at once. "I cannot sit quietly," she said, "until I _know_. +The enforced repression of the past week, the having no one to speak +to, and the mystery of that dream have driven me nearly mad. It was +cruel of you to stay away so long--but let that pass. There is only +one thing I can think of now--do you know anything more than when you +left?" + +He folded his arms and looked down. "Why should you think I could +have learned anything at Crumford Hall?" he demanded, with apparent +evasion. + +"Because of the restraint and sometimes incoherence of your letters. +I knew that something had happened to you; you seemed hardly the same +man. You seemed like--Oh, I do not know. For heaven's sake, tell me +what it is." + +"Weir," he said, raising his head and looking at her, "what do you +think it is?" + +She put up her hands and covered her face. "I do not know," she said, +uncertainly. "If there is to be any explanation it must come from you. +With me there is only the indefinable but persistent feeling that I +am not Weir Penrhyn but the woman of that dream; that I have no right +here in my father's castle, and no right to the position I hold in the +world. To me sin has always seemed a horrible thing, and yet I feel +as if my own soul were saturated with it; and what is worse, I feel no +repentance. It is as if I were being punished by some external power, +not by my own conscience. As if--Oh, it is all too vague to put into +words--Harold, _what_ is it?" + +"Let us sit down," he said, "and talk it over." + +She allowed him to draw her down onto the sofa, and he looked at her +for a moment. Then, suddenly, the purely human love triumphed. He +forgot regret and disgust. He forgot the teachings of the world, and +the ideal whose shattering he had mourned. He remembered nothing but +that this woman so close to him was dearer than life or genius or +ambition; that he loved her with all the strength and passion of +which a man is capable. The past was gone, the future a blank; nothing +remained but the glorious present, with its impulses which sprang +straight from the heart of nature and which no creed could root out. +He flung his arms about her, and the fierce joy of the moment thrilled +and shook him as he kissed her. And for the moment she too forgot. + +Then his arms slowly relaxed and he leaned forward, placing his elbow +on his knee and covering his face with his hand. For a few moments he +thought without speaking. He decided that he would tell her something +to-night, but not all. He would give her a clue, and when she was +alone she might work the rest out for herself. Then, together, they +would decide what would be best to do. He took her hand. + +"I have something to tell you," he said. "I did not tell you before +I left because I thought it best not, but things have occurred since +which make it desirable you should know. You do not know, I suppose, +that on the night of our dream you got up in your sleep and wandered +about the castle." + +She leaned suddenly forward. "Yes?" she said, breathlessly. "I walked +in my sleep? You saw me? Where?" + +"In the gallery that overhangs the sea. I had gone there to watch the +storm, and was about to return to my room when I saw you coming toward +me. At first I thought you were the spirit of your grandmother--of +Sioned Penrhyn. In your sleep you had dressed yourself like the +picture in the gallery, and the resemblance was complete. Then, +strangely enough, I walked up to you and took your hand and called you +'Sioned'--" + +"Go on!" + +"Then you told me that you were dead, and had been wandering in the +hereafter and looking for me; that you could not find me there, and so +had come back to earth and entered into the body of a dead child, and +given it life, and grown to womanhood again, and found me at last. And +then you put your cold arms about me and drew me down onto a seat. I +suddenly lost all consciousness of the present, and we were together +in a scene which was like a page from a past existence. The page was +that of the dream we have found so difficult a problem, and you read +it with me, not alone in your room--Weir! What is the matter?" + +She had pushed him violently from her and sprung to her feet, and she +stood before him with wide-open, terror-stricken eyes, and quivering +in every limb. She tried to speak, but no words came; her lips were +white and shrivelled, and her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth. +Then she threw up her arms and fell heavily to the floor. + + + + +XIV. + + +After Weir had been carried up-stairs, and he had ascertained that she +was again conscious, Dartmouth went to his own room, knowing he could +not see her again that night. He did not go to bed; there was +no possibility of sleep for hours, and he preferred the slight +distraction of pacing up and down the room. After a time he paused +in front of the fireplace, and mechanically straightened one of the +andirons with his foot. What had affected Weir so strangely? Had the +whole thing burst suddenly upon her? He had hardly told her enough for +that; but what else could it be? Poor child! And poor Sir Iltyd! How +should he explain to him? What story could he concoct to satisfy him? +It would be absurd to attempt the truth; no human being but himself +and Weir could comprehend it; Sir Iltyd would only think them both +mad. He unconsciously drew in a long breath, expelling the air again +with some violence, like a man whose chest is oppressed. And how his +head ached! If he could only get a few hours sleep without that cursed +laudanum. Hark! what was that? A storm was coming up. It almost shook +the castle, solid and of stone as it was. But he was glad. A storm was +more in tune with his mood than calm. He would go out into the gallery +and watch it. + +He left his room and went to the gallery to which he had gone to watch +a storm a little over a week ago. A week? It seemed so remote that for +the moment he could not recall the events of that last visit; his +head ached so that everything but physical suffering was temporarily +insignificant. There was no moon to-night. The sky was covered with +black, scurrying clouds, and he could only hear the angry, boiling +waters, not see them. He felt suffocated. He had felt so all the +evening. Besides the pain in his head there was a pressure on his +brain; he must have air; and he pulled open one of the windows and +stood within it. The wind beat about his head, the sea-gulls screamed +in his ears, and the roar of the sea was deafening; but it exhilarated +him and eased his head for the moment. What a poem it would make, that +black, storm-swept sky, those mighty, thundering waters, that granite, +wind-torn coast! How he could have immortalized it once! And he had +it in him to immortalize it now, only that mechanical defect in his +brain, no--that cruel iron hand, would not let him tell the world that +he was greater than any to whom its people bent their knees. Ah, there +it was at last! It had reawakened, and it was battling and struggling +for speech as before. Perhaps this time it would succeed! It was +strong enough to conquer in the end, and why should not the end have +come? Surely the fire in his brain must have melted that iron hand. +Surely, far away, _they_ were singing again. Where were they? Within +his brain?