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diff --git a/old/13261.txt b/old/13261.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..43e198e --- /dev/null +++ b/old/13261.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11438 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Jason, by Justus Miles Forman + +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: Jason + +Author: Justus Miles Forman + +Release Date: August 23, 2004 [EBook #13261] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JASON *** + + + + +Produced by Kevin Handy, John Hagerson, and the Project Gutenberg +Online Distributed Proofreaders Team + + + + + +JASON + +A ROMANCE + +BY +JUSTUS MILES FORMAN + +AUTHOR OF +"A STUMBLING BLOCK" "BUCHANAN'S WIFE" +"THE ISLAND OF ENCHANTMENT" + +WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY +W. HATHERELL, R.I. + +HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS +NEW YORK AND LONDON +MCMIX + + +COPYRIGHT, 1908. + + * * * * * + + +A PARIS + +MERE MYSTERIEUSE ... SOEUR CONSOLATRICE +ENCHANTERESSE AUX YEUX VOILES +JE DEDIE CE PETIT ROMAN +EN RECONNAISSANCE +J.M.F. + + + * * * * * + + + + +CONTENTS + + I. STE. MARIE HEARS OF A MYSTERY AND MEETS A DARK LADY + + II. THE LADDER TO THE STARS + + III. STE. MARIE MAKES A VOW, BUT A PAIR OF EYES HAUNT HIM + + IV. OLD DAVID STEWART + + V. JASON SETS FORTH UPON THE GREAT ADVENTURE + + VI. A BRAVE GENTLEMAN RECEIVES A HURT, BUT VOLUNTEERS IN A GOOD CAUSE + + VII. CAPTAIN STEWART MAKES A KINDLY OFFER + + VIII. JASON MEETS WITH A MISADVENTURE AND DREAMS A DREAM + + IX. JASON GOES UPON A JOURNEY, AND RICHARD HARTLEY PLEADS FOR HIM + + X. CAPTAIN STEWART ENTERTAINS + + XI. A GOLDEN LADY ENTERS--THE EYES AGAIN + + XII. THE NAME OF THE LADY WITH THE EYES--EVIDENCE HEAPS UP SWIFTLY + + XIII. THE VOYAGE TO COLCHIS + + XIV. THE WALLS OF AEA + + XV. A CONVERSATION AT LA LIERRE + + XVI. THE BLACK CAT + + XVII. THOSE WHO WERE LEFT BEHIND + + XVIII. A CONVERSATION OVERHEARD + + XIX. THE INVALID TAKES THE AIR + + XX. THE STONE BENCH AT THE ROND POINT + + XXI. A MIST DIMS THE SHINING STAR + + XXII. A SETTLEMENT REFUSED + + XXIII. THE LAST ARROW + + XXIV. THE JOINT IN THE ARMOR + + XXV. MEDEA GOES OVER TO THE ENEMY + + XXVI. BUT THE FLEECE ELECTS TO REMAIN + + XXVII. THE NIGHT'S WORK + +XXVIII. MEDEA'S LITTLE HOUR + + XXIX. THE SCALES OF INJUSTICE + + XXX. JASON SAILS BACK TO COLCHIS--JOURNEY'S END + + * * * * * + + + + +I + +STE. MARIE HEARS OF A MYSTERY AND MEETS A DARK LADY + + +From Ste. Marie's little flat, which overlooked the gardens, they drove +down the quiet rue du Luxembourg, and at the Place St. Sulpice turned to +the left. They crossed the Place St. Germain des Pres, where lines of +home-bound working-people stood waiting for places in the electric +trams, and groups of students from the Beaux Arts or from Julien's sat +under the awnings of the Deux Magots, and so, beyond that busy square, +they came into the long and peaceful stretch of the Boulevard St. +Germain. The warm, sweet dusk gathered round them as they went, and the +evening air was fresh and aromatic in their faces. There had been a +little gentle shower in the late afternoon, and roadway and pavement +were still damp with it. It had wet the new-grown leaves of the +chestnuts and acacias that bordered the street. The scent of that living +green blended with the scent of laid dust and the fragrance of the last +late-clinging chestnut blossoms; it caught up a fuller, richer burden +from the overflowing front of a florist's shop; it stole from open +windows a savory whiff of cooking, a salt tang of wood smoke; and the +soft little breeze--the breeze of coming summer--mixed all together and +tossed them and bore them down the long, quiet street; and it was the +breath of Paris, and it shall be in your nostrils and mine, a keen agony +of sweetness, so long as we may live and so wide as we may +wander--because we have known it and loved it--and in the end we shall +go back to breathe it when we die. + +The strong white horse jogged evenly along over the wooden pavement, its +head down, the little bell at its neck jingling pleasantly as it went. +The cocher, a torpid, purplish lump of gross flesh, pyramidal, pearlike, +sat immobile in his place. The protuberant back gave him an +extraordinary effect of being buttoned into his fawn-colored coat wrong +side before. At intervals he jerked the reins like a large strange toy, +and his strident voice said: + +"He!" to the stout white horse, which paid no attention whatever. Once +the beast stumbled and the pearlike lump of flesh insulted it, saying: + +"He! veux tu, cochon!" + +Before the War Office a little black slip of a milliner's girl dodged +under the horse's head, saving herself and the huge box slung to her arm +by a miracle of agility, and the cocher called her the most frightful +names, without turning his head and in a perfunctory tone quite free +from passion. + +Young Hartley laughed and turned to look at his companion, but Ste. +Marie sat still in his place, his hat pulled a little down over his +brows and his handsome chin buried in the folds of the white silk +muffler with which for some obscure reason he had swathed his neck. + +"This is the first time in many years," said the Englishman, "that I +have known you to be silent for ten whole minutes. Are you ill, or are +you making up little epigrams to say at the dinner-party?" + +Ste. Marie waved a despondent glove. + +"I 'ave," said he, "w'at you call ze blue. Papillons noirs--clouds in my +soul." It was a species of jest with Ste. Marie--and he seemed never to +tire of it--to pretend that he spoke English very brokenly. As a matter +of fact, he spoke it quite as well as any Englishman and without the +slightest trace of accent. He had discovered a long time before this--it +may have been while the two were at Eton together--that it annoyed +Hartley very much, particularly when it was done in company and before +strangers. In consequence he became on such occasions a sort of +comic-paper caricature of his race, and by dint of much practice, added +to a naturally alert mind, he became astonishingly ingenious in the +torture of that honest but unimaginative gentleman whom he considered +his best friend. He achieved the most surprising expressions by the mere +literal translation of French idiom, and he could at any time bring +Hartley to a crimson agony by calling him "my dear "'before other men, +whereas at the equivalent "mon cher" the Englishman would doubtless +never, as the phrase goes, have batted an eye. + +"Ye-es," he continued, sadly, "I 'ave ze blue. I weep. Weez ze tears +full ze eyes. Yes." He descended into English. "I think something's +going to happen to me. There's calamity, or something, in the air. +Perhaps I'm going to die." + +"Oh, I know what you are going to do, right enough," said the other man. +"You're going to meet the most beautiful woman--girl--in the world at +dinner, and of course you are going to fall in love with her." + +"Ah, the Miss Benham!" said Ste. Marie, with a faint show of interest. +"I remember now, you said that she was to be there. I had forgotten. +Yes, I shall be glad to meet her. One hears so much. But why am I of +course going to fall in love with her?" + +"Well, in the first place," said Hartley, "you always fall in love with +all pretty women as a matter of habit, and, in the second place, +everybody--well, I suppose you--no one could help falling in love with +her, I should think." + +"That's high praise to come from you," said the other. And Hartley said, +with a short, not very mirthful laugh: + +"Oh, I don't pretend to be immune. We all--everybody who knows her. +You'll understand presently." + +Ste. Marie turned his head a little and looked curiously at his friend, +for he considered that he knew the not very expressive intonations of +that young gentleman's voice rather well, and this was something +unusual. He wondered what had been happening during his six months' +absence from Paris. + +"I dare say that's what I feel in the air, then," he said, after a +little pause. "It's not calamity; it's love. + +"Or maybe," he said, quaintly, "it's both. L'un n'empeche pas I'autre." +And he gave an odd little shiver, as if that something in the air had +suddenly blown chill upon him. + +They were passing the corner of the Chamber of Deputies, which faces the +Pont de la Concorde. Ste. Marie pulled out his watch and looked at it. + +"Eight-fifteen," said he. "What time are we asked for--eight-thirty? +That means nine: It's an English house, and nobody will be on time. It's +out of fashion to be prompt nowadays." + +"I should hardly call the Marquis de Saulnes English, you know," +objected Hartley. + +"Well, his wife is," said the other, "and they're altogether English in +manner. Dinner won't be before nine. Shall we get out, and walk across +the bridge and up the Champs-Elysees? I should like to, I think. I like +to walk at this time of the evening--between the daylight and the dark." +Hartley nodded a rather reluctant assent, and Ste. Marie prodded the +pear-shaped cocher in the back with his stick. So they got down at the +approach to the bridge, Ste. Marie gave the cocher a piece of two +francs, and they turned away on foot. The pear-shaped one looked at the +coin in his fat hand as if it were something unclean and +contemptible--something to be despised. He glanced at the dial of his +taximeter, which had registered one franc twenty-five, and pulled the +flag up. He spat gloomily out into the street, and his purple lips moved +in words. He seemed to say something like "Sale diable de metier!" +which, considering the fact that he had just been overpaid, appears +unwarrantably pessimistic in tone. Thereafter he spat again, picked up +his reins and jerked them, saying: + +"He, Jean Baptiste! Uip, uip!" The unemotional white horse turned up the +boulevard, trotting evenly at its steady pace, head down, the little +bell at its neck jingling pleasantly as it went. It occurs to me that +the white horse was probably unique. I doubt that there was another +horse in Paris rejoicing in that extraordinary name. + +But the two young men walked slowly on across the Pont de la Concorde. +They went in silence, for Hartley was thinking still of Miss Helen +Benham, and Ste. Marie was thinking of Heaven knows what. His gloom was +unaccountable unless he had really meant what he said about feeling +calamity in the air. It was very unlike him to have nothing to say. +Midway of the bridge he stopped and turned to look out over the river, +and the other man halted beside him. The dusk was thickening almost +perceptibly, but it was yet far from dark. The swift river ran leaden +beneath them, and the river boats, mouches and hirondelles, darted +silently under the arches of the bridge, making their last trips for the +day. Away to the west, where their faces were turned, the sky was still +faintly washed with color, lemon and dusky orange and pale thin green. A +single long strip of cirrus cloud was touched with pink, a lifeless old +rose, such as is popular among decorators for the silk hangings of a +woman's boudoir. And black against this pallid wash of colors the tour +Eiffel stood high and slender and rather ghostly. By day it is an ugly +thing, a preposterous iron finger upthrust by man's vanity against God's +serene sky; but the haze of evening drapes it in a merciful +semi-obscurity and it is beautiful. + +Ste. Marie leaned upon the parapet of the bridge, arms folded before him +and eyes afar. He began to sing, a demi-voix, a little phrase out of +_Louise_--an invocation to Paris--and the Englishman stirred uneasily +beside him. It seemed to Hartley that to stand on a bridge, in a top-hat +and evening clothes, and sing operatic airs while people passed back and +forth behind you, was one of the things that are not done. He tried to +imagine himself singing in the middle of Westminster Bridge at half-past +eight of an evening, and he felt quite hot all over at the thought. It +was not done at all, he said to himself. He looked a little nervously at +the people who were passing, and it seemed to him that they stared at +him and at the unconscious Ste. Marie, though in truth they did nothing +of the sort. He turned back and touched his friend on the arm, saying: + +"I think we'd best be getting along, you know." But Ste. Marie was very +far away, and did not hear. So then he fell to watching the man's dark +and handsome face, and to thinking how little the years at Eton and the +year or two at Oxford had set any real stamp upon him. He would never be +anything but Latin, in spite of his Irish mother and his public school. +Hartley thought what a pity that was. As Englishmen go, he was not +illiberal, but, no more than he could have altered the color of his +eyes, could he have believed that anything foreign would not be improved +by becoming English. That was born in him, as it is born in most +Englishmen, and it was a perfectly simple and honest belief. He felt a +deeper affection for this handsome and volatile young man whom all women +loved, and who bade fair to spend his life at their successive feet--for +he certainly had never shown the slightest desire to take up any sterner +employment--he felt a deeper affection for Ste. Marie than for any other +man he knew, but he had always wished that Ste. Marie were an +Englishman, and he had always felt a slight sense of shame over his +friend's un-English ways. + +After a moment he touched him again on the arm, saying: + +"Come along! We shall be late, you know. You can finish your little +concert another time." + +"Eh!" cried Ste. Marie. "Quoi, donc?" He turned with a start. + +"Oh yes!" said he. "Yes, come along! I was mooning. Allons! Allons, my +old!" He took Hartley's arm and began to shove him along at a rapid +walk. "I will moon no more," he said. "Instead, you shall tell me about +the wonderful Miss Benham whom everybody is talking about. Isn't there +something odd connected with the family? I vaguely recall something +unusual--some mystery or misfortune or something. But first a moment! +One small moment, my old. Regard me that!" They had come to the end of +the bridge, and the great Place de la Concorde lay before them. + +"In all the world," said Ste. Marie--and he spoke the truth--"there is +not another such square. Regard it, mon brave! Bow yourself before it! +It is a miracle." + +The great bronze lamps were alight, and they cast reflections upon the +still damp pavement about them. To either side, the trees of the +Tuileries gardens and of the Cours la Reine and the Champs-Elysees lay +in a solid black mass; in the middle, the obelisk rose slender and +straight, its pointed top black against the sky; and beneath, the water +of the Nereid fountains splashed and gurgled. Far beyond, the gay lights +of the rue Royale shone in a yellow cluster; and beyond these still, the +tall columns of the Madeleine ended the long vista. Pedestrians and cabs +crept across that vast space and seemed curiously little, like black +insects, and round about it all the eight cities of France sat atop +their stone pedestals and looked on. Ste. Marie gave a little sigh of +pleasure, and the two moved forward, bearing to the left, toward the +Champs-Elysees. + +"And now," said he, "about these Benhams. What is the thing I cannot +quite recall? What has happened to them?" + +"I suppose," said the other man, "you mean the disappearance of Miss +Benham's young brother a month ago--before you returned to Paris. Yes, +that was certainly very odd--that is, it was either very odd or very +commonplace. And in either case the family is terribly cut up about it. +The boy's name was Arthur Benham, and he was rather a young fool, but +not downright vicious, I should think. I never knew him at all well, but +I know he spent his time chiefly at the Cafe de Paris and at the Olympia +and at Longchamps and at Henry's Bar. Well, he just disappeared, that is +all. He dropped completely out of sight between two days, and though the +family has had a small army of detectives on his trail they've not +discovered the smallest clew. It's deuced odd altogether. You might +think it easy to disappear like that, but it's not." + +"No--no," said Ste. Marie, thoughtfully. "No, I should fancy not. + +"This boy," he said, after a pause--"I think I had seen him--had him +pointed out to me--before I went away. I think it was at Henry's Bar, +where all the young Americans go to drink strange beverages. I am quite +sure I remember his face. A weak face, but not quite bad." + +And after another little pause he asked: + +"Was there any reason why he should have gone away--any quarrel or that +sort of thing?" + +"Well," said the other man, "I rather think there was something of the +sort. The boy's uncle--Captain Stewart--middle-aged, rather prim old +party--you'll have met him, I dare say--he intimated to me one day that +there had been some trivial row. You see, the lad isn't of age yet, +though he is to be in a few months, and so he has had to live on an +allowance doled out by his grandfather, who's the head of the house. The +boy's father is dead. There's a quaint old beggar, if you like--the +grandfather. He was rather a swell in the diplomatic, in his day, it +seems--rather an important swell. Now he's bedridden. He sits all day in +bed and plays cards with his granddaughter or with a very superior +valet, and talks politics with the men who come to see him. Oh yes, he's +a quaint old beggar. He has a great quantity of white hair and an +enormous square white beard and the fiercest eyes I ever saw, I should +think. Everybody's frightened out of their wits of him. Well, he sits up +there and rules his family in good old patriarchal style, and it seems +he came down a bit hard on the poor boy one day over some folly or +other, and there was a row and the boy went out of the house swearing +he'd be even." + +"Ah, well, then," said Ste. Marie, "the matter seems simple enough. A +foolish boy's foolish pique. He is staying in hiding somewhere to +frighten his grandfather. When he thinks the time favorable he will come +back and be wept over and forgiven." + +The other man walked a little way in silence. + +"Ye-es," he said, at last. "Yes, possibly. Possibly you are right. +That's what the grandfather thinks. It's the obvious solution. +Unfortunately there is more or less against it. The boy went away +with--so far as can be learned--almost no money, almost none at all. And +he has already been gone a month. Miss Benham, his sister, is sure that +something has happened to him, and I'm a bit inclined to think so, too. +It's all very odd. I should think he might have been kidnapped but that +no demand has been made for money." + +"He was not," suggested Ste. Marie--"not the sort of young man to do +anything desperate--make away with himself?" Hartley laughed. + +"Oh, Lord, no!" said he. "Not that sort of young man at all. He was a +very normal type of rich and spoiled and somewhat foolish American boy." + +"Rich?" inquired the other, quickly. + +"Oh yes; they're beastly rich. Young Arthur is to come into something +very good at his majority, I believe, from his father's estate, and the +old grandfather is said to be indecently rich--rolling in it! There's +another reason why the young idiot wouldn't be likely to stop away of +his own accord. He wouldn't risk anything like a serious break with the +old gentleman. It would mean a loss of millions to him, I dare say, for +the old beggar is quite capable of cutting him off if he takes the +notion. Oh, it's a bad business all through." + +And after they had gone on a bit he said it again, shaking his head: + +"It's a bad business! That poor girl, you know. It's hard on her. She +was fond of the young ass for some reason or other. She's very much +broken up over it." + +"Yes," said Ste. Marie, "it is hard for her--for all the family, of +course. A bad business, as you say." He spoke absently, for he was +looking ahead at something which seemed to be a motor accident. They had +by this time got well up the Champs-Elysees and were crossing the Rond +Point. A motor-car was drawn up alongside the curb just beyond, and a +little knot of people stood about it and seemed to look at something on +the ground. + +"I think some one has been run down," said Ste. Marie. "Shall we have a +look?" They quickened their pace and came to where the group of people +stood in a circle looking upon the ground, and two gendarmes asked many +questions and wrote voluminously in their little books. It appeared that +a delivery boy mounted upon a tricycle cart had turned into the wrong +side of the avenue and had got himself run into and overturned by a +motor-car going at a moderate rate of speed. For once the sentiment of +those mysterious birds of prey which flock instantaneously from nowhere +round an accident, was against the victim and in favor of the frightened +and gesticulating chauffeur. + +Ste. Marie turned an amused face from this voluble being to the other +occupants of the patently hired car, who stood apart, adding very little +to the discussion. He saw a tall and bony man with very bright blue eyes +and what is sometimes called a guardsman's mustache--the drooping, +walruslike ornament which dates back a good many years now. Beyond this +gentleman he saw a young woman in a long, gray silk coat and a motoring +veil. He was aware that the tall man was staring at him rather fixedly +and with a half-puzzled frown, as though he thought that they had met +before and was trying to remember when, but Ste. Marie gave the man but +a swift glance. His eyes were upon the dark face of the young woman +beyond, and it seemed to him that she called aloud to him in an actual +voice that rang in his ears. The young woman's very obvious beauty, he +thought, had nothing to do with the matter. It seemed to him that her +eyes called him. Just that. Something strange and very potent seemed to +take sudden and almost tangible hold upon him--a charm, a spell, a +magic--something unprecedented, new to his experience. He could not take +his eyes from hers, and he stood staring. + +As before, on the Pont de la Concorde, Hartley touched him on the arm, +and abruptly the chains that had bound him were loosened. + +"We must be going on, you know," the Englishman said, and Ste. Marie +said, rather hurriedly: + +"Yes, yes, to be sure! Come along!" But at a little distance he turned +once more to look back. The chauffeur had mounted to his place, the +delivery boy was upon his feet again, little the worse for his tumble, +and the knot of bystanders had begun to disperse, but it seemed to Ste. +Marie that the young woman in the long silk coat stood quite still where +she had been, and that her face was turned toward him, watching. + +"Did you notice that girl?" said Hartley, as they walked on at a brisker +pace. "Did you see her face? She was rather a tremendous beauty, you +know, in her gypsyish fashion. Yes, by Jove, she was!" + +"Did I see her?" repeated Ste. Marie. "Yes. Oh yes. She had very strange +eyes. At least, I think it was the eyes. I don't know. I've never seen +any eyes quite like them. Very odd!" + +He said something more in French which Hartley did not hear, and the +Englishman saw that he was frowning. + +"Oh, well, I shouldn't have said there was anything strange about them," +Hartley said; "but they certainly were beautiful. There's no denying +that. The man with her looked rather Irish, I thought." + +They came to the Etoile, and cut across it toward the Avenue Hoche. Ste. +Marie glanced back once more, but the motor-car and the delivery boy and +the gendarmes were gone. + +"What did you say?" he asked, idly. + +"I said the man looked Irish," repeated his friend. All at once Ste. +Marie gave a loud exclamation. + +"Sacred thousand devils! Fool that I am! Dolt! Why didn't I think of it +before?" + +Hartley stared at him, and Ste. Marie stared down the Champs-Elysees +like one in a trance. + +"I say," said the Englishman, "we really must be getting on, you know; +we're late." And as they went along down the Avenue Hoche, he demanded: +"Why are you a dolt and whatever else it was? What struck you so +suddenly?" + +"I remembered all at once," said Ste. Marie, "where I had seen that man +before and with whom I last saw him. I'll tell you about it later. +Probably it's of no importance, though." + +"You're talking rather like a mild lunatic," said the other. "Here we +are at the house!" + + * * * * * + + + + +II + +THE LADDER TO THE STARS + + +Miss Benham was talking wearily to a strange, fair youth with an +impediment in his speech, and was wondering why the youth had been asked +to this house, where in general one was sure of meeting only interesting +people, when some one spoke her name, and she turned with a little sigh +of relief. It was Baron de Vries, the Belgian First Secretary of +Legation, an old friend of her grandfather's, a man made gentle and +sweet by infinite sorrow. He bowed civilly to the fair youth and bent +over the girl's hand. + +"It is very good," he said, "to see you again in the world. We have need +of you, nous autres. Madame your mother is well, I hope--and the bear?" +He called old Mr. Stewart "the bear" in a sort of grave jest, and that +fierce octogenarian rather liked it. + +"Oh yes," the girl said, "we're all fairly well. My mother had one of +her headaches to-night and so didn't come here, but she's as well as +usual, and 'the bear'--yes, he's well enough physically, I should think, +but he has not been quite the same since--during the past month. It has +told upon him, you know. He grieves over it much more than he will +admit." + +"Yes," said Baron de Vries, gravely. "Yes, I know." He turned about +toward the fair young man, but that youth had drifted away and joined +himself to another group. Miss Benham looked after him and gave a little +exclamation of relief. + +"That person was rather terrible," she said. "I can't think why he is +here. Marian so seldom has dull people." + +"I believe," said the Belgian, "that he is some connection of De +Saulnes'. That explains his presence." He lowered his voice. "You have +heard no--news? They have found no trace?" + +"No," said she. "Nothing. Nothing at all. I'm rather in despair. It's +all so hideously mysterious. I am sure, you know, that something has +happened to him. It's--very, very hard. Sometimes I think I can't bear +it. But I go on. We all go on." + +Baron de Vries nodded his head strongly. + +"That, my dear child, is just what you must do," said he. "You must go +on. That is what needs the real courage, and you have courage. I am not +afraid for you. And sooner or later you will hear of him--from him. It +is impossible nowadays to disappear for very long. You will hear from +him." He smiled at her, his slow, grave smile that was not of mirth but +of kindness and sympathy and cheer. + +"And if I may say so," he said, "you are doing very wisely to come out +once more among your friends. You can accomplish no good by brooding at +home. It is better to live one's normal life--even when it is not easy +to do it. I say so who know." + +The girl touched Baron de Vries' arm for an instant with her hand--a +little gesture that seemed to express thankfulness and trust and +affection. + +"If all my friends were like you!" she said to him. And after that she +drew a quick breath as if to have done with these sad matters, and she +turned her eyes once more toward the broad room where the other guests +stood in little groups, all talking at once, very rapidly and in loud +voices. + +"What extraordinarily cosmopolitan affairs these dinner-parties in new +Paris are!" she said. "They're like diplomatic parties, only we have a +better time and the men don't wear their orders. How many nationalities +should you say there are in this room now?" + +"Without stopping to consider," said Baron de Vries, "I say ten." They +counted, and out of fourteen people there were represented nine races. + +"I don't see Richard Hartley," Miss Benham said. "I had an idea he was +to be here. Ah!" she broke off, looking toward the doorway. "Here he +comes now!" she said. "He's rather late. Who is the Spanish-looking man +with him, I wonder? He's rather handsome, isn't he?" + +Baron de Vries moved a little forward to look, and exclaimed in his +turn. He said: + +"Ah, I did not know he was returned to Paris. That is Ste. Marie." Miss +Benham's eyes followed the Spanish-looking young man as he made his way +through the joyous greetings of friends toward his hostess. + +"So that is Ste. Marie!" she said, still watching him. "The famous Ste. +Marie!" She gave a little laugh. + +"Well, I don't wonder at the reputation he bears for--gallantry and that +sort of thing. He looks the part, doesn't he?" + +"Ye-es," admitted her friend. "Yes, he is sufficiently beau garcon. +But--yes--well, that is not all, by any means. You must not get the idea +that Ste. Marie is nothing but a genial and romantic young +squire-of-dames. He is much more than that. He has very fine qualities. +To be sure, he appears to possess no ambition in particular, but I +should be glad if he were my son. He comes of a very old house, and +there is no blot upon the history of that house--nothing but +faithfulness and gallantry and honor. And there is, I think, no blot +upon Ste. Marie himself. He is fine gold." + +The girl turned and stared at Baron de Vries with some astonishment. + +"You speak very strongly," said she. "I have never heard you speak so +strongly of any one, I think." + +The Belgian made a little deprecatory gesture with his two hands, and he +laughed. + +"Oh, well, I like the boy. And I should hate to have you meet him for +the first time under a misconception. Listen, my child! When a young man +is loved equally by both men and women, by both old and young, that +young man is worthy of friendship and trust. Everybody likes Ste. Marie. +In a sense, that is his misfortune. The way is made too easy for him. +His friends stand so thick about him that they shut off his view of the +heights. To waken ambition in his soul he has need of solitude or +misfortune or grief. Or," said the elderly Belgian, laughing gently--"or +perhaps the other thing might do it best--the more obvious thing?" + +The girl's raised eyebrows questioned him, and when he did not answer, +she said: + +"What thing, then?" + +"Why, love," said Baron de Vries. "Love, to be sure. Love is said to +work miracles, and I believe that to be a perfectly true saying. Ah, he +is coming here!" + +The Marquise de Saulnes, who was a very pretty little Englishwoman with +a deceptively doll-like look, approached, dragging Ste. Marie in her +wake. She said: + +"My dearest dear, I give you of my best. Thank me and cherish him! I +believe he is to lead you to the place where food is, isn't he?" She +beamed over her shoulder and departed, and Miss Benham found herself +confronted by the Spanish-looking man. Her first thought was that he was +not as handsome as he had seemed at a distance, but something much +better. For a young man she thought his face was rather oddly +weather-beaten, as if he might have been very much at sea, and it was +too dark to be entirely pleasing. But she liked his eyes, which were not +brown or black, as she had expected, but a very unusual dark gray--a +sort of slate color. And she liked his mouth, too, while disapproving of +the fierce little upturned mustache which seemed to her a bit operatic. +It was her habit--and it is not an unreliable habit--to judge people by +their eyes and mouths. Ste. Marie's mouth pleased her because the lips +were neither thin nor thick, they were not drawn into an unpleasant line +by unpleasant habits, they did not pout as so many Latin lips do, and +they had at one corner a humorous expression which she found curiously +agreeable. + +"You are to cherish me," Ste. Marie said. "Orders from headquarters. How +does one cherish people?" The corner of his very expressive mouth +twitched, and he grinned at her. + +Miss Benham did not approve of young men who began an acquaintance in +this very familiar manner. She thought that there was a certain +preliminary and more formal stage which ought to be got through with +first, but Ste, Marie's grin was irresistible. In spite of herself, she +found that she was laughing. + +"I don't quite know," she said. "It sounds rather appalling, doesn't it? +Marian has such an extraordinary fashion of hurling people at each +other's heads! She takes my breath away at times." + +"Ah, well," said Ste. Marie, "perhaps we can settle upon something when +I've led you to the place where food is. And, by-the-way, what are we +waiting for? Are we not all here? There's an even number." He broke off +with a sudden exclamation of pleasure; and when Miss Benham turned to +look, she found that Baron de Vries, who had been talking to some +friends, had once more come up to where she stood. + +She watched the greeting between the two men, and its quiet affection +impressed her very much. She knew Baron de Vries well, and she knew that +it was not his habit to show or to feel a strong liking for young and +idle men. This young man must be very worth while to have won the regard +of that wise old Belgian. Just then Hartley, who had been barricaded +behind a cordon of friends, came up to her in an abominable temper over +his ill luck, and a few moments later the dinner procession was formed +and they went in. + +At table Miss Benham found herself between Ste. Marie and the same +strange, fair youth who had afflicted her in the drawing-room. She +looked upon him now with a sort of dismayed terror, but it developed +that there was nothing to fear from the fair youth. He had no attention +to waste upon social amenities. He fell upon his food with a wolfish +passion extraordinary to see and also--alas!--to hear. Miss Benham +turned from him to meet Ste. Marie's delighted eye. + +"Tell him for me," begged that gentleman, "that soup should be seen--not +heard." + +But Miss Benham gave a little shiver of disgust. "I shall tell him +nothing whatever," she said. "He's quite too dreadful, really! People +shouldn't be exposed to that sort of thing. It's not only the noises. +Plenty of very charming and estimable Germans, for example, make strange +noises at table. But he behaves like a famished dog over a bone. I +refuse to have anything to do with him. You must make up the loss to me, +M. Ste. Marie. You must be as amusing as two people." She smiled across +at him in her gravely questioning fashion. "I'm wondering," she said, +"if I dare ask you a very personal question. I hesitate because I don't +like people who presume too much upon a short acquaintance--and our +acquaintance has been very, very short, hasn't it? even though we may +have heard a great deal about each other beforehand. I wonder--" + +"Oh, I should ask it if I were you!" said Ste. Marie, at once. "I'm an +extremely good-natured person. And, besides, I quite naturally feel +flattered at your taking interest enough to ask anything about me." + +"Well," said she, "it's this: Why does everybody call you just 'Ste. +Marie'? Most people are spoken of as Monsieur this or that--if there +isn't a more august title; but they all call you Ste. Marie without any +Monsieur. It seems rather odd." + +Ste. Marie looked puzzled. "Why," he said, "I don't believe I know, +just. I'd never thought of that. It's quite true, of course. They never +do use a Monsieur or anything, do they? How cheeky of them! I wonder why +it is? I'll ask Hartley." + +He did ask Hartley later on, and Hartley didn't know, either. Miss +Benham asked some other people, who were vague about it, and in the end +she became convinced that it was an odd and quite inexplicable form of +something like endearment. But nobody seemed to have formulated it to +himself. + +"The name is really 'De Ste. Marie,'" he went on, "and there's a title +that I don't use, and a string of Christian names that one never +employs. My people were Bearnais, and there's a heap of ruins on top of +a hill in the Pyrenees where they lived. It used to be Ste. Marie de +Mont-les-Roses, but afterward, after the Revolution, they called it Ste. +Marie de Mont Perdu. My great-grandfather was killed there, but some old +servants smuggled his little son away and saved him." + +He seemed to Miss Benham to say that in exactly the right manner, not in +the cheap and scoffing fashion which some young men affect in speaking +of ancestral fortunes or misfortunes, nor with too much solemnity. And +when she allowed a little silence to occur at the end, he did not go on +with his family history, but turned at once to another subject. It +pleased her curiously. + +The fair youth at her other side continued to crouch over his food, +making fierce and animal-like noises. He never spoke or seemed to wish +to be spoken to, and Miss Benham found it easy to ignore him altogether. +It occurred to her once or twice that Ste. Marie's other neighbor might +desire an occasional word from him, but, after all, she said to herself +that was his affair and beyond her control. So these two talked together +through the entire dinner period, and the girl was aware that she was +being much more deeply affected by the simple, magnetic charm of a man +than ever before in her life. It made her a little angry, because she +was unfamiliar with this sort of thing and distrusted it. She was rather +a perfect type of that phenomenon before which the British and +Continental world stands in mingled delight and exasperation--the +American unmarried young woman, the creature of extraordinary beauty and +still more extraordinary poise, the virgin with the bearing and +savoir-faire of a woman of the world, the fresh-cheeked girl with the +calm mind of a savante and the cool judgment, in regard to men and +things, of an ambassador. The European world says she is cold, and that +may be true; but it is well enough known that she can love very deeply. +It says that, like most queens, and for precisely the same set of +reasons, she later on makes a bad mother; but it is easy to point to +queens who are the best of mothers. In short, she remains an enigma, +and, like all other enigmas, forever fascinating. + +Miss Benham reflected that she knew almost nothing about Ste. Marie save +for his reputation as a carpet knight, and Baron de Vries' good opinion, +which could not be despised. And that made her the more displeased when +she realized how promptly she was surrendering to his charm. In a moment +of silence she gave a sudden little laugh which seemed to express a +half-angry astonishment. + +"What was that for?" Ste. Marie demanded. + +The girl looked at him for an instant and shook her head. + +"I can't tell you," said she. "That's rude, isn't it? I'm sorry. Perhaps +I will tell you one day, when we know each other better." + +But inwardly she was saying: "Why, I suppose this is how they all +begin--all these regiments of women who make fools of themselves about +him! I suppose this is exactly what he does to them all!" + +It made her angry, and she tried quite unfairly to shift the anger, as +it were, to Ste. Marie--to put him somehow in the wrong. But she was by +nature very just, and she could not quite do that, particularly as it +was evident that the man was using no cheap tricks. He did not try to +flirt with her, and he did not attempt to pay her veiled compliments, +though she was often aware that when her attention was diverted for a +few moments his eyes were always upon her, and that is a compliment that +few women can find it in their hearts to resent. + +"You say," said Ste. Marie, "'when we know each other better.' May one +twist that into a permission to come and see you--I mean, really see +you--not just leave a card at your door to-morrow by way of observing +the formalities?" + +"Yes," she said. "Oh yes, one may twist it into something like that +without straining it unduly, I think. My mother and I shall be very glad +to see you. I'm sorry she is not here to-night to say it herself." + +Then the hostess began to gather together her flock, and so the two had +no more speech. But when the women had gone and the men were left about +the dismantled table, Hartley moved up beside Ste. Marie and shook a sad +head at him. He said: + +"You're a very lucky being. I was quietly hoping, on the way here, that +I should be the fortunate man, but you always have all the luck. I hope +you're decently grateful." + +"Mon vieux," said Ste. Marie, "my feet are upon the stars. No!" He shook +his head as if the figure displeased him. "No, my feet are upon the +ladder to the stars. Grateful? What does a foolish word like grateful +mean? Don't talk to me. You are not worthy to trample among my +magnificent thoughts. I am a god upon Olympus." + +"You said just now," objected the other man, practically, "that your +feet were on a ladder. There are no ladders from Olympus to the stars." + +"Ho!" said Ste. Marie. "Ho! Aren't there, though? There shall be ladders +all over Olympus, if I like. What do you know about gods and stars? I +shall be a god climbing to the heavens, and I shall be an angel of +light, and I shall be a miserable worm grovelling in the night here +below, and I shall be a poet, and I shall be anything else I happen to +think of--all of them at once, if I choose. And you shall be the +tongue-tied son of perfidious Albion that you are, gaping at my +splendors from a fog-bank--a November fog-bank in May. Who is the +desiccated gentleman bearing down upon us?" + + * * * * * + + + + +III + +STE. MARIE MAKES A VOW, BUT A PAIR OF EYES HAUNT HIM + + +Hartley looked over his shoulder and gave a little exclamation of +distaste. + +"It's Captain Stewart, Miss Benham's uncle," he said, lowering his +voice. "I'm off. I shall abandon you to him. He's a good old soul, but +he bores me." Hartley nodded to the man who was approaching, and then +made his way to the end of the table, where their host sat discussing +aero-club matters with a group of the other men. + +Captain Stewart dropped into the vacant chair, saying: "May I recall +myself to you, M. Ste. Marie? We met, I believe, once or twice, a couple +of years ago. My name's Stewart." + +Captain Stewart--the title was vaguely believed to have been borne some +years before in the American service, but no one appeared to know much +about it--was not an old man. He could not have been, at this time, much +more than fifty, but English-speaking acquaintances often called him +"old Stewart," and others "ce vieux Stewart." Indeed, at a first glance +he might have passed for anything up to sixty, for his face was a good +deal more lined and wrinkled than it should have been at his age. Ste. +Marie's adjective had been rather apt. The man had a desiccated +appearance. Upon examination, however, one saw that the blood was still +red in his cheeks and lips, and, although his neck was thin and withered +like an old man's, his brown eyes still held their fire. The hair was +almost gone from the top of his large, round head, but it remained at +the sides--stiff, colorless hair, with a hint of red in it. And there +were red streaks in his gray mustache, which was trained outward in two +loose tufts, like shaving-brushes. The mustache and the shallow chin +under it gave him an odd, catlike appearance. Hartley, who rather +disliked the man, used to insist that he had heard him mew. + +Ste. Marie said something politely non-committal, though he did not at +all remember the alleged meeting two years before, and he looked at +Captain Stewart with a real curiosity and interest in his character as +Miss Benham's uncle. He thought it very civil of the elder man to make +these friendly advances when it was in no way incumbent upon him to do +so. + +"I noticed," said Captain Stewart, "that you were placed next my niece, +Helen Benham, at dinner. This must be the first time you two have met, +is it not? I remember speaking of you to her some months ago, and I am +quite sure she said that she had not met you. Ah, yes, of course, you +have been away from Paris a great deal since she and her mother--her +mother is my sister: that is to say, my half-sister--have come here to +live with my father." He gave a little gentle laugh. "I take an elderly +uncle's privilege," he said, "of being rather proud of Helen. She is +called very pretty, and she certainly has great poise." + +Ste. Marie drew a quick breath, and his eyes began to flash as they had +done a few moments before when he told Hartley that his feet were upon +the ladder to the stars. + +"Miss Benham!" he cried. "Miss Benham is--" He hung poised so for a +moment, searching, as it were, for words of sufficient splendor, but in +the end he shook his head and the gleam faded from his eyes. He sank +back in his chair, sighing. "Miss Benham," said he, "is extremely +beautiful." + +And again her uncle emitted his little gentle laugh, which may have +deceived Hartley into believing that he had heard the man mew. The sound +was as much like mewing as it was like anything else. + +"I am very glad," Captain Stewart said, "to see her come out once more +into the world. She needs distraction. We--You may possibly have heard +that the family is in great distress of mind over the disappearance of +my young nephew. Helen has suffered particularly, because she is +convinced that the boy has met with foul play. I myself think it very +unlikely--very unlikely indeed. The lack of motive, for one thing, and +for another--Ah, well, a score of reasons! But Helen refuses to be +comforted. It seems to me much more like a boy's prank--his idea of +revenge for what he considered unjust treatment at his grandfather's +hands. He was always a headstrong youngster, and he has been a bit +spoiled. Still, of course, the uncertainty is very trying for us +all--very wearing." + +"Of course," said Ste. Marie, gravely. "It is most unfortunate. Ah, +by-the-way!" He looked up with a sudden interest. "A rather odd thing +happened," he said, "as Hartley and I were coming here this evening. We +walked up the Champs-Elysees from the Concorde, and on the way Hartley +had been telling me of your nephew's disappearance. Near the Rond Point +we came upon a motor-car which was drawn up at the side of the +street--there had been an accident of no consequence, a boy tumbled over +but not hurt. Well, one of the two occupants of the motor-car was a man +whom I used to see about Maxim's and the Cafe de Paris and the +Montmartre places, too, some time ago--a rather shady character whose +name I've forgotten. The odd part of it all was that on the last +occasion or two on which I saw your nephew he was with this man. I think +it was in Henry's Bar. Of course, it means nothing at all. Your nephew +doubtless knew scores of people, and this man is no more likely to have +information about his present whereabouts than any of the others. Still, +I should have liked to ask him. I didn't remember who he was till he had +gone." + +Captain Stewart shook his head sadly, frowning down upon the cigarette +from which he had knocked the ash. + +"I am afraid poor Arthur did not always choose his friends with the best +of judgment," said he. "I am not squeamish, and I would not have boys +kept in a glass case, but--yes, I'm afraid Arthur was not always too +careful." He replaced the cigarette neatly between his lips. "This man, +now--this man whom you saw to-night--what sort of looking man will he +have been?" + +"Oh, a tall, lean man," said Ste. Marie. "A tall man with blue eyes and +a heavy, old-fashioned mustache. I just can't remember the name." + +The smoke stood still for an instant over Captain Stewart's cigarette, +and it seemed to Ste. Marie that a little contortion of anger fled +across the man's face and was gone again. He stirred slightly in his +chair. After a moment he said: + +"I fancy, from your description--I fancy I know who the man was. If it +is the man I am thinking of, the name is--Powers. He is, as you have +said, a rather shady character, and I more than once warned my nephew +against him. Such people are not good companions for a boy. Yes, I +warned him." + +"Powers," said Ste. Marie, "doesn't sound right to me, you know. I can't +say the fellow's name myself, but I'm sure--that is, I think--it's not +Powers." + +"Oh yes," said Captain Stewart, with an elderly man's half-querulous +certainty. "Yes, the name is Powers. I remember it well. And I +remember--Yes, it was odd, was it not, your meeting him like that, just +as you were talking of Arthur? You--oh, you didn't speak to him, you +say? No, no, to be sure! You didn't recognize him at once. Yes, it was +odd. Of course, the man could have had nothing to do with poor Arthur's +disappearance. His only interest in the boy at any time would have been +for what money Arthur might have, and he carried none, or almost none, +away with him when he vanished. Eh, poor lad! Where can he be to-night, +I wonder? It's a sad business, M. Ste. Marie--a sad business." + +Captain Stewart fell into a sort of brooding silence, frowning down at +the table before him, and twisting with his thin ringers the little +liqueur glass and the coffee-cup which were there. Once or twice, Ste. +Marie thought, the frown deepened and twisted into a sort of scowl, and +the man's fingers twitched on the cloth of the table; but when at last +the group at the other end of the board rose and began to move towards +the door, Captain Stewart rose also and followed them. At the door he +seemed to think of something, and touched Ste. Marie upon the arm. + +"This--ah, Powers," he said, in a low tone--"this man whom you saw +to-night! You said he was one of two occupants of a motor-car. Yes? Did +you by any chance recognize the other?" + +"Oh, the other was a young woman," said Ste. Marie. "No, I never saw her +before. She was very handsome." + +Captain Stewart said something under his breath and turned abruptly +away. But an instant later he faced about once more, smiling. He said, +in a man-of-the-world manner, which sat rather oddly upon him: + +"Ah, well, we all have our little love-affairs. I dare say this shady +fellow has his." And for some obscure reason Ste. Marie found the speech +peculiarly offensive. + +In the drawing-room he had opportunity for no more than a word with Miss +Benham, for Hartley, enraged over his previous ill success, cut in ahead +of him and manoeuvred that young lady into a corner, where he sat before +her, turning a square and determined back to the world. Ste. Marie +listlessly played bridge for a time, but his attention was not upon it, +and he was glad when the others at the table settled their accounts and +departed to look in at a dance somewhere. After that he talked for a +little with Marian de Saulnes, whom he liked and who made no secret of +adoring him. She complained loudly that he was in a vile temper, which +was not true; he was only restless and distrait and wanted to be alone; +and so, at last, he took his leave without waiting for Hartley. + +Outside, in the street, he stood for a moment, hesitating, and an +expectant fiacre drew up before the house, the cocher raising an +interrogative whip. In the end Ste. Marie shook his head and turned away +on foot. It was a still, sweet night of soft airs, and a moonless, +starlit sky, and the man was very fond of walking in the dark. From the +Etoile he walked down the Champs-Elysees, but presently turned toward +the river. His eyes were upon the mellow stars, his feet upon the ladder +thereunto. He found himself crossing the Pont des Invalides, and halted +midway to rest and look. He laid his arms upon the bridge's parapet and +turned his face outward. Against it bore a little gentle breeze that +smelled of the purifying water below and of the night and of green +things growing. Beneath him the river ran black as flowing ink, and +across its troubled surface the many-colored lights of the many bridges +glittered very beautifully, swirling arabesques of gold and crimson. The +noises of the city--beat of hoofs upon wooden pavements, horn of train +or motor-car, jingle of bell upon cab-horse--came here faintly and as if +from a great distance. Above the dark trees of the Cours la Reine the +sky glowed, softly golden, reflecting the million lights of Paris. + +Ste. Marie closed his eyes, and against darkness he saw the beautiful +head of Helen Benham, the clear-cut, exquisite modelling of feature and +contour, the perfection of form and color. Her eyes met his eyes, and +they were very serene and calm and confident. She smiled at him, and the +new contours into which her face fell with the smile were more perfect +than before. He watched the turn of her head, and the grace of the +movement was the uttermost effortless grace one dreams that a queen +should have. The heart of Ste. Marie quickened in him, and he would have +gone down upon his knees. + +He was well aware that with the coming of this girl something +unprecedented, wholly new to his experience, had befallen him--an +awakening to a new life. He had been in love a very great many times. He +was usually in love. And each time his heart had gone through the same +sweet and bitter anguish, the same sleepless nights had come and gone +upon him, the eternal and ever new miracle had wakened spring in his +soul, had passed its summer solstice, had faded through autumnal regrets +to winter's death; but through it all something within him had waited +asleep. + +He found himself wondering dully what it was--wherein lay the great +difference?--and he could not answer the question he asked. He knew only +that whereas before he had loved, he now went down upon prayerful knees +to worship. In a sudden poignant thrill the knightly fervor of his +forefathers came upon him, and he saw a sweet and golden lady set far +above him upon a throne. Her clear eyes gazed afar, serene and +untroubled. She sat wrapped in a sort of virginal austerity, unaware of +the base passions of men. The other women whom Ste. Marie had--as he was +pleased to term it--loved had certainly come at least half-way to meet +him, and some of them had come a good deal farther than that. He could +not, by the wildest flight of imagination, conceive this girl doing +anything of that sort. She was to be won by trial and high endeavor, by +prayer and self-purification--not captured by a warm eye-glance, a +whispered word, a laughing kiss. In fancy he looked from the crowding +cohorts of these others to that still, sweet figure set on high, wrapped +in virginal austerity, calm in her serene perfection, and his soul +abased itself before her. He knelt in an awed and worshipful adoration. + +So before quest or tournament or battle must those elder Ste. +Maries--Ste. Maries de Mont-les-Roses---have knelt, each knight at the +feet of his lady, each knightly soul aglow with the chaste ardor of +chivalry. + +The man's hands tightened upon the parapet of the bridge, he lifted his +face again to the shining stars where-among, as his fancy had it, she +sat enthroned. Exultingly he felt under his feet the rungs of the +ladder, and in the darkness he swore a great oath to have done forever +with blindness and grovelling, to climb and climb, forever to climb, +until at last he should stand where she was--cleansed and made worthy by +long endeavor--at last meet her eyes and touch her hand. + +It was a fine and chivalric frenzy, and Ste. Marie was passionately in +earnest about it, but his guardian angel--indeed, Fate herself--must +have laughed a little in the dark, knowing what manner of man he was in +less exalted hours. + +It was an odd freak of memory that at last recalled him to earth. Every +man knows that when a strong and, for the moment, unavailing effort has +been made to recall something lost to mind, the memory, in some +mysterious fashion, goes on working long after the attention has been +elsewhere diverted, and sometimes hours afterward, or even days, +produces quite suddenly and inappropriately the lost article. Ste. Marie +had turned, with a little sigh, to take up, once more, his walk across +the Pont des Invalides, when seemingly from nowhere, and certainly by no +conscious effort, a name flashed into his mind. He said it aloud: + +"O'Hara! O'Hara! That tall, thin chap's name was O'Hara, by Jove! It +wasn't Powers at all!" He laughed a little as he remembered how very +positive Captain Stewart had been. And then he frowned, thinking that +the mistake was an odd one, since Stewart had evidently known a good +deal about this adventurer. Captain Stewart, though, Ste. Marie +reflected, was exactly the sort to be very sure he was right about +things. He had just the neat and precise and semi-scholarly personality +of the man who always knows. So Ste. Marie dismissed the matter with +another brief laugh, but a cognate matter was less easy to dismiss. The +name brought with it a face--a dark and splendid face with tragic eyes +that called. He walked a long way thinking about them and wondering. The +eyes haunted him. It will have been reasonably evident that Ste. Marie +was a fanciful and imaginative soul. He needed but a chance word, the +sight of a face in a crowd, the glance of an eye, to begin +story-building, and he would go on for hours about it and work himself +up to quite a passion with his imaginings. He should have been a writer +of fiction. + +He began forthwith to construct romances about this lady of the +motor-car. He wondered why she should have been with the shady +Irishman--if Irishman he was--O'Hara, and with some anxiety he wondered +what the two were to each other. Captain Stewart's little cynical jest +came to his mind, and he was conscious of a sudden desire to kick Miss +Benham's middle-aged uncle. + +The eyes haunted him. What was it they suffered? Out of what misery did +they call--and for what? He walked all the long way home to his little +flat overlooking the Luxembourg Gardens, haunted by those eyes. As he +climbed his stair it suddenly occurred to him that they had quite driven +out of his mind the image of his beautiful lady who sat among the stars, +and the realization came to him with a shock. + + * * * * * + + + + +IV + +OLD DAVID STEWART + + +It was Miss Benham's custom, upon returning home at night from +dinner-parties or other entertainments, to look in for a few minutes on +her grandfather before going to bed. The old gentleman, like most +elderly people, slept lightly, and often sat up in bed very late into +the night, reading or playing piquet with his valet. He suffered +hideously at times from the malady which was killing him by degrees, but +when he was free from pain the enormous recuperative power, which he had +preserved to his eighty-sixth year, left him almost as vigorous and +clear-minded as if he had never been ill at all. Hartley's description +of him had not been altogether a bad one: "a quaint old beggar... a +great quantity of white hair and an enormous square white beard and the +fiercest eyes I ever saw..." He was a rather "quaint old beggar," +indeed! He had let his thick, white hair grow long, and it hung down +over his brows in unparted locks as the ancient Greeks wore their hair. +He had very shaggy eyebrows, and the deep-set eyes under them gleamed +from the shadow with a fierceness which was rather deceptive but none +the less intimidating. He had a great beak of a nose, but the mouth +below could not be seen. It was hidden by the mustache and the enormous +square beard. His face was colorless, almost as white as hair and beard; +there seemed to be no shadow or tint anywhere except the cavernous +recesses from which the man's eyes gleamed and sparkled. Altogether he +was certainly "a quaint old beggar." + +He had, during the day and evening, a good many visitors, for the old +gentleman's mind was as alert as it ever had been, and important men +thought him worth consulting. The names which the admirable valet Peters +announced from time to time were names which meant a great deal in the +official and diplomatic world of the day. But if old David felt +flattered over the unusual fashion in which the great of the earth +continued to come to him, he never betrayed it. Indeed, it is quite +probable that this view of the situation never once occurred to him. He +had been thrown with the great of the earth for more than half a +century, and he had learned to take it as a matter of course. + +On her return from the Marquise de Saulnes' dinner-party, Miss Benham +went at once to her grandfather's wing of the house, which had its own +street entrance, and knocked lightly at his door. She asked the +admirable Peters, who opened to her, "Is he awake?" and being assured +that he was, went into the vast chamber, dropping her cloak on a chair +as she entered. + +David Stewart was sitting up in his monumental bed behind a sort of +invalid's table which stretched across his knees without touching them. +He wore over his night-clothes a Chinese mandarin's jacket of old red +satin, wadded with down, and very gorgeously embroidered with the cloud +and bat designs, and with large round panels of the imperial five-clawed +dragon in gold. He had a number of these jackets--they seemed to be his +one vanity in things external--and they were so made that they could be +slipped about him without disturbing him in his bed, since they hung +down only to the waist or thereabouts. They kept the upper part of his +body, which was not covered by the bedclothes, warm, and they certainly +made him a very impressive figure. + +He said: "Ah, Helen! Come in! Come in! Sit down on the bed there and +tell me what you have been doing!" He pushed aside the pack of cards +which was spread out on the invalid's table before him, and with great +care counted a sum of money in francs and half-francs and nickel +twenty-five centime pieces. "I've won seven francs fifty from Peters +to-night," he said, chuckling gently. "That is a very good evening, +indeed. Very good! Where have you been, and who were there?" + +"A dinner-party at the De Saulnes'," said Miss Benham, making herself +comfortable on the side of the great bed. "It's a very pleasant place. +Marian is, of course, a dear, and they're quite English and +unceremonious. You can talk to your neighbor at dinner instead of +addressing the house from a platform, as it were. French dinner-parties +make me nervous." + +Old David gave a little growling laugh. + +"French dinner-parties at least keep people up to the mark in the art of +conversation," said he. "But that is a lost art, anyhow, nowadays, so I +suppose one might as well be quite informal and have done with it. Who +were there?" + +"Oh, well"--she considered, "no one, I should think, who would interest +you. Rather an indifferent set. Pleasant people, but not inspiring. The +Marquis had some young relative or connection who was quite odious and +made the most surprising noises over his food. I met a new man whom I +think I am going to like very much, indeed. He wouldn't interest you, +because he doesn't mean anything in particular, and of course he +oughtn't to interest me for the same reason. He's just an idle, pleasant +young man, but--he has great charm--very great charm. His name is Ste. +Marie. Baron de Vries seems very fond of him, which surprised me, +rather." + +"Ste. Marie!" exclaimed the old gentleman, in obvious astonishment. +"Ste. Marie de Mont Perdu?" + +"Yes," she said. "Yes, that is the name, I believe. You know him, then? +I wonder he didn't mention it." + +"I knew his father," said old David. "And his grandfather, for that +matter. They're Gascon, I think, or Bearnais; but this boy's mother will +have been Irish, unless his father married again. + +"So you've been meeting a Ste. Marie, have you?