--or battling with the storm to reach him? What were those +wraith-like things--those tiny forms dancing weirdly on the roaring +waters? Ah, he knew. They were the elfins of his brain that had +tormented him with their music and fled at his approach. They +had flown from their little cells, and were holding court on the +storm-waves like fairies on the green. It was like them to love the +danger and the tumult and the night. It was like them to shout and +bound with the intoxication of the hour, to scream with the gale, and +to kiss with frantic rapture the waves that threatened them. Each was +a Thought mightier than any known to living man, and in the bosom of +maddened nature it had found its element. And they had not deserted +him--they had fled but for the hour--they had turned suddenly and were +holding out their arms to him. Ah! he would meet them half-way-- + +A pair of arms, strong with terror, were suddenly thrown about him, +and he was dragged to the other side of the gallery. + +"Harold!" cried Weir; "what is the matter with you? Are you mad?" + +"I believe I am," he cried. "Come to the light. I have something to +tell you." + +He caught her by the wrists and pulled her down the gallery until they +were under the lantern which burned in one of the windows on nights +like this as a warning to mariners. She gave a faint scream of terror, +and struggled to release herself. + +"You look so strange," she cried. "Let me go." + +"Not any more strange than you do," he said, rapidly. "You, too, have +changed since that night in here, when the truth was told to both of +us. You did not understand then, nor did I; but I know all now, and I +will tell you." + +And then, in a torrent of almost unintelligible words, he poured +forth the tale of his discovery: what had come to him in the study at +Crumford Hall, the locket he had found, the letters he had read, the +episode of his past he had lived over, the poem which had swept him +up among the gods in its reading--all the sequence of facts whose +constant reiteration during every unguarded moment had mechanically +forced themselves into lasting coherence. She listened with head bent +forward, and eyes through which terror, horror, despair, chased each +other, then returned and fought together. "It is all true," he cried, +in conclusion. "It is all true. Why don't you speak? Cannot you +understand?" + +She wrenched her hands from his grasp and flung her arms above her +head. "Yes," she cried, "I understand. I am a woman for whose sin Time +has no mercy; you are a madman, and I am alone!" + +"What are you saying?" he demanded, thickly. "You are alone? There is +no hope, then?" + +"No, there is no hope," she said, "nor has the worst--" She sprang +suddenly forward and caught him about the neck. "Oh, Harold!" she +cried, "you are not mad. It cannot be! I cannot think of the sin, or +care; I only know that I love you! love you! love you! and that if we +can be together always the past can go; even--Oh, Harold, speak to me; +don't look at me in that way!" + +But his arms hung inertly at his sides, and he looked down into her +agonized face with a smile. "No hope!" he whispered. + +The poor girl dropped in a heap to the floor, as if the life had +suddenly gone out of her. Harold gave a little laugh. "No hope!" he +said. + +She sprang to her feet and flew down the gallery. But he stood where +she had left him. She reached the open window, then turned and for +a moment faced him again. "No," she cried, "no hope, and no rest or +peace;" and then the storm and the night closed over her. + +He moved to the window after a moment, and leaning out, called her +name. There was no answer but the shrieking of the storm. The black +waters had greedily embraced her, and in their depths she would find +rest at last. How would she look down there, in some quiet cave, +with the sea-weed floating over her white gown, and the pearls in her +beautiful hair? How exquisite a thing she would be! The very monsters +of the deep would hold their breath as they passed, and leave her +unmolested. And the eye of mortal man would never gaze upon her again. +There was divinest ecstacy in the thought! Ah! how lovely she was! +What a face--what a form! + +He staggered back from the window and gave a loud laugh. At last it +had been vanquished and broken--that iron hand. He had heard it snap +that moment within his brain. And it was pouring upward, that river of +song. The elfins had come back, and were quiring like the immortals. +She would hear them down there, in her cold, nameless grave, with the +ceaseless requiem of the waters above her, and smile and rejoice +that death had come to her to give him speech. His brain was the very +cathedral of heaven, and there was music in every part of it. The +glad shout was ringing throughout nave and transept like the glorious +greeting of Christmas morning. "Her face! Her form!" No, no; not +that again. They were no part of the burning flood of song which was +writhing and surging in his brain. They were not the words which would +tell the world--Ah! what was it? "Her face! Her form!--" + +He groped his way to and fro like a blind man seeking some object to +guide him. "Her eyes! Her hair!" No, no. Oh, what was this? Why was he +falling--falling?--What was that terror-stricken cry? that wild, white +face of an old man above him? Where had this water come from that was +boiling and thundering in his ears? What was that tossed aloft by the +wave beyond? If he could but reach her!--She had gone! Cruel Night had +caught her in its black arms and was laughing at his efforts to reach +her. That mocking, hideous laughter! how it shrieked above the storm, +its dissonance as eternal as his fate! There she was again!--Sioned! +No, she had gone, and he was beating with impotent fury those +devouring--But who was this bending over him?--the Night Queen, with +the stars in her hair? And what was she pressing into his arms? At +last! Sioned! 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