--and finding that he has +great charm?" The old gentleman broke into one of his growling laughs, +and reached for a long black cigar, which he lighted, eying his +granddaughter the while over the flaring match. "Well," he said, when +the cigar was drawing, "they all have had charm. I should think there +has never been a Ste. Marie without it. They're a sort of embodiment of +romance, that family. This boy's great-grandfather lost his life +defending a castle against a horde of peasants in 1799; his grandfather +was killed in the French campaign in Mexico in '39--at Vera Cruz it was, +I think; and his father died in a filibustering expedition ten years +ago. I wonder what will become of the last Ste. Marie?" Old David's eyes +suddenly sharpened. "You're not going to fall in love with Ste. Marie +and marry him, are you?" he demanded. + +Miss Benham gave a little angry laugh, but her grandfather saw the color +rise in her cheeks for all that. + +"Certainly not," she said, with great decision, "What an absurd idea! +Because I meet a man at a dinner-party and say I like him, must I marry +him to-morrow? I meet a great many men at dinners and things, and a few +of them I like. Heavens!" + +"'Methinks the lady doth protest too much,'" muttered old David into his +huge beard. + +"I beg your pardon?" asked Miss Benham, politely. + +But he shook his head, still growling inarticulately, and began to draw +enormous clouds of smoke from the long black cigar. After a time he took +the cigar once more from his lips and looked thoughtfully at his +granddaughter, where she sat on the edge of the vast bed, upright and +beautiful, perfect in the most meticulous detail. Most women when they +return from a long evening out look more or less the worse for +it--deadened eyes, pale cheeks, loosened coiffure tell their inevitable +tale. Miss Benham looked as if she had just come from the hands of a +very excellent maid. She looked as freshly soignee as she might have +looked at eight that evening instead of at one. Not a wave of her +perfectly undulated hair was loosened or displaced, not a fold of the +lace at her breast had departed from its perfect arrangement. + +"It is odd," said old David Stewart, "your taking a fancy to young Ste. +Marie. Of course, it's natural, too, in a way, because you are complete +opposites, I should think--that is, if this lad is like the rest of his +race. What I mean is that merely attractive young men don't, as a rule, +attract you." + +"Well, no," she admitted, "they don't usually. Men with brains attract +me most, I think--men who are making civilization, men who are ruling +the world, or at least doing important things for it. That's your fault, +you know. You taught me that." + +The old gentleman laughed. + +"Possibly," said he. "Possibly. Anyhow, that is the sort of men you +like, and they like you. You're by no means a fool, Helen; in fact, +you're a woman with brains. You could wield great influence married to +the proper sort of man." + +"But not to M. Ste. Marie," she suggested, smiling across at him. + +"Well, no," he said. "No, not to Ste. Marie. It would be a mistake to +marry Ste. Marie--if he is what the rest of his house have been. The +Ste. Maries live a life compounded of romance and imagination and +emotion. You're not emotional." + +"No," said Miss Benham, slowly and thoughtfully. It was as if the idea +were new to her. "No, I'm not, I suppose. No. Certainly not." + +"As a matter of fact," said old David, "you're by nature rather cold. +I'm not sure it isn't a good thing. Emotional people, I observe, are +usually in hot water of some sort. When you marry you're very likely to +choose with a great deal of care and some wisdom. And you're also likely +to have what is called a career. I repeat that you could wield great +influence in the proper environment." + +The girl frowned across at her grandfather reflectively. + +"Do you mean by that," she asked, after a little silence--"do you mean +that you think I am likely to be moved by sheer ambition and nothing +else in arranging my life? I've never thought of myself as a very +ambitious person." + +"Let us substitute for ambition common-sense," said old David. "I think +you have a great deal of common-sense for a woman--and so young a woman. +How old are you by-the-way? Twenty-two? Yes, to be sure. I think you +have great common-sense and appreciation of values. And I think you're +singularly free of the emotionalism that so often plays hob with them +all. People with common-sense fall in love in the right places." + +"I don't quite like the sound of it," said Miss Benham. "Perhaps I am +rather ambitious--I don't know. Yes, perhaps. I should like to play some +part in the world, I don't deny that. But--am I as cold as you say? I +doubt it very much. I doubt that." + +"You're twenty-two," said her grandfather, "and you have seen a good +deal of society in several capitals. Have you ever fallen in love?" + +Oddly, the face of Ste. Marie came before Miss Benham's eyes as if she +had summoned it there. But she frowned a little and shook her head, +saying: + +"No, I can't say that I have. But that means nothing. There's plenty of +time for that. And you know," she said, after a pause--"you know I'm +rather sure I could fall in love--pretty hard. I'm sure of that. Perhaps +I have been waiting. Who knows?" + +"Aye, who knows?" said David. He seemed all at once to lose interest in +the subject, as old people often do without apparent reason, for he +remained silent for a long time, puffing at the long black cigar or +rolling it absently between his fingers. After awhile he laid it down in +a metal dish which stood at his elbow, and folded his lean hands before +him over the invalid's table. He was still so long that at last his +granddaughter thought he had fallen asleep, and she began to rise from +her seat, taking care to make no noise; but at that the old man stirred +and put out his hand once more for the cigar. "Was young Richard Hartley +at your dinner-party?" he asked, and she said: + +"Yes. Oh yes, he was there. He and M. Ste. Marie came together, I +believe. They are very close friends." + +"Another idler," growled old David. "The fellow's a man of parts--and a +man of family. What's he idling about here for? Why isn't he in +Parliament, where he belongs?" + +"Well," said the girl, "I should think it is because he is too much a +man of family--as you put it. You see, he'll succeed his cousin, Lord +Risdale, before very long, and then all his work would have been for +nothing, because he'll have to take his seat in the Lords. Lord Risdale +is unmarried, you know, and a hopeless invalid. He may die any day. I +think I sympathize with poor Mr. Hartley. It would be a pity to build up +a career for one's self in the lower House, and then suddenly, in the +midst of it, have to give it all up. The situation is rather paralyzing +to endeavor, isn't it?" + +"Yes, I dare say," said old David, absently. He looked up sharply. +"Young Hartley doesn't come here as much as he used to do." + +"No," said Miss Benham, "he doesn't." She gave a little laugh. "To avoid +cross-examination," she said, "I may as well admit that he asked me to +marry him and I had to refuse. I'm sorry, because I like him very much, +indeed." + +Old David made an inarticulate sound which may have been meant to +express surprise--or almost anything else. He had not a great range of +expression. + +"I don't want," said he, "to seem to have gone daft on the subject of +marriage, and I see no reason why you should be in any haste about it. +Certainly I should hate to lose you, my child, but--Hartley as the next +Lord Risdale is undoubtedly a good match. And you say you like him." + +The girl looked up with a sort of defiance, and her face was a little +flushed. + +"I don't love him," she said. "I like him immensely, but I don't love +him, and, after all--well, you say I'm cold, and I admit I'm more or +less ambitious, but, after all--well, I just don't quite love him. I +want to love the man I marry." + +Old David Stewart held up his black cigar and gazed thoughtfully at the +smoke which streamed thin and blue and veil-like from its lighted end. + +"Love!" he said, in a reflective tone. "Love!" He repeated the word two +or three times slowly, and he stirred a little in his bed. "I have +forgotten what it is," said he. "I expect I must be very old. I have +forgotten what love--that sort of love--is like. It seems very far away +to me and rather unimportant. But I remember that I thought it important +enough once, a century or two ago. Do you know, it strikes me as rather +odd that I have forgotten what love is like. It strikes me as rather +pathetic." He gave a sort of uncouth grimace and stuck the black cigar +once more into his mouth. "Egad!" said he, mumbling indistinctly over +the cigar, "how foolish love seems when you look back at it across fifty +or sixty years!" + +Miss Benham rose to her feet smiling, and she came and stood near where +the old man lay propped up against his pillows. She touched his cheek +with her cool hand, and old David put up one of his own hands and patted +it. + +"I'm going to bed now," said she. "I've sat here talking too long. You +ought to be asleep, and so ought I." + +"Perhaps! Perhaps!" the old man said. "I don't feel sleepy, though. I +dare say I shall read a little." He held her hand in his and looked up +at her. + +"I've been talking a great deal of nonsense about marriage," said he. +"Put it out of your head! It's all nonsense. I don't want you to marry +for a long time. I don't want to lose you." His face twisted a little, +quite suddenly. "You're precious near all I have left, now," he said. + +The girl did not answer at once, for it seemed to her that there was +nothing to say. She knew that her grandfather was thinking of the lost +boy, and she knew what a bitter blow the thing had been to him. She +often thought that it would kill him before his old malady could run its +course. + +But after a moment she said, very gently: "We won't give up hope. We'll +never give up hope. Think! he might come home to-morrow! Who knows?" + +"If he has stayed away of his own accord," cried out old David Stewart, +in a loud voice, "I'll never forgive him--not if he comes to me +to-morrow on his knees! Not even if he comes to me on his knees!" + +The girl bent over her grandfather, saying: "Hush! hush! You mustn't +excite yourself." But old David's gray face was working, and his eyes +gleamed from their cavernous shadows with a savage fire. + +"If the boy is staying away out of spite," he repeated, "he need never +come back to me. I won't forgive him." He beat his unemployed hand upon +the table before him, and the things which lay there jumped and danced. +"And if he waits until I'm dead and then comes back," said he, "he'll +find he has made a mistake--a great mistake. He'll find a surprise in +store for him, I can tell you that. I won't tell you what I have done, +but it will be a disagreeable surprise for Master Arthur, you may be +sure." + +The old gentleman fell to frowning and muttering in his choleric +fashion, but the fierce glitter began to go out of his eyes and his +hands ceased to tremble and clutch at the things before him. The girl +was silent, because again there seemed to her to be nothing that she +could say. She longed very much to plead her brother's cause, but she +was sure that would only excite her grandfather, and he was growing +quieter after his burst of anger. She bent down over him and kissed his +cheek. + +"Try to go to sleep," she said. "And don't torture yourself with +thinking about all this. I'm as sure that poor Arthur is not staying +away out of spite as if he were myself. He's foolish and headstrong, but +he's not spiteful, dear. Try to believe that. And now I'm really going. +Good-night." She kissed him again and slipped out of the room. And as +she closed the door she heard her grandfather pull the bell-cord which +hung beside him and summoned the excellent Peters from the room beyond. + + * * * * * + + + + +V + +JASON SETS FORTH UPON THE GREAT ADVENTURE + + +Miss Benham stood at one of the long drawing-room windows of the house +in the rue de l'Universite, and looked out between the curtains upon the +rather grimy little garden, where a few not very prosperous cypresses +and chestnuts stood guard over the rows of lilac shrubs and the +box-bordered flower-beds and the usual moss-stained fountain. She was +thinking of the events of the past month, the month which had elapsed +since the evening of the De Saulnes' dinner-party. They were not at all +startling events; in a practical sense there were no events at all, only +a quiet sequence of affairs which was about as inevitable as the night +upon the day--the day upon the night again. In a word, this girl, who +had considered herself very strong and very much the mistress of her +feelings, found, for the first time in her life, that her strength was +as nothing at all against the potent charm and magnetism of a man who +had almost none of the qualities she chiefly admired in men. During the +month's time she had passed from a phase of angry self-scorn through a +period of bewilderment not unmixed with fear, and from that she had come +into an unknown world, a land very strange to her, where old standards +and judgments seemed to be valueless--a place seemingly ruled altogether +by new emotions, sweet and thrilling, or full of vague terrors as her +mood veered here or there. + +That sublimated form of guesswork which is called "woman's intuition" +told her that Ste. Marie would come to her on this afternoon, and that +something in the nature of a crisis would have to be faced. It can be +proved even by poor masculine mathematics that guesswork, like other +gambling ventures, is bound to succeed about half the time, and it +succeeded on this occasion. Even as Miss Benham stood at the window +looking out through the curtains, M. Ste. Marie was announced from the +doorway. + +She turned to meet him with a little frown of determination, for in his +absence she was often very strong, indeed, and sometimes she made up and +rehearsed little speeches of great dignity and decision in which she +told him that he was attempting a quite hopeless thing, and, as a +well-wishing friend, advised him to go away and attempt it no longer. +But as Ste. Marie came quickly across the room toward her, the little +frown wavered and at last fled from her face and another look came +there. It was always so. The man's bodily presence exerted an absolute +spell over her. + +"I have been sitting with your grandfather for half an hour," Ste. Marie +said. And she said: + +"Oh, I'm glad! I'm very glad! You always cheer him up. He hasn't been +too cheerful or too well of late." She unnecessarily twisted a chair +about, and after a moment sat down in it. And she gave a little laugh. +"This friendship which has grown up between my grandfather and you," +said she--"I don't understand it at all. Of course, he knew your father +and all that; but you two seem such very different types, I shouldn't +think you would amuse each other at all. There's Mr. Hartley, for +example. I should expect my grandfather to like him very much better +than you, but he doesn't--though I fancy he approves of him much more." + +She laughed again, but a different laugh; and when he heard it Ste. +Marie's eyes gleamed a little and his hands moved beside him. + +"I expect," said she--"I expect, you know, that he just likes you +without stopping to think why--as everybody else does. I fancy it's just +that. What do you think?" + +"Oh, I?" said the man. "I--how should I know? I know it's a great +privilege to be allowed to see him--such a man as that. And I know we +get on wonderfully well. He doesn't condescend, as most old men do who +have led important lives. We just talk as two men in a club might talk, +and I tell him stories and make him laugh. Oh yes, we get on wonderfully +well." + +"Oh," said she, "I've often wondered what you talk about. What did you +talk about to-day?" + +Ste. Marie turned abruptly away from her and went across to one of the +windows--the window where she had stood earlier, looking out upon the +dingy garden. She saw him stand there, with his back turned, the head a +little bent, the hands twisting together behind him, and a sudden fit of +nervous shivering wrung her. Every woman knows when a certain thing is +going to be said to her, and usually she is prepared for it, though +usually, also, she says she is not. Miss Benham knew what was coming +now, and she was frightened, not of Ste. Marie, but of herself. It meant +so very much to her--more than to most women at such a time. It meant, +if she said yes to him, the surrender of almost all the things she had +cared for and hoped for. It meant the giving up of that career which old +David Stewart had dwelt upon a month ago. + +Ste. Marie turned back into the room. He came a little way toward where +the girl sat, and halted, and she could see that he was very pale. A +sort of critical second self noticed that he was pale and was surprised, +because, although men's faces often turn red, they seldom turn +noticeably pale except in very great nervous crises--or in works of +fiction; while women, on the contrary, may turn red and white twenty +times a day, and no harm done. He raised his hands a little way from his +sides in the beginning of a gesture, but they dropped again as if there +was no strength in them. + +"I told him," said Ste. Marie, in a flat voice--"I told your grandfather +that I--loved you more than anything in this world or in the next. I +told him that my love for you had made another being of me--a new being. +I told him that I wanted to come to you and to kneel at your feet, and +to ask you if you could give me just a little, little hope--something to +live for, a light to climb toward. That is what we talked about, your +grandfather and I." + +"Ste. Marie! Ste. Marie!" said the girl, in a half whisper. "What did my +grandfather say to you?" she asked, after a silence. + +Ste. Marie looked away. + +"I cannot tell you," he said. "He--was not quite sympathetic." + +The girl gave a little cry. + +"Tell me what he said!" she demanded. "I must know what he said." + +The man's eyes pleaded with her, but she held him with her gaze, and in +the end he gave in. + +"He said I was a damned fool," said Ste. Marie. + +And the girl, after an instant of staring, broke into a little fit of +nervous, overwrought laughter, and covered her face with her hands. + +He threw himself upon his knees before her, and her laughter died away. +An Englishman or an American cannot do that. Richard Hartley, for +example, would have looked like an idiot upon his knees, and he would +have felt it. But it did not seem extravagant with Ste. Marie. It became +him. + +"Listen! Listen!" he cried to her, but the girl checked him before he +could go on. + +She dropped her hands from her face, and she bent a little forward over +the man as he knelt there. She put out her hands and took his head for a +swift instant between them, looking down into his eyes. At the touch a +sudden wave of tenderness swept her--almost an engulfing wave; it almost +overwhelmed her and bore her away from the land she knew. And so when +she spoke her voice was not quite steady. She said: + +"Ah, dear Ste. Marie! I cannot pretend to be cold toward you. You have +laid a spell upon me, Ste. Marie. You enchant us all, somehow, don't +you? I suppose I'm not so different from the others as I thought I was. +And yet," she said, "he was right, you know. My grandfather was right. +No, let me talk, now. I must talk for a little. I must try to tell you +how it is with me--try somehow to find a way. He was right. He meant +that you and I were utterly unsuited to each other, and so, in calm +moments, I know we are. I know that well enough. When you're not with +me, I feel very sure about it. I think of a thousand excellent reasons +why you and I ought to be no more to each other than friends. Do you +know, I think my grandfather is a little uncanny. I think he has +prophetic powers. They say very old people often have. He and I talked +about you when I came home from that dinner-party at the De Saulnes', a +month ago--the dinner-party where you and I first met. I told him that I +had met a man whom I liked very much--a man with great charm; and though +I must have said the same sort of thing to him before about other men, +he was quite oddly disturbed, and talked for a long time about it--about +the sort of man I ought to marry and the sort I ought not to marry. It +was unusual for him. He seldom says anything of that kind. Yes, he is +right. You see, I'm ambitious in a particular way. If I marry at all I +ought to marry a man who is working hard in politics or in something of +that kind. I could help him. We could do a great deal together." + +"I could go into politics!" cried Ste. Marie; but she shook her head, +smiling down upon him. + +"No, not you, my dear. Politics least of all. You could be a soldier, if +you chose. You could fight as your father and your grandfather and the +others of your house have done. You could lead a forlorn hope in the +field. You could suffer and starve and go on fighting. You could die +splendidly, but--politics, no! That wants a tougher shell than you have. +And a soldier's wife! Of what use to him is she?" + +Ste. Marie's face was very grave. He looked up to her, smiling. + +"Do you set ambition before love, my Queen?" he asked, and she did not +answer him at once. + +She looked into his eyes, and she was as grave as he. + +"Is love all?" she said, at last. "Is love all? Ought one to think of +nothing but love when one is settling one's life forever? I wonder? I +look about me, Ste. Marie," she said, "and in the lives of my +friends--the people who seem to me to be most worth while, the people +who are making the world's history for good or ill--and it seems to me +that in their lives love has the second place--or the third. I wonder if +one has the right to set it first. There is, of course," she said, "the +merely domestic type of woman--the woman who has no thought and no +interest beyond her home. I am not that type of woman. Perhaps I wish I +were. Certainly they are the happiest. But I was brought up among--well, +among important people--men of my grandfather's kind. All my training +has been toward that life. Have I the right, I wonder, to give it all +up?" + +The man stirred at her feet, and she put out her hands to him quickly. + +"Do I seem brutal?" she cried. "Oh, I don't want to be! Do I seem very +ungenerous and wrapped up in my own side of the thing? I don't mean to +be that, but--I'm not sure. I expect it's that. I'm not sure, and I +think I'm a little frightened." She gave him a brief, anxious smile that +was not without its tenderness. "I'm so sure," she said, "when I'm away +from you. But when you're here--oh, I forget all I've thought of. You +lay your spell upon me." + +Ste. Marie gave a little wordless cry of joy. He caught her two hands in +his and held them against his lips. Again that great wave of tenderness +swept her, almost engulfing. But when it had ebbed she sank back once +more in her chair, and she withdrew her hands from his clasp. + +"You make me forget too much," she said. "I think you make me forget +everything that I ought to remember. Oh, Ste. Marie, have I any right to +think of love and happiness while this terrible mystery is upon +us--while we don't know whether poor Arthur is alive or dead? You've +seen what it has brought my grandfather to! It is killing him. He has +been much worse in the past fortnight. And my mother is hardly a ghost +of herself in these days. Ah, it is brutal of me to think of my own +affairs--to dream of happiness at such a time." She smiled across at him +very sadly. "You see what you have brought me to!" she said. + +Ste. Marie rose to his feet. If Miss Benham, absorbed in that warfare +which raged within her, had momentarily forgotten the cloud of sorrow +under which her household lay, so much the more had he, to whom the +sorrow was less intimate, forgotten it. But he was ever swift to +sympathy, Ste. Marie--as quick as a woman, and as tender. He could not +thrust his love upon the girl at such a time as this. He turned a little +away from her, and so remained for a moment. When he faced about again +the flush had gone from his cheeks and the fire from his eyes. Only +tenderness was left there. + +"There has been no news at all this week?" he asked, and the girl shook +her head. + +"None! None! Shall we ever have news of him, I wonder? Must we go on +always and never know? It seems to me almost incredible that any one +could disappear so completely. And yet, I dare say, many people have +done it before and have been as carefully sought for. If only I could +believe that he is alive! If only I could believe that!" + +"I believe it," said Ste. Marie. + +"Ah," she said, "you say that to cheer me. You have no reason to offer." + +"Dead bodies very seldom disappear completely," said he. "If your +brother died anywhere there would be a record of the death. If he were +accidentally killed there would be a record of that, too; and, of +course, you are having all such records constantly searched?" + +"Oh yes," she said. "Yes, of course--at least, I suppose so. My uncle +has been directing the search. Of course, he would take an obvious +precaution like that." + +"Naturally," said Ste. Marie. "Your uncle, I should say, is an unusually +careful man." He paused a moment to smile. "He makes his little +mistakes, though. I told you about that man O'Hara, and about how sure +Captain Stewart was that the name was Powers. Do you know"--Ste. Marie +had been walking up and down the room, but he halted to face her--"do +you know, I have a very strong feeling that if one could find this man +O'Hara, one would learn something about what became of your brother? I +have no reason for thinking that, but I feel it." + +"Oh," said the girl, doubtfully, "I hardly think that could be so. What +motive could the man have for harming my brother?" + +"None," said Ste. Marie; "but he might have an excellent motive for +hiding him away--kidnapping him. Is that the word? Yes, I know, you're +going to say that no demand has been made for money, and that is where +my argument--if I can call it an argument--is weak. But the fellow may +be biding his time. Anyhow, I should like to have five minutes alone +with him. I'll tell you another thing. It's a trifle, and it may be of +no consequence, but I add it to my vague and--if you like--foolish +feeling, and make something out of it. I happened, some days ago, to +meet at the Cafe de Paris a man who I knew used to know this O'Hara. He +was not, I think, a friend of his at all, but an acquaintance. I asked +him what had become of O'Hara, saying that I hadn't seen him in some +weeks. Well, this man said O'Hara had gone away somewhere a couple of +months ago. He didn't seem at all surprised, for it appears the +Irishman--if he is an Irishman--is decidedly a haphazard sort of person, +here to-day, gone to-morrow. No, the man wasn't surprised, but he was +rather angry, because he said O'Hara owed him some money. I said I +thought he must be mistaken about the fellow's absence, because I'd seen +him in the street within the month--on the evening of our dinner-party, +you remember--but this man was very sure that I had made a mistake. He +said that if O'Hara had been in town he was sure to have known it. Well, +the point is here. Your brother disappears at a certain time. At the +same time this Irish adventurer disappears, too, _and_ your brother was +known to have frequented the Irishman's company. It may be only a +coincidence, but I can't help feeling that there's something in it." + +Miss Benham was sitting up straight in her chair with a little alert +frown. + +"Have you spoken of this to my uncle?" she demanded. + +"Well--no," said Ste. Marie. "Not the latter part of it--that is, not my +having heard of O'Hara's disappearance. In the first place, I learned of +that only three days ago, and I have not seen Captain Stewart since--I +rather expected to find him here to-day; and, in the second place, I was +quite sure that he would only laugh. He has laughed at me two or three +times for suggesting that this Irishman might know something. Captain +Stewart is--not easy to convince, you know." + +"I know," she said, looking away. "He's always very certain that he's +right. Well, perhaps he is right. Who knows?" She gave a little sob. +"Oh!" she cried, "shall we ever have my brother back? Shall we ever see +him again? It is breaking my heart, Ste. Marie, and it is killing my +grandfather and, I think, my mother, too! Oh, can nothing be done?" + +Ste. Marie was walking up and down the floor before her, his hands +clasped behind his back. When she had finished speaking the girl saw him +halt beside one of the windows, and after a moment she saw his head go +up sharply and she heard him give a sudden cry. She thought he had seen +something from the window which had wrung that exclamation from him, and +she asked: + +"What is it?" + +But abruptly the man turned back into the room and came across to where +she sat. It seemed to her that his face had a new look--a very strange +exaltation which she had never before seen there. He said: + +"Listen! I do not know if anything can be done that has not been done +already, but if there is anything I shall do it, you may be sure." + +"_You_, Ste. Marie?" she cried, in a sharp voice. "_You?_" + +"And why not I?" he demanded. + +"Oh, my friend," said she, "you could do nothing! You wouldn't know +where to turn, how to set to work. Remember that a score of men who are +skilled in this kind of thing have been searching for two months. What +could you do that they haven't done?" + +"I do not know, my Queen," said Ste. Marie, "but I shall do what I can. +Who knows? Sometimes the fool who rushes in where angels have feared to +tread succeeds where they have failed. Oh, let me do this!" he cried +out. "Let me do it for both our sakes--for yours and for mine! It is for +your sake most. I swear that! It is to set you at peace again, bring +back the happiness you have lost. But it is for my sake, too, a little. +It will be a test of me, a trial. If I can succeed here where so many +have failed, if I bring back your brother to you--or, at least, discover +what has become of him--I shall be able to come to you with less shame +for my--unworthiness." + +He looked down upon her with eager, burning eyes, and, after a little, +the girl rose to face him. She was very white, and she stared at him +silently. + +"When I came to you to-day," he went on, "I knew that I had nothing to +offer you but my faithful love and my life, which has been a life +without value. In exchange for that I asked too much. I knew it, and you +knew it, too. I know well enough what sort of man you ought to marry, +and what a brilliant career you could make for yourself in the proper +place--what great influence you could wield. But I asked you to give +that all up, and I hadn't anything to offer in its place--nothing but +love. My Queen, give me a chance now to offer you more! If I can bring +back your brother or news of him, I can come to you without shame and +ask you to marry me, because if I can succeed in that you will know that +I can succeed in other things. You will be able to trust me. You'll know +that I can climb. It shall be a sort of symbol. Let me go!" + +The girl broke into a sort of sobbing laughter. + +"Oh, divine madman!" she cried. "Are you all mad, you Ste. Maries, that +you must be forever leading forlorn hopes? Oh, how you are, after all, a +Ste. Marie! Now, at last, I know why one cannot but love you. You're the +knight of old. You're chivalry come down to us. You're a ghost out of +the past when men rode in armor with pure hearts seeking the Great +Adventure. Oh, my friend," she said, "be wise. Give this up in time. It +is a beautiful thought, and I love you for it, but it is madness--yes, +yes, a sweet madness, but mad, nevertheless! What possible chance would +you have of success? And think--think how failure would hurt you--and +me! You must not do it, Ste. Marie." + +"Failure will never hurt me, my Queen," said he, "because there are no +hurts in the grave, and I shall never give over searching until I +succeed or until I am dead." His face was uplifted, and there was a sort +of splendid fervor upon it. It was as if it shone. + +The girl stared at him dumbly. She began to realize that the knightly +spirit of those gallant, long dead gentlemen was indeed descended upon +the last of their house, that he burnt with the same pure fire which had +long ago lighted them through quest and adventure, and she was a little +afraid with an almost superstitious fear. She put out her hands upon the +man's shoulders, and she moved a little closer to him, holding him. + +"Oh, madness, madness!" she said, watching his face. + +"Let me do it!" said Ste. Marie. + +And after a silence that seemed to endure for a long time, she sighed, +shaking her head, and said she: + +"Oh, my friend, there is no strength in me to stop you. I think we are +both a little mad, and I know that you are very mad, but I cannot say +no. You seem to have come out of another century to take up this quest. +How can I prevent you? But listen to one thing. If I accept this +sacrifice, if I let you give your time and your strength to this almost +hopeless attempt, it must be understood that it is to be within certain +limits. I will not accept any indefinite thing. You may give your +efforts to trying to find trace of my brother for a month if you like, +or for three months, or six, or even a year, but not for more than that. +If he is not found in a year's time we shall know that--we shall know +that he is dead, and that--further search is useless. I cannot say how +I--Oh, Ste. Marie, Ste. Marie, this is a proof of you, indeed! And I +have called you idle. I have said hard things of you. It is very bitter +to me to think that I have said those things." + +"They were true, my Queen," said he, smiling. "They were quite, quite +true. It is for me to prove now that they shall be true no longer." He +took the girl's hand in his rather ceremoniously, and bent his head and +kissed it. As he did so he was aware that she stirred, all at once, +uneasily, and when he had raised his head he looked at her in question. + +"I thought some one was coming into the room," she explained, looking +beyond him. "I thought some one started to come in between the portieres +yonder. It must have been a servant." + +"Then it is understood," said Ste. Marie. "To bring you back your +happiness, and to prove myself in some way worthy of your love, I am to +devote myself with all my effort and all my strength to finding your +brother or some trace of him, and until I succeed I will not see your +face again, my Queen." + +"Oh, that!" she cried--"that, too?" + +"I will not see you," said he, "until I bring you news of him, or until +my year is passed and I have failed utterly. I know what risk I run. If +I fail, I lose you. That is understood, too. But if I succeed--" + +"Then?" she said, breathing quickly. "Then?" + +"Then," said he, "I shall come to you, and I shall feel no shame in +asking you to marry me, because then you will know that there is in me +some little worthiness, and that in our lives together you need not be +buried in obscurity--lost to the world." + +"I cannot find any words to say," said she. "I am feeling just now very +humble and very ashamed. It seems that I haven't known you at all. Oh +yes, I am ashamed." + +The girl's face, habitually so cool and composed, was flushed with a +beautiful flush, and it had softened, and it seemed to quiver between a +smile and a tear. With a swift movement she leaned close to him, holding +by his shoulder, and for an instant her cheek was against his. She +whispered to him: + +"Oh, find him quickly, my dear! Find him quickly, and come back to me!" + +Ste. Marie began to tremble, and she stood away from him. Once he looked +up, but the flush was gone from Miss Benham's cheeks and she was pale +again. She stood with her hands tight clasped over her breast. So he +bowed to her very low, and turned and went out of the room and out of +the house. + +So quickly did he move at this last that a man who had been, for some +moments, standing just outside the portieres of the doorway had barely +time to step aside into the shadows of the dim hall. As it was, Ste. +Marie, in a more normal moment, must have seen that the man was there; +but his eyes were blind, and he saw nothing. He groped for his hat and +stick as if the place were a place of gloom, and, because the footman +who should have been at the door was in regions unknown, he let himself +out, and so went away. + +Then the man who stood apart in the shadows crossed the hall to a small +room which was furnished as a library, but not often used. He closed the +door behind him, and went to one of the windows which gave upon the +street. And he stood there for a long time, drawing absurd invisible +pictures upon the glass with one finger and staring thoughtfully out +into the late June afternoon. + + * * * * * + + + + +VI + +A BRAVE GENTLEMAN RECEIVES A HURT, BUT VOLUNTEERS IN A GOOD CAUSE + + +When Ste. Marie had gone, Miss Benham sat alone in the drawing-room for +almost an hour. She had been stirred that afternoon more deeply than she +thought she had ever been stirred before, and she needed time to regain +that cool poise, that mental equilibrium, which was normal to her and +necessary for coherent thought. + +She was still in a sort of fever of bewilderment and exaltation, still +all aglow with the man's own high fervor; but the second self which so +often sat apart from her, and looked on with critical, mocking eyes, +whispered that to-morrow, the fever past, the fervor cooled, she must +see the thing in its true light--a glorious lunacy born of a moment of +enthusiasm. It was finely romantic of him, this mocking second self +whispered to her--picturesque beyond criticism--but, setting aside the +practical folly of it, could even the mood last? + +The girl rose to her feet with an angry exclamation. She found herself +intolerable at such times as this. + +"If there's a heaven," she cried out, "and by chance I ever go there, I +suppose I shall walk sneering through the streets and saying to myself: +'Oh yes, it's pretty enough, but how absurd and unpractical!'" + +She passed before one of the small, narrow mirrors which were let into +the walls of the room in gilt Louis Seize frames with candles beside +them, and she turned and stared at her very beautiful reflection with a +resentful wonder. + +"Shall I always drag along so far behind him?" she said. "Shall I never +rise to him, save in the moods of an hour?" + +She began suddenly to realize what the man's going away meant--that she +might not see him again for weeks, months, even a year. For was it at +all likely that he could succeed in what he had undertaken? + +"Why did I let him go?" she cried. "Oh, fool, fool, to let him go!" But +even as she said it she knew that she could not have held him back. + +She began to be afraid, not for him, but of herself. He had taught her +what it might be to love. For the first time love's premonitory +thrill--promise of unspeakable, uncomprehended mysteries--had wrung her, +and the echo of that thrill stirred in her yet; but what might not +happen in his long absence? She was afraid of that critical and +analyzing power of mind which she had so long trained to attack all that +came to her. What might it not work with the new thing that had come? To +what pitiful shreds might it not be rent while he who only could renew +it was away? She looked ahead at the weeks and months to come, and she +was terribly afraid. + +She went out of the room and up to her grandfather's chamber and knocked +there. The admirable Peters, who opened to her, said that his master had +not been very well, and was just then asleep, but as they spoke together +in low tones the old gentleman cried, testily, from within: + +"Well? Well? Who's there? Who wants to see me? Who is it?" + +Miss Benham went into the dim, shaded room, and when old David saw who +it was he sank back upon his pillows with a pacified growl. He certainly +looked ill, and he had grown thinner and whiter within the past month, +and the lines in his waxlike face seemed to be deeper scored. + +The girl went up beside the bed and stood there a moment, after she had +bent over and kissed her grandfather's cheek, stroking with her hand the +absurdly gorgeous mandarin's jacket--an imperial yellow one this time. + +"Isn't this new?" she asked. "I seem never to have seen this one before. +It's quite wonderful." + +The old gentleman looked down at it with the pride of a little girl over +her first party frock. He came as near simpering as a fierce person of +eighty-six, with a square white beard, can come. + +"Rather good--what? What?" said he. "Yes, it's new. De Vries sent it me. +It is my best one. Imperial yellow. Did you notice the little Show +medallions with the swastika? Young Ste. Marie was here this afternoon." +He introduced the name with no pause or change of expression, as if Ste. +Marie were a part of the decoration of the mandarin's jacket. "I told +him he was a damned fool." + +"Yes," said Miss Benham, "I know. He said you did. I suppose," she said, +"that in a sort of very informal fashion I am engaged to him. Well, no, +perhaps not quite that; but he seems to consider himself engaged to me, +and when he has finished something very important that he has undertaken +to do he is coming to ask me definitely to marry him. No, I suppose we +aren't engaged yet; at least, I'm not. But it's almost the same, because +I suppose I shall accept him whether he fails or succeeds in what he is +doing." + +"If he fails in it, whatever it may be," said old David, "he won't give +you a chance to accept him; he won't come back. I know him well enough +for that. He's a romantic fool, but he's a thoroughgoing fool. He plays +the game." The old man looked up to his granddaughter, scowling a +little. "You two are absurdly unsuited to each other," said he, "and I +told Ste. Marie so. I suppose you think you're in love with him." + +"Yes," said the girl, "I suppose I do." + +"Idleness and all? You were rather severe on idleness at one time." + +"He isn't idle any more," said she. "He has undertaken--of his own +accord--to find Arthur. He has some theory about it; and he is not going +to see me again until he has succeeded--or until a year is past. If he +fails, I fancy he won't come back." + +Old David gave a sudden hoarse exclamation, and his withered hands shook +and stirred before him. Afterward he fell to half-inarticulate +muttering. + +"The young romantic fool!--Don Quixote--like all the rest of them--those +Ste. Maries. The fool and the angels. The angels and the fool." + +The girl distinguished words from time to time. For the most part, he +mumbled under his breath. But when he had been silent a long time, he +said, suddenly: + +"It would be ridiculously like him to succeed." + +The girl gave a little sigh. + +"I wish I dared hope for it," said she. "I wish I dared hope for it." + +She had left a book that she wanted in the drawing-room, and, when +presently her grandfather fell asleep in his fitful manner, she went +down after it. In crossing the hall she came upon Captain Stewart, who +was dressed for the street and had his hat and stick in his hands. He +did not live in his father's house, for he had a little flat in the rue +du Faubourg St. Honore, but he was in and out a good deal. He paused +when he saw his niece, and smiled upon her a benignant smile which she +rather disliked, because she disliked benignant people. The two really +saw very little of each other, though Captain Stewart often sat for +hours together with his sister, up in a little boudoir which she had +furnished in the execrable taste which to her meant comfort, while that +timid and colorless lady embroidered strange tea cloths with stranger +flora, and prattled about the heathen, in whom she had an academic +interest. + +He said: "Ah, my dear! It's you?" + +Indisputably it was, and there seemed to be no use of denying it, so +Miss Benham said nothing, but waited for the man to go on if he had more +to say. + +"I dropped in," he continued, "to see my father, but they told me he was +asleep, and so I didn't disturb him. I talked a little while with your +mother instead." + +"I have just come from him," said Miss Benham. "He dozed off again as I +left. Still, if you had anything in particular to tell him, he'd be glad +to be wakened, I fancy. There's no news?" + +"No," said Captain Stewart, sadly--"no, nothing. I do not give up hope, +but I am, I confess, a little discouraged." + +"We are all that, I should think," said Miss Benham, briefly. + +She gave him a little nod and turned away into the drawing-room. Her +uncle's peculiar dry manner irritated her at times beyond bearing, and +she felt that this was one of the times. She had never had any reason +for doubting that he Was a good and kindly soul, but she disliked him +because he bored her. Her mother bored her, too--the poor woman bored +everybody--but the sense of filial obligation was strong enough in the +girl to prevent her from acknowledging this even to herself. In regard +to her uncle she had no sense of obligation whatever, except to be as +civil to him as possible, and so she kept out of his way. She heard the +heavy front door close, and gave a little sigh of relief. + +"If he had come in here and tried to talk to me," she said, "I should +have screamed." + + * * * * * + +Meanwhile Ste. Marie, a man moving in a dream, uplifted, +cloud-enwrapped, made his way homeward. He walked all the long +distance--that is, looking backward upon it, later, he thought he must +have walked, but the half-hour was a blank to him, an indeterminate, a +chaotic whirl of things and emotions. + +In the little flat in the rue d'Assas he came upon Richard Hartley, who, +having found the door unlocked and the master of the place absent, had +sat comfortably down, with a pipe and a stack of _Couriers Francais_, to +wait. Ste. Marie burst into the doorway of the room where his friend sat +at ease. Hat, gloves, and stick fell away from him in a sort of shower. +He extended his arms high in the air. His face was, as it were, +luminous. The Englishman regarded him morosely. He said: + +"You look as if somebody had died and left you money. What the devil you +looking like that for?" + +"He!" cried Ste. Marie, in a great voice. "He, the world is mine! +Embrace me, my infant! Sacred name of a pig, why do you sit there? +Embrace me!" + +He began to stride about the room, his head between his hands. Speech +lofty and ridiculous burst from him in a sort of splutter of fireworks, +but the Englishman sat still in his chair, and a gray, bleak look came +upon him, for he began to understand. He was more or less used to these +outbursts, and he bore them as patiently as he could, but though seven +times out of the ten they were no more than spasms of pure joy of +living, and meant, "It's a fine spring day," or "I've just seen two +beautiful princesses of milliners in the street," an inner voice told +him that this time it meant another thing. Quite suddenly he realized +that he had been waiting for this--bracing himself against its +onslaught. He had not been altogether blind through the past month. Ste. +Marie seized him and dragged him from his chair. + +"Dance, lump of flesh! Dance, sacred English rosbif that you are! Sing, +gros polisson! Sing!" Abruptly, as usual, the mania departed from him, +but not the glory; his eyes shone bright and triumphant. "Ah, my old," +said he, "I am near the stars at last. My feet are on the top rungs of +the ladder. Tell me that you are glad!" + +The Englishman drew a long breath. + +"I take it," said he, "that means that you're--that she has accepted +you, eh?" He held out his hand. He was a brave and honest man. Even in +pain he was incapable of jealousy. He said: "I ought to want to murder +you, but I don't. I congratulate you. You're an undeserving beggar, but +so were the rest of us. It was an open field, and you've won quite +honestly. My best wishes!" + +Then at last Ste. Marie understood, and in a flash the glory went out of +his face. He cried: "Ah, mon cher ami! Pig that I am to forget. Pig! +Pig! Animal!" + +The other man saw that tears had sprung to his eyes, and was horribly +embarrassed to the very bottom of his good British soul. + +"Yes! Yes!" he said, gruffly. "Quite so, quite so! No consequence!" He +dragged his hands away from Ste. Marie's grasp, stuck them in his +pockets, and turned to the window beside which he had been sitting. It +looked out over the sweet green peace of the Luxembourg Gardens, with +their winding paths and their clumps of trees and shrubbery, their +flaming flower-beds, their groups of weather-stained sculpture. A youth +in laborer's corduroys and an unclean beret strolled along under the +high palings; one arm was about the ample waist of a woman somewhat the +youth's senior, but, as ever, love was blind. The youth carolled in a +high, clear voice, "Vous etes si jolie," a song of abundant sentiment, +and the woman put up one hand and patted his cheek. So they strolled on +and turned up into the rue Vavin. + +Ste. Marie, across the room, looked at his friend's square back, and +knew that in his silent way the man was suffering. A great sadness, the +recoil from his trembling heights of bliss, came upon him and enveloped +him. Was it true that one man's joy must inevitably be another's pain? +He tried to imagine himself in Hartley's place, Hartley in his, and he +gave a little shiver. He knew that if that bouleversement were actually +to take place he would be as glad for his friend's sake as poor Hartley +was now for his, but he knew also that the smile of congratulation would +be a grimace of almost intolerable pain, and so he knew what Hartley's +black hour must be like. + +"You must forgive me," he said. "I had forgotten. I don't know why. +Well, yes, happiness is a very selfish state of mind, I suppose. One +thinks of nothing but one's self--and one other. I--during this past +month I've been in the clouds. You must forgive me." + +The Englishman turned back into the room. Ste. Marie saw that his face +was as completely devoid of expression as it usually was, that his +hands, when he chose and lighted a cigarette, were quite steady, and he +marvelled. That would have been impossible for him under such +circumstances. + +"She has accepted you, I take it?" said Hartley again. + +"Not quite that," said he. "Sit down and I'll tell you about it." So he +told him about his hour with Miss Benham, and about what had been agreed +upon between them, and about what he had undertaken to do. "Apart from +wishing to do everything in this world that I can do to make her happy," +he said--"and she will never be at peace again until she knows the truth +about her brother--apart from that, I'm purely selfish in the thing. +I've got to win her respect, as well as--the rest. I want her to respect +me, and she has never quite done that. I'm an idler. So are you, but you +have a perfectly good excuse. I have not. I've been an idler because it +suited me, because nothing turned up, and because I have enough to eat +without working for my living. I know how she has felt about all that. +Well, she shall feel it no longer." + +"You're taking on a big order," said the other man. + +"The bigger the better," said Ste. Marie. "And I shall succeed in it or +never see her again. I've sworn that." + +The odd look of exaltation that Miss Benham had seen in his face, the +look of knightly fervor, came there again, and Hartley saw it, and knew +that the man was stirred by no transient whim. Oddly enough he thought, +as had the girl earlier in the day, of those elder Ste. Maries, who had +taken sword and lance and gone out into a strange world--a place of +unknown terrors--afire for the Great Adventure. And this was one of +their blood. + +"I'm afraid you don't realize," he went on, "the difficulties you've got +to face. Better men than you have failed over this thing, you know." + +"A worse might nevertheless succeed," said Ste. Marie. And the other +said: + +"Yes. Oh yes. And there's always luck to be considered, of course. You +might stumble on some trace." He threw away his cigarette and lighted +another, and he smoked it down almost to the end before he spoke. At +last he said: "I want to tell you something. The reason why I want to +tell it comes a little later. A few weeks before you returned to Paris I +asked Miss Benham to marry me." + +Ste. Marie looked up with a quick sympathy. "Ah," said he. "I have +sometimes thought--wondered. I have wondered if it went as far as that. +Of course, I could see that you had known her well, though you seldom go +there nowadays." + +"Yes," said Hartley, "it went as far as that, but no farther. She--well, +she didn't care for me--not in that way. So I stiffened my back and shut +my mouth, and got used to the fact that what I'd hoped for was +impossible. And now comes the reason for telling you what I've told. I +want you to let me help you in what you're going to do--if you think you +can, that is. Remember, I--cared for her, too. I'd like to do something +for her. It would never have occurred to me to do this until you thought +of it, but I should like very much to lend a hand--do some of the work. +D'you think you could let me in?" + +Ste. Marie stared at him in open astonishment, and, for an instant, +something like dismay. + +"Yes, yes! I know what you're thinking," said the Englishman. "You'd +hoped to do it all yourself. It's _your_ game. I know. Well, it's your +game even if you let me come in. I'm just a helper. Some one to run +errands. Some one, perhaps, to take counsel with now and then. Look at +it on the practical side. Two heads are certainly better than one. +Certainly I could be of use to you. And besides--well, I want to do +something for her. I--cared, too, you see. D'you think you could take me +in?" + +It was the man's love that made his appeal irresistible. No one could +appeal to Ste. Marie on that score in vain. It was true that he had +hoped to work alone--to win or lose alone; to stand, in this matter, +quite on his own feet; but he could not deny the man who had loved her +and lost her. Ste. Marie thrust out his hand. + +"You love her, too!" he said. "That is enough. We work together. I have +a possibly foolish idea that if we can find a certain man we will learn +something about Arthur Benham. I'll tell you about it." + +But before he could begin the door-bell jangled. + + * * * * * + + + + +VII + +CAPTAIN STEWART MAKES A KINDLY OFFER + + +Ste. Marie scowled. + +"A caller would come singularly malapropos just now," said he. "I've +half a mind not to go to the door. I want to talk this thing over with +you." + +"Whoever it is," objected Hartley, "has been told by the concierge that +you're at home. It may not be a caller, anyhow. It may be a parcel or +something. You'd best go." + +So Ste. Marie went out into the little passage, blaspheming fluently the +while. The Englishman heard him open the outer door of the flat. He +heard him exclaim, in great surprise: + +"Ah, Captain Stewart! A great pleasure! Come in! Come in!" + +And he permitted himself a little blaspheming on his own account, for +the visitor, as Ste. Marie had said, came most malapropos, and, besides, +he disliked Miss Benham's uncle. He heard the American say: + +"I have been hoping for some weeks to give myself the pleasure of +calling here, and to-day such an excellent pretext presented itself that +I came straightaway." + +Hartley heard him emit his mewing little laugh, and heard him say, with +the elephantine archness affected by certain dry and middle-aged +gentlemen: + +"I come with congratulations. My niece has told me all about it. Lucky +young man! Ah--" + +He reached the door of the inner room and saw Richard Hartley standing +by the window, and he began to apologize profusely, saying that he had +had no idea that Ste. Marie was not alone. But Ste. Marie said: + +"It doesn't in the least matter. I have no secrets from Hartley. Indeed, +I have just been talking with him about this very thing." + +But for all that he looked curiously at the elder man, and it struck him +as very odd that Miss Benham should have gone straight to her uncle and +told him all this. It did not seem in the least like her, especially as +he knew the two were on no terms of intimacy. He decided that she must +have gone up to her grandfather's room to discuss it with that old +gentleman--a reasonable enough hypothesis--and that Captain Stewart must +have come in during the discussion. Quite evidently he had wasted no +time in setting out upon his errand of congratulation. + +"Then," said Captain Stewart, "if I am to be good-naturedly forgiven for +my stupidity, let me go on and say, in my capacity as a member of the +family, that the news pleased me very much. I was glad to hear it." + +He shook Ste. Marie's hand, looking very benignant indeed, and Ste. +Marie was quite overcome with pleasure and gratitude; it seemed to him +such a very kindly act in the elder man. He produced things to smoke and +drink, and Captain Stewart accepted a cigarette and mixed himself a +rather stiff glass of absinthe--it was between five and six o'clock. + +"And now," said he, when he was at ease in the most comfortable of the +low cane chairs, and the glass of opalescent liquor was properly curdled +and set at hand--"now, having congratulated you and--ah, welcomed you, +if I may put it so, as a probable future member of the family--I turn to +the other feature of the affair." + +He had an odd trick of lowering his head and gazing benevolently upon an +auditor as if over the top of spectacles. It was one of his elderly +ways. He beamed now upon Ste. Marie in this manner, and, after a moment, +turned and beamed upon Richard Hartley, who gazed stolidly back at him +without expression. + +"You have determined, I hear," said he, "to join us in our search for +poor Arthur. Good! Good! I welcome you there, also." + +Ste. Marie stirred uneasily in his chair. + +"Well," said he, "in a sense, yes. That is, I've determined to devote +myself to the search, and Hartley is good enough to offer to go in with +me; but I think, if you don't mind--of course, I know it's very +presumptuous and doubtless idiotic of us--but, if you don't mind, I +think we'll work independently. You see--well, I can't quite put it into +words, but it's our idea to succeed or fail quite by our own efforts. I +dare say we shall fail, but it won't be for lack of trying." + +Captain Stewart looked disappointed. + +"Oh, I think--" said he. "Pardon me for saying it, but I think you're +rather foolish to do that." He waved an apologetic hand. "Of course, I +comprehend your excellent motive. Yes, as you say, you want to succeed +quite on your own. But look at the practical side! You'll have to go +over all the weary weeks of useless labor we have gone over. We could +save you that. We have examined and followed up, and at last given over, +a hundred clews that on the surface looked quite possible of success. +You'll be doing that all over again. In short, my dear friend, you will +merely be following along a couple of months behind us. It seems to me a +pity. I sha'n't like to see you wasting your time and efforts." + +He dropped his eyes to the glass of Pernod which stood beside him, and +he took it in his hand and turned it slowly and watched the light gleam +in strange pearl colors upon it. He glanced up again with a little smile +which the two younger men found oddly pathetic. + +"I should like to see you succeed," said Captain Stewart. "I like to see +youth and courage and high hope succeed." He said: "I am past the age of +romance, though I am not so very old in years. Romance has passed me by, +but--I love it still. It still stirs me surprisingly when I see it in +other people--young people who are simple and earnest, and who--and who +are in love." He laughed gently, still turning the glass in his hand. "I +am afraid you will call me a sentimentalist," he said, "and an elderly +sentimentalist is, as a rule, a ridiculous person. Ridiculous or not, +though, I have rather set my heart on your success in this undertaking. +Who knows? You may succeed where we others have failed. Youth has such a +way of charging in and carrying all before it by assault--such a way of +overleaping barriers that look unsurmountable to older eyes! Youth! +Youth! Eh, my God," said he, "to be young again, just for a little +while! To feel the blood beat strong and eager! Never to be tired! Eh, +to be like one of you youngsters! You, Ste. Marie, or you, Hartley! +There's so little left for people when youth is gone!" + +He bent his head again, staring down upon the glass before him, and for +a while there was a silence which neither of the younger men cared to +break. + +"Don't refuse a helping hand," said Captain Stewart, looking up once +more. "Don't be over-proud. I may be able to set you upon the right +path. Not that I have anything definite to work upon--I haven't, alas! +But each day new clews turn up. One day we shall find the real one, and +that may be one that I have turned over to you to follow out. One never +knows." + +Ste. Marie looked across at Richard Hartley, but that gentleman was +blowing smoke-rings and to all outward appearance giving them his entire +attention. He looked back to Captain Stewart, and Stewart's eyes +regarded him, smiling a little wistfully, he thought. Ste. Marie scowled +out of the window at the trees of the Luxembourg Gardens. + +"I hardly know," said he. "Of course, I sound a braying ass in +hesitating even a moment; but, in a way, you understand, I'm so anxious +to do this or to fail in it quite on my own. You're--so tremendously +kind about it that I don't know what to say. I must seem very +ungrateful, I know; but I'm not." + +"No," said the elder man, "you don't seem ungrateful at all. I +understand exactly how you feel about it, and I applaud your +feeling--but not your judgment. I am afraid that for the sake of a +sentiment you're taking unnecessary risks of failure." + +For the first time Richard Hartley spoke. + +"I've an idea, you know," said he, "that it's going to be a matter +chiefly of luck. One day somebody will stumble on the right trail, and +that might as well be Ste. Marie or I as your trained detectives. If you +don't mind my saying so, sir--I don't want to seem rude--your trained +detectives do not seem to accomplish much in two months, do they?" + +Captain Stewart looked thoughtfully at the younger man. + +"No," he said, at last. "I am sorry to say they don't seem to have +accomplished much--except to prove that there are a great many places +poor Arthur has _not_ been to and a great many people who have _not_ +seen him. After all, that is something--the elimination of ground that +need not be worked over again." He set down the glass from which he had +been drinking. "I cannot agree with your theory," he said. "I cannot +agree that such work as this is best left to an accidental solution. +Accidents are too rare. We have tried to go at it in as scientific a way +as could be managed--by covering large areas of territory, by keeping +the police everywhere on the alert, by watching the boy's old friends +and searching his favorite haunts. Personally, I am inclined to think +that he managed to slip away to America very early in the course of +events, before we began to search for him, and, of course, I am having a +careful watch kept there as well as here. But no trace has appeared as +yet--nothing at all trustworthy. Meanwhile, I continue to hope and to +work, but I grow a little discouraged. In any case, though, we shall +hear of him in three months more if he is alive." + +"Why three months?" asked Ste. Marie. "What do you mean by that?" + +"In three months," said Captain Stewart, "Arthur will be of age, and he +can demand the money left him by his father. If he is alive he will turn +up for that. I have thought, from the first, that he is merely hiding +somewhere until this time should be past. He--you must know that he went +away very angry, after a quarrel with his grandfather? My father is not +a patient man. He may have been very harsh with the boy." + +"Ah, yes," said Hartley; "but no boy, however young or angry, would be +foolish enough to risk an absolute break with the man who is going to +leave him a large fortune. Young Benham must know that his grandfather +would never forgive him for staying away all this time if he stayed away +of his own accord. He must know that he'd be taking tremendous risks of +being cut off altogether." + +"And besides," added Ste. Marie, "it is quite possible that your father, +sir, may die at any time--any hour. And he's very angry at his grandson. +He may have cut him off already." + +Captain Stewart's eyes sharpened suddenly, but he dropped them to the +glass in his hand. + +"Have you any reason for thinking that?" he asked. + +"No," said Ste. Marie. "I beg your pardon. I shouldn't have said it. +That is a matter which concerns your family alone. I forgot myself. The +possibility occurred to me suddenly for the first time." + +But the elder man looked up at him with a smile. + +"Pray don't apologize," said he. "Surely we three can speak frankly +together! And, frankly, I know nothing of my father's will. But I don't +think he would cut poor Arthur off, though he is, of course, very angry +about the boy's leaving in the manner he did. No, I am sure he wouldn't +cut him off. He was fond of the lad, very fond--as we all were." + +Captain Stewart glanced at his watch and rose with a little sigh. + +"I must be off," said he. "I have to dine out this evening, and I must +get home to change. There is a cabstand near you?" He looked out of the +window. "Ah, yes! Just at the corner of the Gardens." + +He turned about to Ste. Marie, and held out his hand with a smile. He +said: + +"You refuse to join forces with us, then? Well, I'm sorry. But, for all +that, I wish you luck. Go your own way, and I hope you'll succeed. I +honestly hope that, even though your success may show me up for an +incompetent bungler." + +He gave a little kindly laugh, and Ste. Marie tried to protest. + +"Still," said the elder man, "don't throw me over altogether. If I can +help you in any way, little or big, let me know. If I can give you any +hints, any advice, anything at all, I want to do it. And if you happen +upon what seems to be a promising clew come and talk it over with me. +Oh, don't be afraid! I'll leave it to you to work out. I sha'n't spoil +your game." + +"Ah, now, that's very good of you," said Ste. Marie. "Only you make me +seem more than ever an ungrateful fool. Thanks, I will come to you with +my troubles if I may. I have a foolish idea that I want to follow out a +little first, but doubtless I shall be running to you soon for +information." + +The elder man's eyes sharpened again with keen interest. + +"An idea!" he said, quickly. "You have an idea? What--May I ask what +sort of an idea?" + +"Oh, it's nothing," declared Ste. Marie. "You have already laughed at +it. I just want to find that man O'Hara, that's all. I've a feeling that +I should learn something from him." + +"Ah!" said Captain Stewart, slowly. "Yes, the man O'Hara. There's +nothing in that, I'm afraid. I've made inquiries about O'Hara. It seems +he left Paris six months ago, saying he was off for America. An old +friend of his told me that. So you must have been mistaken when you +thought you saw him in the Champs-Elysees; and he couldn't very well +have had anything to do with poor Arthur. I'm afraid that idea is hardly +worth following up." + +"Perhaps not," said Ste. Marie. "I seem to start badly, don't I? Ah, +well, I'll have to come to you all the sooner, then." + +"You'll be welcome," promised Captain Stewart. "Good-bye to you! +Good-day, Hartley. Come and see me, both of you. You know where I live." + +He took his leave then, and Hartley, standing beside the window, watched +him turn down the street, and at the corner get into one of the fiacres +there and drive away. + +Ste. Marie laughed aloud. + +"There's the second time," said he, "that I've had him about O'Hara. If +he is as careless as that about everything, I don't wonder he hasn't +found Arthur Benham. O'Hara disappeared from Paris--publicly, that +is--at about the time young Benham disappeared. As a matter of fact, he +remains, or at least for a time remained, in the city without letting +his friends know, because I made no mistake about seeing him in the +Champs-Elysees. All that looks to me suspicious enough to be worth +investigation. Of course," he admitted, doubtfully--"of course, I'm no +detective; but that's how it looks to me." + +"I don't believe Stewart is any detective, either," said Richard +Hartley. "He's altogether too cocksure. That sort of man would rather +die than admit he is wrong about anything. He's a good old chap, though, +isn't he? I liked him to-day better than ever before. I thought he was +rather pathetic when he went on about his age." + +"He has a good heart," said Ste. Marie. "Very few men under the +circumstances would come here and be as decent as he was. Most men would +have thought I was a presumptuous ass, and would have behaved +accordingly." + +Ste. Marie took a turn about the room, and his face began to light up +with its new excitement and exaltation. + +"And to-morrow!" he cried--"to-morrow we begin! To-morrow we set out +into the world and the Adventure is on foot! God send it success!" + +He laughed across at the other man; but it was a laugh of eagerness, not +of mirth. + +"I feel," said he, "like Jason. I feel as if we were to set sail +to-morrow for Colchis and the Golden Fleece." + +"Y-e-s," said the other man, a little dryly--"yes, perhaps. I don't want +to seem critical, but isn't your figure somewhat ill chosen?" + +"'Ill chosen'?" cried Ste. Marie. "What d'you mean? Why ill chosen?" + +"I was thinking of Medea," said Richard Hartley. + + * * * * * + + + +VIII + +JASON MEETS WITH A MISADVENTURE AND DREAMS A DREAM + + +So on the next day these two rode forth upon their quest, and no quest +was ever undertaken with a stouter courage or with a grimmer +determination to succeed. To put it fancifully, they burned their tower +behind them, for to one of them, at least--to him who led--there was no +going back. + +But, after all, they set forth under a cloud, and Ste. Marie took a +heavy heart with him. On the evening before an odd and painful incident +had befallen--a singularly unfortunate incident. + +It chanced that neither of the two men had a dinner engagement that +evening, and so, after their old habit, they dined together. There was +some wrangling over where they should go, Hartley insisting upon +Armenonville or the Madrid, in the Bois, Ste. Marie objecting that these +would be full of tourists so late in June, and urging the claims of some +quiet place in the Quarter, where they could talk instead of listening +perforce to loud music. In the end, for no particular reason, they +compromised on the little Spanish restaurant in the rue Helder. They +went there about eight o'clock, without dressing, for it is a very quiet +place which the world does not visit, and they had a sopa de yerbas, and +some langostinos, which are shrimps, and a heavenly arroz, with fowl in +it, and many tender, succulent strips of red pepper. They had a salad +made out of a little of everything that grows green, with the true +Spanish oil, which has a tang and a bouquet unappreciated by the +Philistine; and then they had a strange pastry and some cheese and green +almonds. And to make then glad, they drank a bottle of old red +Valdepenas, and afterward a glass each of a special Manzanilla, upon +which the restaurant very justly prides itself. + +It was a simple dinner and a little stodgy for that time of the year, +but the two men were hungry and sat at table, almost alone in the upper +room, for a long time, saying how good everything was, and from time to +time despatching the saturnine waiter, a Madrileno, for more peppers. +When at last they came out into the narrow street, and thence to the +thronged Boulevard des Italiens, it was nearly eleven o'clock. They +stood for a little time in the shelter of a kiosk, looking down the +boulevard to where the Place de l'Opera opened wide and the lights of +the Cafe de la Paix shone garish in the night. And Ste. Marie said: + +"There's a street fete in Montmartre. We might drive home that way." + +"An excellent idea," said the other man. "The fact that Montmartre lies +in an opposite direction from home makes the plan all the better. And +after that we might drive home through the Bois. That's much farther in +the wrong direction. Lead on!" + +So they sprang into a waiting fiacre, and were dragged up the steep, +stone-paved hill to the heights, where La Boheme still reigns, though +the glory of Moulin Rouge has departed and the trail of the tourist is +over all. They found Montmartre very much en fete. In the Place Blanche +were two of the enormous and brilliantly lighted merry-go-rounds, which +only Paris knows--one furnished with stolid cattle, theatrical-looking +horses, and Russian sleighs; the other with the ever-popular galloping +pigs. When these dreadful machines were in rotation, mechanical organs, +concealed somewhere in their bowels, emitted hideous brays and shrieks +which mingled with the shrieks of the ladies mounted upon the galloping +pigs, and together insulted a peaceful sky. + +The square was filled with that extremely heterogeneous throng which the +Parisian street fete gathers together, but it was, for the most part, a +well-dressed throng, largely recruited from the boulevards, and it was +quite determined to have a very good time in the cheerful, harmless +Latin fashion. The two men got down from their fiacre and elbowed a way +through the good-natured crowd to a place near the more popular of the +merry-go-rounds. The machine was in rotation. Its garish lights shone +and glittered, its hidden mechanical organ blared a German waltz tune, +the huge, pink-varnished pigs galloped gravely up and down as the +platform upon which they were mounted whirled round and round. A little +group of American trippers, sight-seeing with a guide, stood near by, +and one of the group, a pretty girl with red hair, demanded plaintively +of the friend upon whose arm she hung: "Do you think momma would be +shocked if we took a ride? Wouldn't I love to!" + +Hartley turned, laughing, from this distressed maiden to Ste. Marie. He +was wondering, with mild amusement, why anybody should wish to do such a +foolish thing; but Ste. Marie's eyes were fixed upon the galloping pigs, +and the eyes shone with a wistful excitement. To tell the truth, it was +impossible for him to look on at any form of active amusement without +thirsting to join it. A joyous and carefree lady in a blue hat, who was +mounted astride upon one of the pigs, hurled a paper serpentine at him +and shrieked with delight when it knocked his hat off. + +"That's the second time she has hit me with one of those things," he +said, groping about his feet for the hat. "Here, stop that boy with the +basket!" + +A vendor of the little rolls of paper ribbon was shouting his wares +through the crowd. Ste. Marie filled his pockets with the things, and +when the lady with the blue hat came round, on the next turn, lassoed +her neatly about the neck and held the end of the ribbon till it broke. +Then he caught a fat gentleman, who was holding himself on by his +steed's neck, in the ear, and the red-haired American girl laughed +aloud. + +"When the thing stops," said Ste. Marie, "I'm going to take a ride--just +one ride. I haven't ridden a pig for many years." + +Hartley jeered at him, calling him an infant, but Ste. Marie bought more +serpentines, and when the platform came to a stop clambered up to it and +mounted the only unoccupied pig he could find. His friend still scoffed +at him and called him names, but Ste. Marie tucked his long legs round +the pig's neck and smiled back, and presently the machine began again to +revolve. + +At the end of the first revolution Hartley gave a shout of delight, for +he saw that the lady with the blue hat had left her mount and was making +her way along the platform toward where Ste. Marie sat hurling +serpentines in the face of the world. By the next time round she had +come to where he was, mounted astride behind him, and was holding +herself with one very shapely arm round his neck, while with the other +she rifled his pockets for ammunition. Ste. Marie grinned, and the +public, loud in its acclaims, began to pelt the two with serpentines +until they were hung with many-colored ribbons like a Christmas-tree. +Even Richard Hartley was so far moved out of the self-consciousness with +which his race is cursed as to buy a handful of the common missiles, and +the lady in the blue hat returned his attention with skill and despatch. + +But as the machine began to slacken its pace, and the hideous wail and +blare of the concealed organ died mercifully down, Hartley saw that his +friend's manner had all at once altered, that he sat leaning forward +away from the enthusiastic lady with the blue hat, and that the paper +serpentines had dropped from his hands. Hartley thought that the rapid +motion must have made him a little giddy, but presently, before the +merry-go-round had quite stopped, he saw the man leap down and hurry +toward him through the crowd. Ste. Marie's face was grave and pale. He +caught Hartley's arm in his hand and turned him round, crying, in a low +voice: + +"Come out of this as quickly as you can! No, in the other direction. I +want to get away at once!" + +"What's the matter?" Hartley demanded. "Lady in the blue hat too +friendly? Well, if you're going to play this kind of game you might as +well play it." + +"Helen Benham was down there in the crowd," said Ste. Marie. "On the +opposite side from you. She was with a party of people who got out of +two motor-cars to look on. They were in evening things, so they had come +from dinner somewhere, I suppose. She saw me." + +"The devil!" said Hartley, under his breath. Then he gave a shout of +laughter, demanding: "Well, what of it? You weren't committing any +crime, were you? There's no harm in riding a silly pig in a silly +merry-go-round. Everybody does it in these fete things." But even as he +spoke he knew how extremely unfortunate the meeting was, and the +laughter went out of his voice. + +"I'm afraid," said Ste. Marie, "she won't see the humor of it. Good God, +what a thing to happen! _You_ know well enough what she'll think of me. +At five o'clock this afternoon," he said, bitterly, "I left her with a +great many fine, high-sounding words about the quest I was to give my +days and nights to--for her sake. I went away from her like a--knight +going into battle--consecrated. I tell you, there were tears in her eyes +when I went. And _now_--now, at midnight--she sees me riding a galloping +pig in a street fete with a girl from the boulevards sitting on the pig +with me and holding me round the neck before a thousand people. What +will she think of me? What but one thing can she possibly think? Oh, I +know well enough! I saw her face before she turned away. And," he cried, +"I can't even go to her and explain--if there's anything to explain, and +I suppose there is not. I can't even go to her. I've sworn not to see +her." + +"Oh, I'll do that," said the other man. "I'll explain it to her, if any +explanation's necessary. I think you'll find that she will laugh at it." + +But Ste. Marie shook his head. + +"No, she won't," said he. + +And Hartley could say no more; for he knew Miss Benham, and he was very +much afraid that she would not laugh. + +They found a fiacre at the side of the square and drove home at once. +They were almost entirely silent all the long way, for Ste. Marie was +buried in gloom, and the Englishman, after trying once or twice to cheer +him up, realized that he was best left to himself just then, and so held +his tongue. But in the rue d'Assas, as Ste. Marie was getting +down--Hartley kept the fiacre to go on to his rooms in the Avenue de +l'Observatoire--he made a last attempt to lighten the man's depression. +He said: + +"Don't you be a silly ass about this! You're making much too much of it, +you know. I'll go to her to-morrow or next day and explain, and she'll +laugh---if she hasn't already done so. You know," he said, almost +believing it himself, "you are paying her a dashed poor compliment in +thinking she's so dull as to misunderstand a little thing of this kind. +Yes, by Jove, you are!" + +Ste. Marie looked up at him, and his face, in the light of the cab lamp, +showed a first faint gleam of hope. + +"Do you think so?" he demanded. "Do you really think that? Maybe I am. +But--Oh, Lord, who would understand such an idiocy? Sacred imbecile that +I am! Why was I ever born? I ask you." + +He turned abruptly, and began to ring at the door, casting a brief +"Good-night" over his shoulder. And after a moment Hartley gave it up +and drove away. + +Above, in the long, shallow front room of his flat, with the three +windows overlooking the Gardens, Ste. Marie made lights, and after much +rummaging unearthed a box of cigarettes of a peculiarly delectable +flavor which had been sent him by a friend in the Khedivial household. +He allowed himself one or two of them now and then, usually in sorrowful +moments, as an especial treat; and this seemed to him to be the moment +for smoking all that were left. Surely his need had never been greater. +In England he had, of course, learned to smoke a pipe, but pipe-smoking +always remained with him a species of accomplishment; it never brought +him the deep and ruminative peace with which it enfolds the Anglo-Saxon +heart. The "vieux Jacob" of old-fashioned Parisian Bohemia inspired in +him unconcealed horror, of cigars he was suspicious because, he said, +most of the unpleasant people he knew smoked cigars, so he soothed his +soul with cigarettes, and he was usually to be found with one between +his fingers. + +He lighted one of the precious Egyptians, and after a first ecstatic +inhalation went across to one of the long windows, which was open, and +stood there with his back to the room, his face to the peaceful, +fragrant night. A sudden recollection came to him of that other night a +month before when he had stood on the Pont des Invalides with his eyes +upon the stars, his feet upon the ladder thereunto. His heart gave a +sudden exultant leap within him when he thought how far and high he had +climbed, but after the leap it shivered and stood still when this +evening's misadventure came before him. + +Would she ever understand? He had no fear that Hartley would not do his +best with her. Hartley was as honest and as faithful as ever a friend +was in this world. He would do his best. But even then--It was the +girl's inflexible nature that made the matter so dangerous. He knew that +she was inflexible, and he took a curious pride in it. He admired it. So +must have been those calm-eyed, ancient ladies for whom other Ste. +Maries went out to do battle. It was well-nigh impossible to imagine +them lowering their eyes to silly revelry. They could not stoop to such +as that. It was beneath their high dignity. And it was beneath hers +also. As for himself, he was a thing of patches. Here a patch of exalted +chivalry--a noble patch--there a patch of bourgeois, childlike love of +fun; here a patch of melancholic asceticism, there one of something +quite the reverse. A hopeless patchwork he was. Must she not shrink from +him when she knew? He could not quite imagine her understanding the +wholly trivial and meaningless impulse that had prompted him to ride a +galloping pig and cast paper serpentines at the assembled world. + +Apart from her view of the affair, he felt no shame in it. The moment of +childish gayety had been but a passing mood. It had in no way slackened +his tense enthusiasm, dulled the keenness of his spirit, lowered his +high flight. He knew that well enough. But he wondered if she would +understand, and he could not believe it possible. The mood of exaltation +in which they had parted that afternoon came to him, and then the sight +of her shocked face as he had seen it in the laughing crowd in the Place +Blanche. + +"What must she think of me?" he cried, aloud. "What must she think of +me?" + +So, for an hour or more, he stood in the open window staring into the +fragrant night, or tramped up and down the long room, his hands behind +his back, kicking out of his way the chairs and things which impeded +him, torturing himself with fears and regrets and fancies, until at +last, in a calmer moment, he realized that he was working himself up +into an absurd state of nerves over something which was done and could +not now be helped. The man had an odd streak of fatalism in his +nature--that will have come of his Southern blood--and it came to him +now in his need. For the work upon which he was to enter with the morrow +he had need of clear wits, not scattered ones; a calm judgment, not +disordered nerves. So he took himself in hand, and it would have been +amazing to any one unfamiliar with the abrupt changes of the Latin +temperament to see how suddenly Ste. Marie became quiet and cool and +master of himself. + +"It is done," he said, with a little shrug, and if his face was for a +moment bitter it quickly enough became impassive. "It is done, and it +cannot be undone--unless Hartley can undo it. And now, revenons a nos +moutons! Or, at least," said he, looking at his watch--and it was +between one and two--"at least, to our beds!" + +So he went to bed, and, so well had he recovered from his fit of +excitement, he fell asleep almost at once. But for all that the jangled +nerves had their revenge. He who commonly slept like the dead, without +the slightest disturbance, dreamed a strange dream. It seemed to him +that he stood spent and weary in a twilight place--a waste place at the +foot of a high hill. At the top of the hill She sat upon a sort of +throne, golden in a beam of light from heaven--serene, very beautiful, +the end and crown of his weary labors. His feet were set to the ascent +of the height whereon she waited, but he was withheld. From the shadows +at the hill's foot a voice called to him in distress, anguish of +spirit--a voice he knew; but he could not say whose voice. It besought +him out of utter need, and he could not turn away from it. + +Then from those shadows eyes looked upon him, very great and dark eyes, +and they besought him, too; he did not know what they asked, but they +called to him like the low voice, and he could not turn away. + +He looked to the far height, and with all his power he strove to set his +feet toward it--the goal of long labor and desire; but the eyes and the +piteous voice held him motionless--for they needed him. + +From this anguish he awoke trembling. And after a long time, when he was +composed, he fell asleep once more, and once more he dreamed the dream. + +So morning found him pallid and unrefreshed. But by daylight he knew +whose eyes had besought him, and he wondered and was a little afraid. + + * * * * * + + + + +IX + +JASON GOES UPON A JOURNEY, AND RICHARD HARTLEY PLEADS FOR HIM + + +It may as well be admitted at the outset that neither Ste. Marie nor +Richard Hartley proved themselves to be geniuses, hitherto undeveloped, +in the detective science. They entered upon their self-appointed task +with a fine fervor, but, as Miss Benham had suggested, with no other +qualifications in particular. Ste. Marie had a theory that, when engaged +in work of this nature, you went into questionable parts of the city, +ate and drank cheek by jowl with questionable people--if possible, got +them drunk while you remained sober (difficult feat), and sooner or +later they said things which put you on the right road to your goal, or +else confessed to you that they themselves had committed the particular +crime in which you were interested. He argued that this was the way it +happened in books, and that surely people didn't write books about +things of which they were ignorant. + +Hartley, on the other hand, preferred the newer, or scientific, methods. +You sat at home with a pipe and a whiskey-and-water--if possible, in a +long dressing-gown with a cord round its middle. You reviewed all the +known facts of the case, and you did mathematics about them with Xs and +Ys and many other symbols, and in the end, by a system of elimination, +you proved that a certain thing must infallibly be true. The chief +difficulty for him in this was, he said, that he had been at Oxford +instead of at Cambridge, and so the mathematics were rather beyond him. + +In practice, however, they combined the two methods, which was doubtless +as well as if they hadn't, because for some time they accomplished +nothing whatever, and so neither one was able to sneer at the other's +stupidity. + +This is not to say that they found nothing in the way of clews. They +found an embarrassment of them, and for some days went about in a fever +of excitement over these; but the fever cooled when clew after clew +turned out to be misleading. Of course, Ste. Marie's first efforts were +directed toward tracing the movements of the Irishman O'Hara, but the +efforts were altogether unavailing. The man seemed to have disappeared +as noiselessly and completely as had young Arthur Benham himself. He was +unable even to settle with any definiteness the time of the man's +departure from Paris. Some of O'Hara's old acquaintances maintained that +they had seen the last of him two months before, but a shifty-eyed +person in rather cheaply smart clothes came up to Ste. Marie one evening +in Maxim's and said he had heard that Ste. Marie was making inquiries +about M. O'Hara. Ste. Marie said he was, and that it was an affair of +money; whereupon the cheaply smart individual declared that M. O'Hara +had left Paris six months before to go to the United States of America, +and that he had had a picture postal-card from him, some weeks since, +from New York. The informant accepted an expensive cigar and a Dubonnet +by way of reward, but presently departed into the night, and Ste. Marie +was left in some discouragement, his theory badly damaged. + +He spoke of this encounter to Richard Hartley, who came on later to join +him, and Hartley, after an interval of silence and smoke, said: "That +was a lie! The man lied!" + +"Name of a dog, why?" demanded Ste. Marie; but the Englishman shrugged +his shoulders. + +"I don't know," he said. "But I believe it was a lie. The man came to +you--sought you out to tell his story, didn't he? And all the others +have given a different date? Well, there you are! For some reason, this +man or some one behind him--O'Hara himself, probably--wants you to +believe that O'Hara is in America. I dare say he's in Paris all the +while." + +"I hope you're right," said the other. "And I mean to make sure, too. It +certainly was odd, this strange being hunting me out to tell me that. I +wonder, by-the-way, how he knew I'd been making inquiries about O'Hara. +I've questioned only two or three people, and then in the most casual +way. Yes, it's odd." + +It was about a week after this--a fruitless week, full of the alternate +brightness of hope and the gloom of disappointment--that he met Captain +Stewart, to whom he had been, more than once, on the point of appealing. +He happened upon him quite by chance one morning in the rue Royale. +Captain Stewart was coming out of a shop, a very smart-looking shop, +devoted, as Ste. Marie, with some surprise and much amusement, observed, +to ladies' hats, and the price of hats must have depressed him, for he +looked in an ill humor, and older and more yellow than usual. But his +face altered suddenly when he saw the younger man, and he stopped and +shook Ste. Marie's hand with every evidence of pleasure. + +"Well met! Well met!" he exclaimed. "If you are not in a hurry, come and +sit down somewhere and tell me about yourself." + +They picked their way across the street to the terrace of the Taverne +Royale, which was almost deserted at that hour, and sat down at one of +the little tables, well back from the pavement, in a corner. + +"Is it fair," queried Captain Stewart--"is it fair, as a rival +investigator, to ask you what success you have had?" + +Ste. Marie laughed rather ruefully, and confessed that he had as yet no +success at all. + +"I've just come," said he, "from pricking one bubble that promised well, +and Hartley is up in Montmartre destroying another, I fancy. Oh, well, +we didn't expect it to be child's play." + +Captain Stewart raised his little glass of dry vermouth in an +old-fashioned salute and drank it. + +"You," said he--"you were--ah, full of some idea of connecting this man, +this Irishman O'Hara, with poor Arthur's disappearance. You've found +that not so promising as you went on, I take it." + +"Well, I've been unable to trace O'Hara," said Ste. Marie. "He seems to +have disappeared as completely as your nephew. I suppose you have no +clews to spare? I confess I'm out of them at the moment." + +"Oh, I have plenty," said the elder man. "A hundred. More than I can +possibly look after." He gave a little chuckling laugh. "I've been +waiting for you to come to me," he said. "It was a little ungenerous, +perhaps, but we all love to say, 'I told you so.' Yes, I have a great +quantity of clews, and of course they all seem to be of the greatest and +most exciting importance. That's a way clews have." + +He took an envelope from an inner pocket of his coat, and sorted several +folded papers which were in it. + +"I have here," said he, "memoranda of two--chances, shall I call +them?--which seem to me very good, though, as I have already said, every +clew seems good. That is the maddening, the heart-breaking, part of such +an investigation. I have made these brief notes from letters received, +one yesterday, one the day before, from an agent of mine who has been +searching the bains de mer of the north coast. This agent writes that +some one very much resembling poor Arthur has been seen at Dinard and +also at Deauville, and he urges me to come there or to send a man there +at once to look into the matter. You will ask, of course, why this agent +himself does not pursue the clew he has found. Unfortunately, he has +been called to London upon some pressing family matter of his own; he is +an Englishman." + +"Why haven't you gone yourself?" asked Ste. Marie. + +But the elder man shrugged his shoulders and smiled a tired, deprecatory +smile. + +"Oh, my friend," said he, "if I should attempt personally to investigate +one-half of these things, I should be compelled to divide myself into +twenty parts. No, I must stay here. There must be, alas! the spider at +the centre of the web. I cannot go; but if you think it worth while, I +will gladly turn over the memoranda of these last clews to you. They may +be the true clews, they may not. At any rate, some one must look into +them. Why not you and your partner--or shall I say assistant?" + +"Why, thank you!" cried Ste. Marie. "A thousand thanks! Of course, I +shall be--we shall be glad to try this chance. On the face of it, it +sounds very reasonable. Your nephew, from what I remember of him, is +much more apt to be in some place that is amusing, some place of gayety, +than hiding away where it is merely dull, if he has his choice in the +matter--that is, if he is free. And yet--" He turned and frowned +thoughtfully at the elder man. "What I want to know," said he, "is how +the boy is supporting himself all this time? You say he had no money, or +very little, when he went away. How is he managing to live if your +theory is correct--that he is staying away of his own accord? It costs a +lot of money to live as he likes to live." + +Captain Stewart nodded. + +"Oh, that," said he--"that is a question I have often proposed to +myself. Frankly, it's beyond me. I can only surmise that poor Arthur, +who had scattered a small fortune about in foolish loans, managed, +before he actually disappeared (mind you, we didn't begin to look for +him until a week had gone by)--managed to collect some of this money, +and so went away with something in pocket. That, of course, is only a +guess." + +"It is possible," said Ste. Marie, doubtfully, "but--I don't know. It is +not very easy to raise money from the sort of people I imagine your +nephew to have lent it to. They borrow, but they don't repay." He +glanced up with a half-laughing, half-defiant air. "I can't," said he, +"rid myself of a belief that the boy is here in Paris, and that he is +not free to come or go. It's only a feeling, but it is very strong in +me. Of course, I shall follow out these clews you've been so kind as to +give me. I shall go to Dinard and Deauville, and Hartley, I imagine, +will go with me, but I haven't great confidence in them." + +Captain Stewart regarded him reflectively for a time, and in the end he +smiled. + +"If you will pardon my saying it," he said, "your attitude is just a +little womanlike. You put away reason for something vaguely intuitive. I +always distrust intuition myself." + +Ste. Marie frowned a little and looked uncomfortable. He did not relish +being called womanlike--few men do; but he was bound to admit that the +elder man's criticism was more or less just. + +"Moreover," pursued Captain Stewart, "you altogether ignore the point of +motive--as I may have suggested to you before. There could be no +possible motive, so far as I am aware, for kidnapping or detaining, or +in any way harming, my nephew except the desire for money; but, as you +know, he had no large sum of money with him, and no demand has been made +upon us since his disappearance. I'm afraid you can't get round that." + +"No," said Ste. Marie, "I'm afraid I can't. Indeed, leaving that +aside--and it can't be left aside--I still have almost nothing with +which to prop up my theory. I told you it was only a feeling." + +He took up the memoranda which Captain Stewart had laid upon the +marble-topped table between them, and read the notes through. + +"Please," said he, "don't think I am ungrateful for this chance. I am +not. I shall do my best with it, and I hope it may turn out to be +important." He gave a little wry smile. "I have all sorts of reasons," +he said, "for wishing to succeed as soon as possible. You may be sure +that there won't be any delays on my part. And now I must be going on. I +am to meet Hartley for lunch on the other side of the river, and, if we +can manage it, I should like to start north this afternoon or evening." + +"Good!" said Captain Stewart, smiling. "Good! That is what I call true +promptness. You lose no time at all. Go to Dinard and Deauville, by all +means, and look into this thing thoroughly. Don't be discouraged if you +meet with ill success at first. Take Mr. Hartley with you, and do your +best." + +He paid for the two glasses of aperitif, and Ste. Marie could not help +observing that he left on the table a very small tip. The waiter cursed +him audibly as the two walked away. + +"If you have returned by a week from to-morrow," he said, as they shook +hands, "I should like to have you keep that evening--Thursday--for me. I +am having a very informal little party in my rooms. There will be two or +three of the opera people there, and they will sing for us, and the +others will be amusing enough. All young--all young. I like young people +about me." He gave his odd little mewing chuckle. "And the ladies must +be beautiful as well as young. Come if you are here! I'll drop a line to +Mr. Hartley also." + +He shook Ste. Marie's hand, and went away down the street toward the rue +du Faubourg St. Honore where he lived. + +Ste. Marie met Hartley as he expected to do, at lunch, and they talked +over the possibilities of the Dinard and Deauville expedition. In the +end they decided that Ste. Marie should go alone, but that he was to +telegraph, later on, if the clew looked promising. Hartley had two or +three investigations on foot in Paris, and stayed on to complete these. +Also he wished, as soon as possible, to see Helen Benham and explain +Ste. Marie's ride on the galloping pigs. Ten days had elapsed since that +evening, but Miss Benham had gone into the country the next day to make +a visit at the De Saulnes' chateau on the Oise. + +So Ste. Marie packed a portmanteau with clothes and things, and departed +by a mid-afternoon train to Dinard, and toward five Richard Hartley +walked down to the rue de I'Universite. He thought it just possible that +Miss Benham might by now have returned to town, but if not he meant to +have half an hour's chat with old David Stewart, whom he had not seen +for some weeks. + +At the door he learned that mademoiselle was that very day returned and +was at home. So he went in to the drawing-room, reserving his visit to +old David until later. He found the room divided into two camps. At one +side Mrs. Benham conversed in melancholic monotones with two elderly +French ladies who were clad in depressing black of a dowdiness surpassed +only in English provincial towns. It was as if the three mourned +together over the remains of some dear one who lay dead among them. +Hartley bowed low, with an uncontrollable shiver, and turned to the +tea-table, where Miss Benham sat in the seat of authority, flanked by a +young American lady whom he had met before, and by Baron de Vries, whom +he had not seen since the evening of the De Saulnes' dinner-party. + +Miss Benham greeted him with evident pleasure, and to his great delight +remembered just how he liked his tea--three pieces of sugar and no milk. +It always flatters a man when his little tastes of this sort are +remembered. The four fell at once into conversation together, and the +young American lady asked Hartley why Ste. Marie was not with him. + +"I thought you two always went about together," she said--"were never +seen apart and all that--a sort of modern Damon and Phidias." + +Hartley caught Baron de Vries' eye, and looked away again hastily. + +"My--ah, Phidias," said he, resisting an irritable desire to correct the +lady, "got mislaid to-day. It sha'n't happen again, I promise you. He's +a very busy person just now, though. He hasn't time for social +dissipation. I'm the butterfly of the pair." + +The lady gave a sudden laugh. + +"He was busy enough the last time I saw him," she said, crinkling her +eyelids. She turned to Miss Benham. "Do you remember that evening we +were going home from the Madrid and motored round by Montmartre to see +the fete?" + +"Yes," said Miss Benham, unsmiling, "I remember." + +"Your friend Ste. Marie," said the American lady to Hartley, "was +distinctly the lion of the fete--at the moment we arrived, anyhow. He +was riding a galloping pig and throwing those paper streamer +things--what do you call them?--with both hands, and a genial lady in a +blue hat was riding the same pig and helping him out. It was just like +the _Vie de Boheme_ and the other books. I found it charming." + +Baron de Vries emitted an amused chuckle. + +"That was very like Ste. Marie," he said. "Ste. Marie is a very +exceptional young man. He can be an angel one moment, a child playing +with toys the next, and--well, a rather commonplace social favorite the +third. It all comes of being romantic--imaginative. Ste. Marie--I know +nothing about this evening of which you speak, but Ste. Marie is quite +capable of stopping on his way to a funeral to ride a galloping pig--or +on his way to his own wedding. And the pleasant part of it is," said +Baron de Vries, "that the lad would turn up at either of these two +ceremonies not a bit the worse, outside or in, for his ride." + +"Ah, now, that's an oddly close shot," said Hartley. He paused a moment, +looking toward Miss Benham, and said: "I beg pardon! Were you going to +speak?" + +"No," said Miss Benham, moving the things about on the tea-table before +her, and looking down at them. "No, not at all!" + +"You came oddly close to the truth," the man went on, turning back to +Baron de Vries. + +He was speaking for Helen Benham's ears, and he knew she would +understand that, but he did not wish to seem to be watching her. + +"I was with Ste. Marie on that evening," he said. "No, I wasn't riding a +pig, but I was standing down in the crowd throwing serpentines at the +people who were. And I happen to know that he--that Ste. Marie was on +that day, that evening, more deeply concerned about something, more +absolutely wrapped up in it, devoted to it, than I have ever known him +to be about anything since I first knew him. The galloping pig was an +incident that made, except for the moment, no impression whatever upon +him." Hartley nodded his head. "Yes," said he, "Ste. Marie can be an +angel one moment and a child playing with toys the next. When he sees +toys he always plays with them, and he plays hard, but when he drops +them they go completely out of his mind." + +The American lady laughed. + +"Gracious me!" she cried. "You two are emphatic enough about him, aren't +you?" + +"We know him," said Baron de Vries. + +Hartley rose to replace his empty cup on the tea-table. Miss Benham did +not meet his eyes, and as he moved away again she spoke to her friend +about something they were going to do on the next day, so Hartley went +across to where Baron de Vries sat at a little distance, and took a +place beside him on the chaise lounge. The Belgian greeted him with +raised eyebrows and the little, half-sad, half-humorous smile which was +characteristic of him in his gentler moments. + +"You were defending our friend with a purpose," he said, in a low voice. +"Good! I am afraid he needs it--here." + +The younger man hesitated a moment. Then he said: + +"I came on purpose to do that. Ste. Marie knows that she saw him on that +confounded pig. He was half wild with distress over it, because--well, +the meeting was singularly unfortunate just then. I can't explain--" + +"You needn't explain," said the Belgian, gravely. "I know. Helen told me +some days ago, though she did not mention this encounter. Yes, defend +him with all your power, if you will. Stay after we others have gone +and--have it out with her. The Phidias lady (I must remember that mot, +by-the-way) is preparing to take her leave now, and I will follow her at +once. She shall believe that I am enamoured, that I sigh for her. Eh!" +said he, shaking his head--and the lines in the kindly old face seemed +to deepen, but in a sort of grave tenderness--"eh, so love has come to +the dear lad at last! Ah, of course, the hundred other affairs! Yes, +yes. But they were light. No seriousness in them. The ladies may have +loved. He didn't--very much. This time, I'm afraid--" + +Baron de Vries paused as if he did not mean to finish his sentence, and +Hartley said: + +"You say 'afraid'! Why afraid?" + +The Belgian looked up at him reflectively. + +"Did I say 'afraid'?" he asked. "Well, perhaps it was the word I wanted. +I wonder if these two are fitted for each other. I am fond of them both. +I think you know that, but--she's not very flexible, this child. And she +hasn't much humor. I love her, but I know those things are true. I +wonder if one ought to marry Ste. Marie without flexibility and without +humor." + +"If they love each other," said Richard Hartley, "I expect the other +things don't count. Do they?" + +Baron de Vries rose to his feet, for he saw that the Phidias lady was +going. + +"Perhaps not," said he; "I hope not. In any case, do your best for him +with Helen. Make her comprehend if you can. I am afraid she is unhappy +over the affair." + +He made his adieus, and went away with the American lady, to that young +person's obvious excitement. And after a moment the three ladies across +the room departed also, Mrs. Benham explaining that she was taking her +two friends up to her own sitting-room, to show them something vaguely +related to the heathen. So Hartley was left alone with Helen Benham. + +It was not his way to beat about the bush, and he gave battle at once. +He said, standing, to say it more easily: + +"You know why I came here to-day? It was the first chance I've had since +that--unfortunate evening. I came on Ste. Marie's account." + +Miss Benham said a weak "Oh!" And because she was nervous and +overwrought, and because the thing meant so much to her, she said, +cheaply: "He owes me no apologies. He has a perfect right to act as he +pleases, you know." + +The Englishman frowned across at her. "I didn't come to make apologies," +said he. "I came to explain. Well, I have explained--Baron de Vries and +I together. That's just how it happened. And that's just how Ste. Marie +takes things. The point is that you've got to understand it. I've got to +make you." + +The girl smiled up at him dolefully. "You look," she said, "as if you +were going to beat me if necessary. You look very warlike." + +"I feel warlike," the man said, nodding. He said: "I'm fighting for a +friend to whom you are doing, in your mind, an injustice. I know him +better than you do, and I tell you you're doing him a grave injustice. +You're failing altogether to understand him." + +"I wonder," the girl said, looking very thoughtfully down at the table +before her. + +"I know," said he. + +Quite suddenly she gave a little overwrought cry, and she put up her +hands over her face. "Oh, Richard!" she said, "that day when he was +here! He left me--oh, I cannot tell you at what a height he left me! It +was something new and beautiful. He swept me to the clouds with him. And +I might--perhaps I might have lived on there. Who knows? But then that +hideous evening! Ah, it was too sickening: the fall back to common earth +again!" + +"I know," said the man, gently--"I know. And _he_ knew, too. Directly +he'd seen you he knew how you would feel about it. I'm not pretending +that it was of no consequence. It was unfortunate, of course. But the +point is, it did not mean in him any slackening, any stooping, any +letting go. It was a moment's incident. We went to the wretched place by +accident after dinner. Ste. Marie saw those childish lunatics at play, +and for about two minutes he played with them. The lady in the blue hat +made it appear a little more extreme, and that's all." + +Miss Benham rose to her feet and moved restlessly back and forth. "Oh, +Richard," she said, "the golden spell is broken--the enchantment he laid +upon me that day. I'm not like him, you know. Oh, I wish I were! I wish +I were! I can't change from hour to hour. I can't rise to the clouds +again after my fall to earth. It has all--become something different. +Don't misunderstand me!" she cried. "I don't mean that I've ceased to +care for him. No, far from that! But I was in such an exalted heaven, +and now I'm not there any more. Perhaps he can lift me to it again. Oh +yes, I'm sure he can, when I see him once more; but I wanted to go on +living there so happily while he was away! Do you understand at all?" + +"I think I do," the man said, but he looked at her very curiously and a +little sadly, for it was the first time he had ever seen her swept from +her superb poise by any emotion, and he hardly recognized her. It was +very bitter to him to realize that he could never have stirred her to +this--never, under any conceivable circumstances. + +The girl came to him where he stood, and touched his arm with her hand. +"He is waiting to hear how I feel about it all, isn't he?" she said. "He +is waiting to know that I understand. Will you tell him a little lie for +me, Richard? No, you needn't tell a lie. I will tell it. Tell him that I +said I understood perfectly. Tell him that I was shocked for a moment, +but that afterward I understood and thought no more about it. Will you +tell him I said that? It won't be a lie from you, because I did say it. +Oh, I will not grieve him or hamper him now while he is working in my +cause! I'll tell him a lie rather than have him grieve." + +"Need it be a lie?" said Richard Hartley. "Can't you truly believe what +you've said?" + +She shook her head slowly. + +"I'll try," said she, "but--my golden spell is broken and I can't mend +it alone. I'm sorry." + +He turned with a little sigh to leave her, but Miss Benham followed him +toward the door of the drawing-room. + +"You're a good friend, Richard," she said, when she had come +near--"you're a good friend to him." + +"He deserves good friends," said the young man, stoutly. "And besides," +said he, "we're brothers in arms nowadays. We've enlisted together to +fight for the same cause." The girl fell back with a little cry. + +"Do you mean," she said, after a moment--"do you mean that _you_ are +working with him--to find Arthur?" + +Hartley nodded. + +"But--" said she, stammering. "But, Richard--" + +The man checked her. + +"Oh, I know what I'm doing," said he. "My eyes are open. I know that I'm +not--well, in the running. I work for no reward except a desire to help +you and Ste. Marie. That's all. It pleases me to be useful." + +He went away with that, not waiting for an answer, and the girl stood +where he had left her, staring after him. + + * * * * * + + + + +X + +CAPTAIN STEWART ENTERTAINS + + +Ste. Marie returned, after three days, from Dinard in a depressed and +somewhat puzzled frame of mind. He had found no trace whatever of Arthur +Benham, either at Dinard or at Deauville, and, what was more, he was +unable to discover that any one even remotely resembling that youth had +been seen at either place. The matter of identification, it seemed to +him, should be a rather simple one. In the first place, the boy's +appearance was not at all French, nor, for that matter, English; it was +very American. Also, he spoke French--so Ste. Marie had been told--very +badly, having for the language that scornful contempt peculiar to +Anglo-Saxons of a certain type. His speech, it seemed, was, like his +appearance, ultra-American--full of strange idioms and oddly pronounced. +In short, such a youth would be rather sure to be remembered by any +hotel management and staff with which he might have come in contact. + +At first Ste. Marie pursued his investigations quietly and, as it were, +casually; but after his initial failure he went to the managements of +the various hotels and lodging-houses, and to the cafes and bathing +establishments, and told them, with all frankness, a part of the +truth--that he was searching for a young man whose disappearance had +caused great distress to his family. He was not long in discovering that +no such young man could have been either in Dinard or Deauville. + +The thing which puzzled him was that, apart from finding no trace of the +missing boy, he also found no trace of Captain Stewart's agent--the man +who had been first on the ground. No one seemed able to recollect that +such a person had been making inquiries, and Ste. Marie began to suspect +that his friend was being imposed upon. He determined to warn Stewart +that his agents were earning their fees too easily. + +So he returned to Paris more than a little dejected, and sore over this +waste of time and effort. He arrived by a noon train, and drove across +the city in a fiacre to the rue d'Assas. But as he was in the midst of +unpacking his portmanteau--for he kept no servant; a woman came in once +a day to "do" the rooms--the door-bell rang. It was Baron de Vries, and +Ste. Marie admitted him with an exclamation of surprise and pleasure. + +"You passed me in the street just now," explained the Belgian, "and as I +was a few minutes early for a lunch engagement I followed you up." He +pointed with his stick at the open bag. "Ah, you have been on a journey! +Detective work?" + +Ste. Marie pushed his guest into a chair, gave him cigarettes, and told +him about the fruitless expedition to Dinard. He spoke, also, of his +belief that Captain Stewart's agent had never really found a clew at +all; and at that Baron de Vries nodded his gray head and said, "Ah!" in +a tone of some significance. Afterward he smoked a little while in +silence, but presently he said, as if with some hesitation: "May I be +permitted to offer a word of advice?" + +"But surely!" cried Ste. Marie, kicking away the half-empty portmanteau. +"Why not?" + +"Do whatever you are going to do in this matter according to your own +judgment," said the elder man, "or according to Mr. Hartley's and your +combined judgments. Make your investigations without reference to our +friend Captain Stewart." He halted there as if that were all he had +meant to say, but when he saw Ste. Marie's raised eyebrows he frowned +and went on, slowly, as if picking his words with some care. "I should +be sorry," he said, "to have Captain Stewart at the head of any +investigation of this nature in which I was deeply interested--just now, +at any rate. I am afraid--it is difficult to say; I do not wish to say +too much--I am afraid he is not quite the man for the position." + +Ste. Marie nodded his head with great emphasis. "Ah," he cried, "that's +just what I have felt, you know, all along! And it's what Hartley felt, +too, I'm sure. No, Stewart is not the sort for a detective. He's too +cocksure. He won't admit that he might possibly be wrong now and then. +He's too--" + +"He is too much occupied with other matters," said Baron de Vries. + +Ste. Marie sat down on the edge of a chair. "Other matters?" he +demanded. "That sounds mysterious. What other matters?" + +"Oh, there is nothing very mysterious about it," said the elder man. He +frowned down at his cigarette, and brushed some fallen ash neatly from +his knees. "Captain Stewart," said he, "is badly worried, and has been +for the past year or so--badly worried over money matters and other +things. He has lost enormous sums at play, as I happen to know, and he +has lost still more enormous sums at Auteuil and at Longchamps. Also, +the ladies are not without their demands." + +Ste. Marie gave a shout of laughter. "Comment donc!" he cried. "Ce +vieillard?" + +"Ah, well," deprecated the other man. "Vieillard is putting it rather +high. He can't be more than fifty, I should think. To be sure, he looks +older; but then, in his day, he lived a great deal in a short time. Do +you happen to remember Olga Nilssen?" + +"I do," said Ste. Marie. "I remember her very well, indeed. I was a sort +of go-between in settling up that affair with Morrison. Morrison's +people asked me to do what I could. Yes, I remember her well, and with +some pleasure. I felt sorry for her, you know. People didn't quite know +the truth of that affair. Morrison behaved very badly to her." + +"Yes," said Baron de Vries, "and Captain Stewart has behaved very badly +to her also. She is furious with rage or jealousy--or both. She goes +about, I am told, threatening to kill him, and it would be rather like +her to do it one day. Well, I have dragged in all this scandal by way of +showing you that Stewart has his hands full of his own affairs just now, +and so cannot give the attention he ought to give to hunting out his +nephew. As you suggest, his agents may be deceiving him. I don't know. I +suppose they could do it easily enough. If I were you I should set to +work quite independently of him." + +"Yes," said Ste. Marie, in an absent tone. "Oh yes, I shall do that, you +may be sure." He gave a sudden smile. "He's a queer type, this Captain +Stewart. He begins to interest me very much. I had never suspected this +side of him, though I remember now that I once saw him coming out of a +milliner's shop. He looks rather an ascetic--rather donnish, don't you +think? I remember that he talked to me one day quite pathetically about +feeling his age and about liking young people round him. He's an odd +character. Fancy him mixed up in an affair with Olga Nilssen! Or, +rather, fancy her involved in an affair with him! What can she have seen +in him? She's not mercenary, you know--at least, she used not to be." + +"Ah! there," said Baron de Vries, "you enter upon a terra incognita. No +one can say what a woman sees in this man or in that. It's beyond our +ken." + +He rose to take his leave, and Ste. Marie went with him to the door. + +"I've been asked to a sort of party at Stewart's rooms this week," Ste. +Marie said. "I don't know whether I shall go or not. Probably not. I +suppose I shouldn't find Olga Nilssen there?" + +"Well, no," said the Belgian, laughing. "No, I hardly think so. +Good-bye! Think over what I've told you. Good-bye!" + +He went away down the stair, and Ste. Marie returned to his unpacking. + +Nothing more of consequence occurred in the next few days. Hartley had +unearthed a somewhat shabby adventurer who swore to having seen the +Irishman O'Hara in Paris within a month, but it was by no means certain +that this being did not merely affirm what he believed to be desired of +him, and in any case the information was of no especial value, since it +was O'Hara's present whereabouts that was the point at issue. So it came +to Thursday evening. Ste. Marie received a note from Captain Stewart +during the day, reminding him that he was to come to the rue du Faubourg +St. Honore that evening, and asking him to come early, at ten or +thereabouts, so that the two could have a comfortable chat before any +one else turned up. Ste. Marie had about decided not to go at all, but +the courtesy of this special invitation from Miss Benham's uncle made it +rather impossible for him to stay away. He tried to persuade Hartley to +follow him on later in the evening, but that gentleman flatly refused +and went away to dine with some English friends at Armenonville. + +So Ste. Marie, in a vile temper, dined quite alone at Lavenue's, beside +the Gare Montparnasse, and toward ten o'clock drove across the river to +the rue du Faubourg. Captain Stewart's flat was up five stories, at the +top of the building in which it was located, and so, well above the +noises of the street. Ste. Marie went up in the automatic lift, and at +the door above his host met him in person, saying that the one servant +he kept was busy making preparations in the kitchen beyond. They entered +a large room, long but comparatively shallow, in shape not unlike the +sitting-room in the rue d'Assas, but very much bigger, and Ste. Marie +uttered an exclamation of surprise and pleasure, for he had never before +seen an interior anything like this. The room was decorated and +furnished entirely in Chinese and Japanese articles of great age and +remarkable beauty. Ste. Marie knew little of the hieratic art of these +two countries, but he fancied that the place must be an endless delight +to the expert. + +The general tone of the room was gold, dulled and softened by great age +until it had ceased to glitter, and relieved by the dusty Chinese blue +and by old red faded to rose and by warm ivory tints. The great expanse +of the walls was covered by a brownish-yellow cloth, coarse like burlap, +and against it, round the room, hung sixteen large panels representing +the sixteen Rakan. They were early copies--fifteenth century, Captain +Stewart said--of those famous originals by the Chinese Sung master +Ririomin, which have been for six hundred years or more the treasures of +Japan. They were mounted upon Japanese brocade of blue and dull gold, +framed in keyaki wood, and out of their brown, time-stained shadows the +great Rakan scowled or grinned or placidly gazed, grotesquely graceful +masterpieces of a perished art. + +At the far end of the room, under a gilded canopy of intricate +wood-carving, stood upon his pedestal of many-petalled lotus a great +statue of Amida Buddha in the yogi attitude of contemplation, and at +intervals against the other walls other smaller images stood or sat: +Buddha, in many incarnations; Kwannon, goddess of mercy; Jizo Bosatzu +Hotei, pot-bellied, god of contentment; Jingo-Kano, god of war. In the +centre of the place was a Buddhist temple table, and priests' chairs, +lacquered and inlaid, stood about the room. The floor was covered with +Chinese rugs, dull yellow with blue flowers, and over a doorway which +led into another room was fixed a huge rama of Chinese pierced carving, +gilded, in which there were trees and rocks and little grouped figures +of the hundred immortals. + +It, was, indeed an extraordinary room. Ste. Marie looked about its +mellow glow with a half-comprehending wonder, and he looked at the man +beside him curiously, for here was another side to this many-sided +character. Captain Stewart smiled. + +"You like my museum?" he asked. "Few people care much for it except, of +course, those who go in for the Oriental arts. Most of my friends think +it bizarre--too grotesque and unusual. I have tried to satisfy them by +including those comfortable low divan-couches (they refuse altogether to +sit in the priests' chairs), but still they are unhappy." + +He called his servant, who came to take Ste. Marie's hat and coat and +returned with smoking things. + +"It seems entirely wonderful to me," said the younger man. "I'm not an +expert at all--I don't know who the gentlemen in those sixteen panels +are, for example--but it is very beautiful. I have never seen anything +like it at all." He gave a little laugh. "Will it sound very impertinent +in me, I wonder, if I express surprise--not surprise at finding this +magnificent room, but at discovering that this sort of thing is a taste +and, very evidently, a serious study of yours? You--I remember your +saying once with some feeling that it was youth and beauty and--well, +freshness that you liked best to be surrounded by. This," said Ste. +Marie, waving an inclusive hand, "was young so many centuries ago! It +fairly breathes antiquity and death." + +"Yes," said Captain Stewart, thoughtfully. "Yes, that is quite true." + +The two had seated themselves upon one of the broad, low benches which +had been built into the place to satisfy the Philistine. + +"I find it hard to explain," he said, "because both things are passions +of mine. Youth--I could not exist without it. Since I have it no longer +in my own body, I wish to see it about me. It gives me life. It keeps my +heart beating. I must have it near. And then this--antiquity and death, +beautiful things made by hands dead centuries ago in an alien country! I +love this, too. I didn't speak too strongly; it is a sort of passion +with me--something quite beyond the collector's mania--quite beyond +that. Sometimes, do you know, I stay at home in the evening, and I sit +here quite alone, with the lights half on, and for hours together I +smoke and watch these things--the quiet, sure, patient smile of that +Buddha, for example. Think how long he has been smiling like that, and +waiting! Waiting for what? There is something mysterious beyond all +words in that smile of his, that fixed, crudely carved wooden smile--no, +I'll be hanged if it's crude! It is beyond our modern art. The dead men +carved better than we do. We couldn't manage that with such simple +means. We can only reproduce what is before us. We can't carve +questions--mysteries--everlasting riddles." + +Through the pale-blue, wreathing smoke of his cigarette Captain Stewart +gazed down the room to where eternal Buddha stood and smiled eternally. +And from there the man's eyes moved with slow enjoyment along the +opposite wall over those who sat or stood there, over the panels of the +ancient Rakan, over carved lotus, and gilt contorted dragon forever in +pursuit of the holy pearl. He drew a short breath which seemed to +bespeak extreme contentment, the keenest height of pleasure, and he +stirred a little where he sat and settled himself among the cushions. +Ste. Marie watched him, and the expression of the man's face began to be +oddly revolting. It was the face of a voluptuary in the presence of his +desire. He was uncomfortable, and wished to say something to break the +silence, but, as often occurs at such a time, he could think of nothing +to say. So there was a brief silence between them. But presently Captain +Stewart roused himself with an obvious effort. + +"Here, this won't do!" said he, in a tone of whimsical apology. "This +won't do, you know. I'm floating off on my hobby (and there's a mixed +metaphor that would do credit to your own Milesian blood!). I'm boring +you to extinction, and I don't want to do that, for I'm anxious that you +should come here again--and often. I should like to have you form the +habit. What was it I had in mind to ask you about? Ah, yes! The journey +to Dinard and Deauville. I am afraid it turned out to be fruitless or +you would have let me know." + +"Entirely fruitless," said Ste. Marie. + +He went on to tell the elder man of his investigation, and of his +certainty that no one resembling Arthur Benham had been at either of the +two places. + +"It's no affair of mine, to be sure," he said, "but I rather suspect +that your agent was deceiving you--pretending to have accomplished +something by way of making you think he was busy." + +Ste. Marie was so sure the other would immediately disclaim this that he +waited for the word, and gave a little smothered laugh when Captain +Stewart said, promptly: + +"Oh no! No! That is impossible. I have every confidence in that man. He +is one of my best. No, you are mistaken there. I am more disappointed +than you could possibly be over the failure of your efforts, but I am +quite sure my man thought he had something worth working upon. +By-the-way, I have received another rather curious communication--from +Ostend this time. I will show you the letter, and you may try your luck +there if you would care to." He felt in his pockets and then rose. "I've +left the thing in another coat," said he; "if you will allow me, I'll +fetch it." But before he had turned away the door-bell rang and he +paused. "Ah, well," he said, "another time. Here are some of my guests. +They have come earlier than I had expected." + +The new arrivals were three very perfectly dressed ladies, one of them +an operatic light, who chanced not to be singing that evening and whom +Ste. Marie had met before. The two others were rather difficult of +classification, but probably, he thought, ornaments of that mysterious +border-land between the two worlds which seems to give shelter to so +many people against whose characters nothing definite is known, but +whose antecedents and connections are not made topics of conversation. +The three ladies seemed to be on very friendly terms with Captain +Stewart, and greeted him with much noisy delight. One of the +unclassified two, when her host, with a glance toward Ste. Marie, +addressed her formally, seemed inordinately amused, and laughed for a +long time. + +Within the next hour ten or a dozen other guests had arrived, and they +all seemed to know one another very well, and proceeded to make +themselves quite at home. Ste. Marie regarded them with a reflective and +not over-enthusiastic eye, and he wondered a good deal why he had been +asked here to meet them. He was as far from a prig or a snob as any man +could very well be, and he often went to very Bohemian parties which +were given by his painter or musician friends, but these people seemed +to him quite different. The men, with the exception of two eminent +opera-singers, who quite obviously had been asked because of their +voices, were the sort of men who abound at such places as Ostend and +Monte Carlo, and Baden-Baden in the race week. That is not to say that +they were ordinary racing touts or the cheaper kind of adventurers +(there was a count among them, and a marquis who had recently been +divorced by his American wife), but adventurers of a sort they +undoubtedly were. There was not one of them, so far as Ste. Marie was +aware, who was received anywhere in good society, and he resented very +much being compelled to meet them. + +Naturally enough, he felt much less concern on the score of the ladies. +It is an undoubted and well-nigh universal truth that men who would +refuse outright to meet certain classes of their own sex show no +reluctance whatever over meeting the women of a corresponding +circle--that is, if the women are attractive. It is a depressing fact +and inclines one to sighs and head-shakes, and some moral indignation, +until the reverse truth is brought to light--namely, that women have +identically the same point of view; that, while they cast looks of +loathing and horror upon certain of their sisters, they will meet with +pleasure any presentable man whatever his crimes or vices. + +Ste. Marie was very much puzzled over all this. It seemed to him so +unnecessary that a man who really had some footing in the newer society +of Paris should choose to surround himself with people of this type; but +as he looked on and wondered he became aware of a curious and, in the +light of a past conversation, significant fact: all of the people in the +room were young; all of them in their varying fashions and degrees very +attractive to look upon; all full to overflowing of life and spirits and +the determination to have a good time. He saw Captain Stewart moving +among them, playing very gracefully his role of host, and the man seemed +to have dropped twenty years from his shoulders. A miracle of +rejuvenation seemed to have come upon him: his eyes were bright and +eager, the color was high in his cheeks, and the dry, pedantic tone had +gone from his voice. Ste. Marie watched him, and at last he thought he +understood. It was half revolting, half pathetic, he thought, but it +certainly was interesting to see. + +Duval, the great basso of the Opera, accompanied at the piano by one of +the unclassified ladies, was just finishing Mephistopheles' drinking +song out of _Faust_ when the door-bell rang. + + * * * * * + + + + +XI + +A GOLDEN LADY ENTERS--THE EYES AGAIN + + +The music of voice and piano was very loud just then, so that the +little, soft, whirring sound of the electric bell reached only one or +two pairs of ears in the big room. It did not reach the host certainly, +and neither he nor most of the others observed the servant make his way +among the groups of seated or standing people and go to the outer door, +which opened upon a tiny hallway. The song came to an end, and everybody +was cheering and applauding and crying "Bravo!" or "Bis!" or one of the +other things that people shout at such times, when, as if in unexpected +answer to the outburst, a lady appeared between the yellow portieres and +came forward a little way into the room. She was a tall lady of an +extraordinary and immediately noticeable grace of movement--a lady with +rather fair hair; but her eyebrows and eyelashes had been stained darker +than it was their nature to be. She had the classic Greek type of +face--and figure, too--all but the eyes, which were long and +narrow--narrow, perhaps, from a habit of going half closed; and when +they were a little more than half closed they made a straight black line +that turned up very slightly at the outer end with an Oriental effect +which went oddly in that classic face. There is a popular piece of +sculpture now in the Luxembourg Gallery for which this lady "sat" as +model to a great artist. Sculptors from all over the world go there to +dream over its perfect line and contour, and little schoolgirls pretend +not to see it, and middle-aged maiden tourists, with red Baedekers in +their hands, regard it furtively and pass on, and after a while come +back to look again. + +The lady was dressed in some very close-clinging material which was not +cloth of gold, but something very like it, only much duller--something +which gleamed when she stirred, but did not glitter--and over her +splendid shoulders was hung an Oriental scarf heavily worked with +metallic gold. She made an amazing and dramatic picture in that golden +room. It was as if she had known just what her surroundings would be and +had dressed expressly for them. + +The applause ceased as suddenly as if it had been trained to break off +at a signal, and the lady came forward a little way, smiling a quiet, +assured smile. At each step her knee threw out the golden stuff of her +gown an inch or two, and it flashed suddenly--a dull, subdued flash in +the overhead light--and died and flashed again. A few of the people in +the room knew who the lady was, and they looked at one another with +raised eyebrows and startled faces; but the others stared at her with an +eager admiration, thinking that they had seldom seen anything so +beautiful or so effective. Ste. Marie sat forward on the edge of his +chair. His eyes sparkled, and he gave a little quick sigh of pleasurable +excitement. This was drama, and very good drama, too, and he suspected +that it might at any moment turn into a tragedy. + +He saw Captain Stewart, who had been among a group of people half-way +across the room, turn his head to look when the cries and the applause +ceased so suddenly, and he saw the man's face stiffen by swift degrees, +all the joyous, buoyant life gone out of it, until it was yellow and +rigid like a dead man's face; and Ste. Marie, out of his knowledge of +the relations between these two people, nodded, en connaisseur, for he +knew that the man was very badly frightened. + +So the host of the evening hung back, staring for what must have seemed +to him a long and terrible time, though in reality it was but an +instant; then he came forward quickly to greet the new-comer, and if his +face was still yellow-white there was nothing in his manner but the +courtesy habitual with him. He took the lady's hand, and she smiled at +him, but her eyes did not smile--they were hard. Ste. Marie, who was the +nearest of the others, heard Captain Stewart say: + +"This is an unexpected pleasure, my dearest Olga!" + +And to that the lady replied, more loudly: "Yes, I returned to Paris +only to-day. You didn't know, of course. I heard you were entertaining +this evening, and so I came, knowing that I should be welcome." + +"Always!" said Captain Stewart--"always more than welcome!" + +He nodded to one or two of the men who stood near, and when they +approached presented them. Ste. Marie observed that he used the lady's +true name--she had, at times, found occasion to employ others--and that +he politely called her "Madame Nilssen" instead of "Mademoiselle." But +at that moment the lady caught sight of Ste. Marie, and, crying out his +name in a tone of delighted astonishment, turned away from the other +men, brushing past them as if they had been furniture, and advanced +holding out both her hands in greeting. + +"Dear Ste. Marie!" she exclaimed. "Fancy finding you here! I'm so glad! +Oh, I'm so very glad! Take me away from these people! Find a corner +where we can talk. Ah, there is one with a big seat! Allons-y!" + +She addressed him for the most part in English, which she spoke +perfectly--as perfectly as she spoke French and German and, presumably, +her native tongue, which must have been Swedish. + +They went to the broad, low seat, a sort of hard-cushioned bench, which +stood against one of the walls, and made themselves comfortable there by +the only possible means, which, owing to the width of the thing, was to +sit far back with their feet stuck straight out before them. Captain +Stewart had followed them across the room and showed a strong tendency +to remain. Ste. Marie observed that his eyes were hard and bright and +very alert, and that there were two bright spots of color in his yellow +cheeks. It occurred to Ste. Marie that the man was afraid to leave him +alone with Olga Nilssen, and he smiled to himself, reflecting that the +lady, even if indiscreetly inclined, could tell him nothing--save in +details--that he did not already know. But after a few rather awkward +moments Mile. Nilssen waved an irritated hand. + +"Go away!" she said to her host. "Go away to your other guests! I want +to talk to Ste. Marie. We have old times to talk over." + +And after hesitating awhile uneasily, Captain Stewart turned back into +the room; but for some time thereafter Ste. Marie was aware that a +vigilant eye was being kept upon them and that their host was by no +means at his ease. + +When they were left alone together the girl turned to him and patted his +arm affectionately. She said: + +"Ah, but it is very good to see you again, mon cher ami! It has been so +long!" She gave an abrupt frown. "What are you doing here?" she +demanded. + +And she said an unkind thing about her fellow-guests. She called them +"canaille." She said: + +"Why are you wasting your time among these canaille? This is not a place +for you. Why did you come?" + +"I don't know," said Ste. Marie. He was still a little resentful, and he +said so. He said: "I didn't know it was going to be like this. I came +because Stewart went rather out of his way to ask me. I'd known him in a +very different milieu." + +"Ah, yes!" she said, reflectively. "Yes, he does go into the world also, +doesn't he? But this is what he likes, you know." Her lips drew back for +an instant, and she said: "He is a pig-dog!" + +Ste. Marie looked at her gravely. She had used that offensive name with +a little too much fierceness. Her face had turned for an instant quite +white, and her eyes had flashed out over the room a look that meant a +great deal to any one who knew her as well as Ste. Marie did. He sat +forward and lowered his voice. He said: + +"Look here, Olga! I'm going to be very frank for a moment. May I?" + +For just an instant the girl drew away from him with suspicion in her +eyes, and something else, alertly defiant. Then she put out her hands to +his arm. + +"You may be what you like, dear Ste. Marie," she said, "and say what you +like. I will take it all--and swallow it alive--good as gold. What are +you going to do to me?" + +"I've always been fair with you, haven't I?" he urged. "I've had +disagreeable things to say or do, but--you knew always that I liked you +and--where my sympathies were." + +"Always! Always, mon cher!" she cried. "I trusted you always in +everything. And there is no one else I trust. No one! No one!--Ste. +Marie!" + +"What then?" he asked. + +"Ste. Marie," she said, "why did you never fall in love with me, as the +other men did?" + +"I wonder!" said he. "I don't know. Upon my word, I really don't know." + +He was so serious about it that the girl burst into a shriek of +laughter. And in the end he laughed, too. + +"I expect it was because I liked you too well," he said, at last. "But +come! We're forgetting my lecture. Listen to your grandpere Ste. Marie! +I have heard--certain things--rumors--what you will. Perhaps they are +foolish lies, and I hope they are. But if not, if the fear I saw in +Stewart's face when you came here to-night, was--not without cause, let +me beg you to have a care. You're much too savage, my dear child. Don't +be so foolish as to--well, turn comedy into the other thing. In the +first place, it's not worth while, and, in the second place, it recoils +always. Revenge may be sweet. I don't know. But nowadays, with police +courts and all that, it entails much more subsequent annoyance than it +is worth. Be wise, Olga!" + +"Some things, Ste. Marie," said the golden lady, "are worth all the +consequences that may follow them." + +She watched Captain Stewart across the room, where he stood chatting +with a little group of people, and her beautiful face was as hard as +marble and her eyes were as dark as a stormy night, and her mouth, for +an instant, was almost like an animal's mouth--cruel and relentless. + +Ste. Marie saw, and he began to be a bit alarmed in good earnest. In his +warning he had spoken rather more seriously than he felt the occasion +demanded, but he began at last to wonder if the occasion was not in +reality very serious, indeed. He was sure, of course, that Olga Nilssen +had come here on this evening to annoy Captain Stewart in some fashion. +As he put it to himself, she probably meant to "make a row," and he +would not have been in the least surprised if she had made it in the +beginning, upon her very dramatic entrance. Nothing more calamitous than +that had occurred to him. But when he saw the woman's face turned a +little away and gazing fixedly at Captain Stewart, he began to be aware +that there was tragedy very near him--or all the makings of it. + +Mlle. Nilssen turned back to him. Her face was still hard, and her eyes +dark and narrowed with their oddly Oriental look. She bent her shoulders +together for an instant and her hands moved slowly in her lap, +stretching out before her in a gesture very like a cat's when it wakes +from sleep and yawns and extends its claws, as if to make sure that they +are still there and ready for use. + +"I feel a little like Samson to-night," she said. "I am tired of almost +everything, and I should like very much to pull the world down on top of +me and kill everybody in it--except you, Ste. Marie, dear; except +you!--and be crushed under the ruins!" + +"I think," said Ste. Marie, practically--and the speech sounded rather +like one of Hartley's speeches--"I think it was not quite the world that +Samson pulled down, but a temple--or a palace--something of that kind." + +"Well," said the golden lady, "this place is rather like a temple--a +Chinese temple, with the pig-dog for high-priest." + +Ste. Marie frowned at her. + +"What are you going to do?" he demanded, sharply. "What did you come +here to do? Mischief of some kind--bien entendu--but what?" + +"Do?" she said, looking at him with her narrowed eyes. "I? Why, what +should I do? Nothing, of course! I merely said I should like to pull the +place down. Of course, I couldn't do that quite literally, now, could I? +No. It is merely a mood. I'm not going to do anything." + +"You're not being honest with me," he said. + +And at that her expression changed, and she patted his arm again with a +gesture that seemed to beg forgiveness. + +"Well, then," she said, "if you must know, maybe I did come here for a +purpose. I want to have it out with our friend Captain Stewart about +something. And Ste. Marie, dear," she pleaded, "please, I think you'd +better go home first. I don't care about these other animals, but I +don't want you dragged into any row of any sort. Please be a sweet Ste. +Marie and go home. Yes?" + +"Absolutely, no!" said Ste. Marie. "I shall stay, and I shall try my +utmost to prevent you from doing anything foolish. Understand that! If +you want to have rows with people, Olga, for Heaven's sake don't pick an +occasion like this for the purpose. Have your rows in private!" + +"I rather think I enjoy an audience," she said, with a reflective air, +and Ste. Marie laughed aloud because he knew that the naive speech was +so very true. This lady, with her many good qualities and her bad +ones--not a few, alas!--had an undeniable passion for red fire that had +amused him very much on more than one past occasion. + +"Please go home!" she said once more. + +But when the man only shook his head, she raised her hands a little way +and dropped them again in her lap, in an odd gesture which seemed to say +that she had done all she could do, and that if anything disagreeable +should happen now, and he should be involved in it, it would be entirely +his fault because she had warned him. + +Then quite abruptly a mood of irresponsible gayety seemed to come upon +her. She refused to have anything more to do with serious topics, and +when Ste. Marie attempted to introduce them she laughed in his face. As +she had said in the beginning she wished to do, she harked back to old +days (the earlier stages of what might be termed the Morrison regime), +and it seemed to afford her great delight to recall the happenings of +that epoch. The conversation became a dialogue of reminiscence which +would have been entirely unintelligible to a third person, and was, +indeed, so to Captain Stewart, who once came across the room, made a +feeble effort to attach himself, and presently wandered away again. + +They unearthed from the past an exceedingly foolish song all about one +"Little Willie" and a purple monkey climbing up a yellow stick. It was +set to a well-known air from _Don Giovanni_, and when Duval, the basso, +heard them singing it he came up and insisted upon knowing what it was +about. He laughed immoderately over the English words when he was told +what they meant, and made Ste. Marie write them down for him on two +visiting-cards. So they made a trio out of "Little Willie," the great +Duval inventing a bass part quite marvellous in its ingenuity, and they +were compelled to sing it over and over again, until Ste. Marie's +falsetto imitation of a tenor voice cracked and gave out altogether, +since he was by nature barytone, if anything at all. + +The other guests had crowded round to hear the extraordinary song, and +when the song was at last finished several of them remained, so that +Ste. Marie saw he was to be allowed an uninterrupted tete-a-tete with +Olga Nilssen no longer. He therefore drifted away, after a few moments, +and went with Duval and one of the other men across the room to look at +some small jade objects--snuff-bottles, bracelets, buckles, and the +like--which were displayed in a cabinet cleverly reconstructed out of a +Japanese shrine. It was perhaps ten minutes later when he looked round +the place and discovered that neither Mlle. Nilssen nor Captain Stewart +was to be seen. + +His first thought was of relief, for he said to himself that the two had +sensibly gone into one of the other rooms to "have it out" in peace and +quiet. But following that came the recollection of the woman's face when +she had watched her host across the room. Her words came back to him: "I +feel a little like Samson to-night.... I should like very much to pull +the world down on top of me and kill everybody in it!" Ste. Marie +thought of these things, and he began to be uncomfortable. He found +himself watching the yellow-hung doorway beyond, with its intricate +Chinese carving of trees and rocks and little groups of immortals, and +he found that unconsciously he was listening for something--he did not +know what--above the chatter and laughter of the people in the room. He +endured this for possibly five minutes, and all at once found that he +could endure it no longer. He began to make his way quietly through the +groups of people toward the curtained doorway. + +As he went, one of the women near by complained in a loud tone that the +servant had disappeared. She wanted, it seemed, a glass of water, having +already had many glasses of more interesting things. Ste. Marie said he +would get it for her, and went on his way. He had an excuse now. + +He found himself in a square, dimly lighted room much smaller than the +other. There was a round table in the centre, so he thought it must be +Stewart's dining-room. At the left a doorway opened into a place where +there were lights, and at the other side was another door closed. From +the room at the left there came a sound of voices, and though they were +not loud, one of them, Mlle. Olga Nilssen's voice, was hard and angry +and not altogether under control. The man would seem to have been +attempting to pacify her, and he would seem not to have been very +successful. + +The first words that Ste. Marie was able to distinguish were from the +woman. She said, in a low, fierce tone: + +"That is a lie, my friend! That is a lie! I know all about the road to +Clamart, so you needn't lie to me any longer. It's no good." + +She paused for just an instant there, and in the pause St. Marie heard +Stewart give a sort of inarticulate exclamation. It seemed to express +anger and it seemed also to express fear. But the woman swept on, and +her voice began to be louder. She said: + +"I've given you your chance. You didn't deserve it, but I've given it +you--and you've told me nothing but lies. Well, you'll lie no more. This +ends it." + +Upon that Ste. Marie heard a sudden stumbling shuffle of feet and a low, +hoarse cry of utter terror--a cry more animal-like than human. He heard +the cry break off abruptly in something that was like a cough and a +whine together, and he heard the sound of a heavy body falling with a +loose rattle upon the floor. + +With the sound of that falling body he had already reached the doorway +and torn aside the heavy portiere. It was a sleeping-room he looked +into, a room of medium size with two windows and an ornate bed of the +Empire style set sidewise against the farther wall. There were electric +lights upon imitation candles which were grouped in sconces against the +wall, and these were turned on, so that the room was brightly +illuminated. Midway between the door and the ornate Empire bed Captain +Stewart lay huddled and writhing upon the floor, and Olga Nilssen stood +upright beside him, gazing down upon him quite calmly. In her right +hand, which hung at her side, she held a little flat black automatic +pistol of the type known as Brownings--and they look like toys, but they +are not. + +Ste. Marie sprang at her silently and caught her by the arm, twisting +the automatic pistol from her grasp, and the woman made no effort +whatever to resist him. She looked into his face quite frankly and +unmoved, and she shook her head. + +"I haven't harmed him," she said. "I was going to, yes--and then +myself--but he didn't give me a chance. He fell down in a fit." She +nodded down toward the man who lay writhing at their feet. "I frightened +him," she said, "and he fell in a fit. He's an epileptic, you know. +Didn't you know that? Oh yes." + +Abruptly she turned away shivering, and put up her hands over her face. +And she gave an exclamation of uncontrollable repulsion. + +"Ugh!" she cried, "it's horrible! Horrible! I can't bear to look. I saw +him in a fit once before--long ago--and I couldn't bear even to speak to +him for a month. I thought he had been cured. He said--Ah, it's +horrible!" + +Ste. Marie had dropped upon his knees beside the fallen man, and Mlle. +Nilssen said, over her shoulder: + +"Hold his head up from the floor, if you can bear to. He might hurt it." + +It was not an easy thing to do, for Ste. Marie had the natural sense of +repulsion in such matters that most people have, and this man's +appearance, as Olga Nilssen had said, was horrible. The face was drawn +hideously, and in the strong, clear light of the electrics it was a +deathly yellow. The eyes were half closed, and the eyeballs turned up so +that only the whites of them showed between the lids. There was froth +upon the distorted mouth, and it clung to the catlike mustache and to +the shallow, sunken chin beneath. But Ste. Marie exerted all his will +power, and took the jerking, trembling head in his hands, holding it +clear of the floor. + +"You'd better call the servant," he said. "There may be something that +can be done." + +But the woman answered, without looking: + +"No, there's nothing that can be done, I believe, except to keep him +from bruising himself. Stimulants--that sort of thing--do more harm than +good. Could you get him on the bed here?" + +"Together we might manage it," said Ste. Marie. "Come and help!" + +"I can't!" she cried, nervously. "I can't--touch him. Please, I can't do +it." + +"Come!" said the man, in a sharp tone. "It's no time for nerves. I don't +like it, either, but it's got to be done." + +The woman began a half-hysterical sobbing, but after a moment she turned +and came with slow feet to where Stewart lay. + +Ste. Marie slipped his arms under the man's body and began to raise him +from the floor. + +"You needn't help, after all," he said. "He's not heavy." + +And, indeed, under his skilfully shaped and padded clothes the man was a +mere waif of a man--as unbelievably slight as if he were the victim of a +wasting disease. Ste. Marie held the body in his arms as if it had been +a child, and carried it across and laid it on the bed; but it was many +months before he forgot the horror of that awful thing shaking and +twitching in his hold, the head thumping hideously upon his shoulder, +the arms and legs beating against him. It was the most difficult task he +had ever had to perform. He laid Captain Stewart upon the bed and +straightened the helpless limbs as best he could. + +"I suppose," he said, rising again--"I suppose when the man comes out of +this he'll be frightfully exhausted and drop off to sleep, won't he? +We'll have to--" + +He halted abruptly there, and for a single swift instant he felt the +black and rushing sensation of one who is going to faint away. The wall +behind the ornate Empire bed was covered with photographs, some in +frames, others left, as they had been received, upon the large squares +of weird cardboard which are termed "art mounts." + +"Come here a moment, quickly!" said Ste. Marie, in a sharp voice. + +Mlle. Nilssen's sobs had died down to a silent, spasmodic catching of +the breath, but she was still much unnerved, and she approached the bed +with obvious unwillingness, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. +Ste. Marie pointed to an unframed photograph which was fastened to the +wall by thumb-tacks, and his outstretched hand shook as he pointed. +Beneath them the other man still writhed and tumbled in his epileptic +fit. + +"Do you know who that woman is?" demanded Ste. Marie, and his tone was +such that Olga Nilssen turned slowly and stared at him. + +"That woman," said she, "is the reason why I wished to pull the world +down upon Charlie Stewart and me to-night. That's who she is." + +Ste. Marie gave a sort of cry. + +"Who is she?" he insisted. "What is her name? I--have a particularly +important reason for wanting to know. I've got to know." + +Mlle. Nilssen shook her head, still staring at him. + +"I can't tell you that," said she. "I don't know the name. I only know +that--when he met her, he--I don't know her name, but I know where she +lives and where he goes every day to see her--a house with a big garden +and walled park on the road to Clamart. It's on the edge of the wood, +not far from Fort d'Issy. The Clamart-Vanves-Issy tram runs past the +wall of one side of the park. That's all I know." + +Ste. Marie clasped his head with his hands. + +"So near to it!" he groaned, "and yet--Ah!" He bent forward suddenly +over the bed and spelled out the name of the photographer which was +pencilled upon the brown cardboard mount. "There's still a chance," he +said, "There's still one chance." + +He became aware that the woman was watching him curiously, and nodded to +her. + +"It's something you don't know about," he explained. "I've got to find +out who this--girl is. Perhaps the photographer can help me. I used to +know him." All at once his eyes sharpened. "Tell me the simple truth +about something!" said he. "If ever we have been friends, if you owe me +any good office, tell me this: Do you know anything about young Arthur +Benham's disappearance two months ago, or about what has become of him?" + +Again the woman shook her head. + +"No," said she. "Nothing at all. I hadn't even heard of it. Young Arthur +Benham! I've met him once or twice. I wonder--I wonder Stewart never +spoke to me about his disappearance! That's very odd." + +"Yes," said Ste. Marie, absently, "it is." He gave a little sigh. "I +wonder about a good many things," said he. + +He glanced down upon the bed before them, and Captain Stewart lay still, +save for a slight twitching of the hands. Once he moved his head +restlessly from side to side and said something incoherent in a weak +murmur. + +"He's out of it," said Olga Nilssen. "He'll sleep now, I think. I +suppose we must get rid of those people and then leave him to the care +of his man. A doctor couldn't do anything for him." + +"Yes," said Ste. Marie, nodding, "I'll call the servant and tell the +people that Stewart has been taken ill." + +He looked once more toward the photograph on the wall, and under his +breath he said, with an odd, defiant fierceness: "I won't believe it!" +But he did not explain what he wouldn't believe. He started out of the +room, but, half-way, halted and turned back. He looked Olga Nilssen full +in the eyes, saying: + +"It is safe to leave you here with him while I call the servant? +There'll be no more--?" + +But the woman gave a low cry and a violent shiver with it. + +"You need have no fear," she said. "I've no desire now to--harm him. +The--reason is gone. This has cured me. I feel as if I could never bear +to see him again. Oh, hurry! Please hurry! I want to get away from +here!" + +Ste. Marie nodded, and went out of the room. + + * * * * * + + + + +XII + +THE NAME OF THE LADY WITH THE EYES--EVIDENCE HEAPS UP SWIFTLY + + +Ste. Marie drove home to the rue d'Assas with his head in a whirl, and +with a sense of great excitement beating somewhere within him--probably +in the place where his heart ought to be. He had a curiously sure +feeling that at last his feet were upon the right path. He could not +have explained this to himself--indeed, there was nothing to explain, +and if there had been he was in far too great an inner turmoil to manage +it. It was a mere feeling--the sort of thing which he had once tried to +express to Captain Stewart and had got laughed at for his pains. + +There was, in sober fact, no reason whatever why Captain Stewart's +possession of a photograph of the beautiful lady whom Ste. Marie had +once seen in company with O'Hara should be taken as significant of +anything except an appreciation of beauty on the part of Miss Benham's +uncle--not even if, as Mlle. Nilssen believed, Captain Stewart was in +love with the lady. But to Ste. Marie, in his whirl of reawakened +excitement, the discovery loomed to the skies, and in a series of +ingenious but very vague leaps of the imagination he saw himself, with +the aid of this new evidence (which was no evidence at all, if he had +been calm enough to realize it), victorious in his great quest: leading +young Arthur Benham back to the arms of an ecstatic family, and kneeling +at the feet of that youth's sister to claim his reward. All of which +seems a rather startling flight of the imagination to have had its +beginning in the sight of one photograph of a young woman. But, then, +Ste. Marie was imaginative if he was anything. + +He fell to thinking of this girl whose eyes, after one sight of them, +had so long haunted him. He thought of her between those two men, the +hard-faced Irish adventurer, and the other, Stewart, strange compound of +intellectual and voluptuary, and his eyes flashed in the dark and he +gripped his hands together upon his knees. He said again: + +"I won't believe it! I won't believe it!" Believe what? one wonders. + +He slept hardly at all: only, toward morning, falling into an uneasy +doze. And in the doze he dreamed once more the dream of the dim, waste +place and the hill, and the eyes and voice that called him back--because +they needed him. + +As early as he dared, after his morning coffee, he took a fiacre and +drove across the river to the Boulevard de la Madeleine, where he +climbed a certain stair, at the foot of which were two glass cases +containing photographs of, for the most part, well-known ladies of the +Parisian stage. At the top of the stair he entered the reception-room of +a young photographer who is famous now the world over, but who, at the +beginning of his career, when he had nothing but talent and no +acquaintance, owed certain of his most important commissions to M. Ste. +Marie. + +The man, whose name was Bernstein, came forward eagerly from the studio +beyond to greet his visitor, and Ste. Marie complimented him chaffingly +upon his very sleek and prosperous appearance, and upon the new +decorations of the little salon, which were, in truth, excellently well +judged. But after they had talked for a little while of such matters, he +said: + +"I want to know if you keep specimen prints of all the photographs you +have made within the past few months, and, if so, I should like to see +them." + +The young Jew went to a wooden portfolio-holder which stood in a corner, +and dragged it out into the light. + +"I have them all here," said he--"everything that I have made within the +past ten or twelve months. If you will let me draw up a chair you can +look them over comfortably." + +He glanced at his former patron with a little polite curiosity as Ste. +Marie followed his suggestion, and began to turn over the big +portfolio's contents; but he did not show any surprise nor ask +questions. Indeed, he guessed, to a certain extent, rather near the +truth of the matter. It had happened before that young gentlemen--and +old ones, too--wanted to look over his prints without offering +explanations, and they generally picked out all the photographs there +were of some particular lady and bought them if they could be bought. + +So he was by no means astonished on this occasion, and he moved about +the room putting things to rights, and even went for a few moments into +the studio beyond until he was recalled by a sudden exclamation from his +visitor--an exclamation which had a sound of mingled delight and +excitement. + +Ste. Marie held in his hands a large photograph, and he turned it toward +the man who had made it. + +"I am going to ask you some questions," said he, "that will sound rather +indiscreet and irregular, but I beg you to answer them if you can, +because the matter is of great importance to a number of people. Do you +remember this lady?" + +"Oh yes," said the Jew, readily, "I remember her very well. I never +forget people who are as beautiful as this lady was." His eyes gleamed +with retrospective joy. "She was splendid!" he declared. "Sumptuous! No, +I cannot describe her. I have not the words. And I could not photograph +her with any justice, either. She was all color: brown skin, with a +dull-red stain under the cheeks, and a great mass of hair that was not +black but very nearly black--except in the sun, and then there were red +lights in it. She was a goddess, that lady, a queen of goddesses-- the +young Juno before marriage--the--" + +"Yes," interrupted Ste. Marie--"yes, I see. Yes, quite evidently she was +beautiful; but what I wanted in particular to know was her name, if you +feel that you have a right to give it to me (I remind you again that the +matter is very important), and any circumstances that you can remember +about her coming here: who came with her, for instance and things of +that sort." + +The photographer looked a little disappointed at being cut off in the +middle of his rhapsody, but he began turning over the leaves of an +order-book which lay upon a table near by. + +"Here is the entry," he said, after a few moments. "Yes, I thought so, +the date was nearly three months ago--April 5th. And the lady's name was +Mlle. Coira O'Hara." + +"What!" cried the other man, sharply. "What did you say?" + +"Mlle. Coira O'Hara was the name," repeated the photographer. "I +remember the occasion perfectly. The lady came here with three +gentlemen--one tall, thin gentleman with an eyeglass, an Englishman, I +think, though he spoke very excellent French when he spoke to me. Among +themselves they spoke, I think, English, though I do not understand it, +except a few words, such as ''ow moch?' and 'sank you' and 'rady, +pleas', now.'" + +"Yes! yes!" cried Ste. Marie, impatiently. And the little Jew could see +that he was laboring under some very strong excitement, and he wondered +mildly about it, scenting a love-affair. + +"Then," he pursued, "there was a very young man in strange clothes--a +tourist, I should think, like those Americans and English who come in +the summer with little red books and sit on the terrace of the Cafe de +la Paix." He heard his visitor draw a swift, sharp breath at that, but +he hurried on before he could be interrupted. "This young man seemed to +be unable to take his eyes from the lady--and small wonder! He was very +much epris--very much epris, indeed. Never have I seen a youth more so. +Ah, it was something to see, that--a thing to touch the heart!" + +"What did the young man look like?" demanded Ste. Marie. + +The photographer described the youth as best he could from memory, and +he saw his visitor nod once or twice, and at the end he said: + +"Yes, yes; I thought so. Thank you." + +The Jew did not know what it was the other thought, but he went on: + +"Ah, a thing to touch the heart! Such devotion as that! Alas, that the +lady should seem so cold to it! Still, a goddess! What would you? A +queen among goddesses. One would not have them laugh and make little +jokes--make eyes at love-sick boys. No, indeed!" He shook his head +rapidly and sighed. + +M. Ste. Marie was silent for a little space, but at length he looked up +as if he had just remembered something. + +"And the third man?" he asked. + +"Ah, yes, the third gentleman," said Bernstein. "I had forgotten him. +The third gentleman I knew well. He had often been here. It was he who +brought these friends to me. He was M. le Capitaine Stewart. Everybody +knows M. le Capitaine Stewart--everybody in Paris." + +Again he observed that his visitor drew a little, swift, sharp breath, +and that he seemed to be laboring under some excitement. + +However, Ste. Marie did not question him further, and so he went on to +tell the little more he knew of the matter--how the four people had +remained for an hour or more, trying many poses; how they had returned, +all but the tall gentleman, three days later to see the proofs and to +order certain ones to be printed (the young man paying on the spot in +advance), and how the finished prints had been sent to M. le Capitaine +Stewart's address. + +When he had finished, his visitor sat for a long time silent, his head +bent a little, frowning upon the floor and chafing his hands together +over his knees. But at last he rose rather abruptly. He said: + +"Thank you very much, indeed. You have done me a great service. If ever +I can repay it, command me. Thank you!" + +The Jew protested, smiling, that he was still too deeply in debt to M. +Ste. Marie, and so, politely wrangling, they reached the door, and with +a last expression of gratitude the visitor departed down the stair. A +client came in just then for a sitting, and so the little photographer +did not have an opportunity to wonder over the rather odd affair as much +as he might have done. Indeed, in the press of work, it slipped from his +mind altogether. + +But down in the busy boulevard Ste. Marie stood hesitating on the curb. +There were so many things to be done, in the light of these new +developments, that he did not know what to do first. + +"Mlle. Coira O'Hara!--_Mademoiselle!_" The thought gave him a sudden +sting of inexplicable relief and pleasure. She would be O'Hara's +daughter, then. And the boy, Arthur Benham (there was no room for doubt +in the photographer's description) had seemed to be badly in love with +her. This was a new development, indeed! It wanted thought, reflection, +consultation with Richard Hartley. He signalled to a fiacre, and when it +had drawn up before him sprang into it and gave Richard Hartley's +address in the Avenue de l'Observatoire. But when they had gone a little +way he changed his mind and gave another address, one in the Boulevard +de la Tour Maubourg. It was where Mlle. Olga Nilssen lived. She had told +him when he parted from her the evening before. + +On the way he fell to thinking of what he had learned from the little +photographer Bernstein, to setting the facts, as well as he could, in +order, endeavoring to make out just how much or how little they +signified by themselves or added to what he had known before. But he was +in far too keen a state of excitement to review them at all calmly. As +on the previous evening, they seemed to him to loom to the skies, and +again he saw himself successful in his quest--victorious--triumphant. +That this leap to conclusions was but a little less absurd than the +first did not occur to him. He was in a fine fever of enthusiasm, and +such difficulties as his eye perceived lay in a sort of vague mist to be +dissipated later on, when he should sit quietly down with Hartley and +sift the wheat from the chaff, laying out a definite scheme of action. + +It occurred to him that in his interview with the photographer he had +forgotten one point, and he determined to go back, later on, and ask +about it. He had forgotten to inquire as to Captain Stewart's attitude +toward the beautiful lady. Young Arthur Benham's infatuation had filled +his mind at the time, and had driven out of it what Olga Nilssen had +told him about Stewart. He found himself wondering if this point might +not be one of great importance--the rivalry of the two men for O'Hara's +daughter. Assuredly that demanded thought and investigation. + +He found the prettily furnished apartment in the Avenue de la Tour +Maubourg a scene of great disorder, presided over by a maid who seemed +to be packing enormous quantities of garments into large trunks. The +maid told him that her mistress, after a sleepless night, had departed +from Paris by an early train, quite alone, leaving the servant to follow +on when she had telegraphed or written an address. No, Mlle. Nilssen had +left no address at all--not even for letters or telegrams. In short, the +entire proceeding was, so the exasperated woman viewed it, everything +that is imbecile. + +Ste. Marie sat down on a hamper with his stick between his knees, and +wrote a little note to be sent on when Mlle. Nilssen's whereabouts +should be known. It was unfortunate, he reflected, that she should have +fled away just now, but not of great importance to him, because he did +not believe that he could learn very much more from her than he had +learned already. Moreover, he sympathized with her desire to get away +from Paris--as far away as possible from the man whom she had seen in so +horrible a state on the evening past. + +He had kept the fiacre at the door, and he drove at once back to the rue +d'Assas. As he started to mount the stair the concierge came out of her +loge to say that Mr. Hartley had called soon after Monsieur had left the +house that morning, had seemed very much disappointed on not finding +Monsieur, and before going away again had had himself let into +Monsieur's apartment with the key of the femme de menage, and had +written a note which Monsieur would find la haut. + +Ste. Marie thanked the woman, and went on up to his rooms, wondering why +Hartley had bothered to leave a note instead of waiting or returning at +lunch-time, as he usually did. He found the communication on his table +and read it at once. Hartley said: + +I have to go across the river to the Bristol to see some relatives who +are turning up there to-day, and who will probably keep me until +evening, and then I shall have to go back there to dine. So I'm leaving +a word for you about some things I discovered last evening. I met Miss +Benham at Armenonville, where I dined, and in a tete-a-tete conversation +we had after dinner she let fall two facts which seem to me very +important. They concern Captain S. In the first place, when he told us +that day, some time ago, that he knew nothing about his father's will or +any changes that might have been made in it, he lied. It seems that old +David, shortly after the boy's disappearance, being very angry at what +he considered, and still considers, a bit of spite on the boy's part, +cut young Arthur Benham out of his will and transferred that share to +_Captain S._ (Miss Benham learned this from the old man only yesterday). +Also it appears that he did this after talking the matter over with +Captain S., who affected unwillingness. So, as the will reads now, Miss +B. and Captain S. stand to share equally the bulk of the old man's +money, which is several millions--in dollars, of course. Miss B.'s +mother is to have the interest of half of both shares as long as she +lives. Now mark this: Prior to this new arrangement, Captain S. was to +receive only a small legacy, on the ground that he already had a +respectable fortune left him by his mother, old David's first wife (I've +heard, by-the-way, that he has squandered a good share of this.) + +Miss B. is, of course, much cut up over the injustice to the boy, but +she can't protest too much, as it only excites old David. She says the +old man is much weaker. + +You see, of course, the significance of all this. If David Stewart dies, +as he's likely to do, before young Arthur's return, Captain S. gets the +money. + +The second fact I learned was that Miss Benham did not tell her uncle +about her semi-engagement to you or about your volunteering to search +for the boy. She thinks her grandfather must have told him. I didn't say +so to her, but that is hardly possible in view of the fact that Stewart +came on here to your rooms very soon after you had reached them +yourself. + +So that makes two lies for our gentle friend--and serious lies, both of +them. To my mind, they point unmistakably to a certain conclusion. +_Captain S. has been responsible for putting his nephew out of the way_. +He has either hidden him somewhere and is keeping him in confinement, or +he has killed him. + +I wish we could talk it over to-day, but, as you see, I'm helpless. +Remain in to-night, and I'll come as soon as I can get rid of these +confounded people of mine. + +One word more. Be careful! Miss B. is, up to this point, merely puzzled +over things. She doesn't suspect her uncle of any crookedness, I'm sure. +So we shall have to tread softly where she is concerned. + +I shall see you to-night. R.H. + +Ste. Marie read the closely written pages through twice, and he thought +how like his friend it was to take the time and trouble to put what he +had learned into this clear, concise form. Another man would have +scribbled, "Important facts--tell you all about it to-night," or +something of that kind. Hartley must have spent a quarter of an hour +over his writing. + +Ste. Marie walked up and down the room with all his strength forcing his +brain to quiet, reasonable action. Once he said, aloud: + +"Yes, you're right, of course. Stewart has been at the bottom of it all +along." He realized that he had been for some days slowly arriving at +that conclusion, and that since the night before he had been practically +certain of it, though he had not yet found time to put his suspicions +into logical order. Hartley's letter had driven the truth concretely +home to him, but he would have reached the same truth without it--though +that matter of the will was of the greatest importance. It gave him a +strong weapon to strike with. + +He halted before one of the front windows, and his eyes gazed unseeing +across the street into the green shrubbery of the Luxembourg Gardens. +The lace curtains had been left by the femme de menage hanging straight +down, and not, as usual, looped back to either side, so he could see +through them with perfect ease, although he could not be seen from +outside. + +He became aware that a man who was walking slowly up and down a path +inside the high iron palings was in some way familiar to him, and his +eyes sharpened. The man was inconspicuously dressed, and looked like +almost any other man whom one might pass in the streets without taking +any notice of him; but Ste. Marie knew that he had seen him often, and +he wondered how and where. There was a row of lilac shrubs against the +iron palings just inside and between the palings and the path, but two +of the shrubs were dead and leafless, and each time the man passed this +spot he came into plain view; each time, also, he directed an oblique +glance toward the house opposite. Presently he turned aside and sat down +upon one of the public benches, where he was almost, but not quite, +hidden by the intervening foliage. + +Then at last Ste. Marie gave a sudden exclamation and smote his hands +together. + +"The fellow's a spy!" he cried, aloud. "He's watching the house to see +when I go out." He began to remember how he had seen the man in the +street and in cafes and restaurants, and he remembered that he had once +or twice thought it odd, but without any second thought of suspicion. So +the fellow had been set to spy upon him, watch his goings and comings +and report them to--no need of asking to whom. + +Ste. Marie stood behind his curtains and looked across into the pleasant +expanse of shrubbery and greensward. He was wondering if it would be +worth while to do anything. Men and women went up and down the path, +hurrying or slowly, at ease with the world--laborers, students, bonnes +with market-baskets in their hands and long bread loaves under their +arms, nurse-maids herding small children, bigger children spinning +diabolo spools as they walked. A man with a pointed black beard and a +soft hat passed once and returned to seat himself upon the public bench +that Ste. Marie was watching. For some minutes he sat there idle, +holding the soft felt hat upon his knees for coolness. Then he turned +and looked at the other occupant of the bench, and Ste. Marie thought he +saw the other man nod, though he could not be sure whether either one +spoke or not. Presently the new-comer rose, put on the soft hat again, +and disappeared down the path going toward the gate at the head of the +rue du Luxembourg. + +Five minutes later the door-bell rang. + + * * * * * + + + + +XIII + +THE VOYAGE TO COLCHIS + + +Ste. Marie turned away from the window and crossed to the door. The man +with the pointed beard removed his soft hat, bowed very politely, and +asked if he had the honor to address M. Ste. Marie. + +"That is my name," said Ste. Marie. "Entrez, Monsieur!" He waved his +visitor to a chair and stood waiting. + +The man with the beard bowed once more. He said: + +"I have not the great honor of Monsieur's acquaintance, but +circumstances, which I will explain later, have put it in my power--have +made it a sacred duty, if I may be permitted to say the word--to place +in Monsieur's hands a piece of information." + +Ste. Marie smiled slightly and sat down. He said: + +"I listen with pleasure--and anticipation. Pray go on!" + +"I have information," said the visitor, "of the whereabouts of M. Arthur +Benham." + +Ste. Marie waved his hand. + +"I feared as much," said he. "I mean to say, I hoped so. Proceed, +Monsieur!" + +"And learning," continued the other, "that M. Ste. Marie was conducting +a search for that young gentleman, I hastened at once to place this +information in his hands." + +"At a price," suggested his host. "At a price, to be sure." + +The man with the beard spread out his hands in a beautiful and eloquent +gesture which well accompanied his Marseillais accent. + +"Ah, as to that!" he protested. "My circumstances--I am poor, Monsieur. +One must gain the livelihood. What would you? A trifle. The merest +trifle." + +"Where is Arthur Benham?" asked Ste. Marie. + +"In Marseilles, Monsieur. I saw him a week ago--six days. And, so far as +I could learn, he had no intention of leaving there immediately--though +it is, to be sure, hot." + +Ste. Marie laughed a laugh of genuine amusement, and the man with the +pointed beard stared at him with some wonder. Ste. Marie rose and +crossed the room to a writing-desk which stood against the opposite +wall. He fumbled in a drawer of this, and returned holding in his hand a +pink-and-blue note of the Banque de France. He said: + +"Monsieur--pardon! I have forgotten to ask the name--you have remarked +quite truly that one must gain a livelihood. Therefore, I do not presume +to criticise the way in which you gain yours. Sometimes one cannot +choose. However, I should like to make a little bargain with you, +Monsieur. I know, of course, being not altogether imbecile, who sent you +here with this story and why you were sent--why, also, your friend who +sits upon the bench in the garden across the street follows me about and +spies upon me. I know all this, and I laugh at it a little. But, +Monsieur, to amuse myself further, I have a desire to hear from your own +lips the name of the gentleman who is your employer. Amusement is almost +always expensive, and so I am prepared to pay for this. I have here a +note of one hundred francs. It is yours in return for the name--the +_right_ name. Remember, I know it already." + +The man with the pointed beard sprang to his feet quivering with +righteous indignation. All Southern Frenchmen, like all other Latins, +are magnificent actors. He shook one clinched hand in the air, his face +was pale, and his fine eyes glittered. Richard Hartley would have put +himself promptly in an attitude of defence, but Ste. Marie nodded a +smiling head in appreciation. He was half a Southern Frenchman himself. + +"Monsieur!" cried his visitor, in a choked voice, "Monsieur, have a +care! You insult me! Have a care, Monsieur! I am dangerous! My anger, +when roused, is terrible!" + +"I am cowed," observed Ste. Marie, lighting a cigarette. "I quail." + +"Never," declaimed the gentleman from Marseilles, "have I received an +insult without returning blow for blow! My blood boils!" + +"The hundred francs, Monsieur," said Ste. Marie, "will doubtless cool +it. Besides, we stray from our sheep. Reflect, my friend! I have not +insulted you. I have asked you a simple question. To be sure, I have +said that I knew your errand here was not--not altogether sincere, but I +protest, Monsieur, that no blame attaches to yourself. The blame is your +employer's. You have performed your mission with the greatest of +honesty--the most delicate and faithful sense of honor. That is +understood." + +The gentleman with the beard strode across to one of the windows and +leaned his head upon his hand. His shoulders still heaved with emotion, +but he no longer trembled. The terrible crisis bade fair to pass. Then, +abruptly, in the frank and open Latin way, he burst into tears, and wept +with copious profusion, while Ste. Marie smoked his cigarette and +waited. + +When at length the Marseillais turned back into the room he was calm +once more, but there remained traces of storm and flood. He made a +gesture of indescribable and pathetic resignation. + +"Monsieur," he exclaimed, "you have a heart of gold--of gold, Monsieur! +You understand. Behold us, two men of honor! Monsieur," he said, "I had +no choice. I was poor. I saw myself face to face with the misere. What +would you? I fell. We are all weak flesh. I accepted the commission of +the pig who sent me here to you." + +Ste. Marie smoothed the pink-and-blue bank-note in his hands, and the +other man's eye clung to it as though he were starving and the bank-note +was food. + +"The name?" prompted Ste. Marie. + +The gentleman from Marseilles tossed up his hands. + +"Monsieur already knows it. Why should I hesitate? The name is Ducrot." + +"What!" cried Ste. Marie, sharply. "What is that? Ducrot?" + +"But naturally!" said the other man, with some wonder. "Monsieur said he +knew. Certainly, Ducrot. A little, withered man, bald on the top of the +head, creases down the cheeks, a mustache like this"--he made a +descriptive gesture--"a little chin. A man like an elderly cat. M. +Ducrot." + +Ste. Marie gave a sigh of relief. + +"Yes, yes," said he. "Ducrot is as good a name as another. The gentleman +has more than one, it appears. Monsieur, the hundred-franc note is +yours." + +The gentleman from Marseilles took it with a slightly trembling hand, +and began to bow himself toward the door as if he feared that his host +would experience a change of heart; but Ste. Marie checked him, saying: + +"One moment. I was thinking," said he, "that you would perhaps not care +to present yourself to your--employer, M. Ducrot, immediately--not for a +few days, at least, in view of the fact that certain actions of mine +will show him your mission has--well, miscarried. It would, perhaps, be +well for you not to communicate with M. Ducrot. He might be displeased +with you." + +"Monsieur," said the gentleman with the beard, "you speak with acumen +and wisdom. I shall neglect to report myself to M. Ducrot, who, I +repeat, is a pig." + +"And," pursued Ste. Marie, "the individual on the bench across the +street?" + +"It is not necessary that I meet that individual, either!" said the +Marseillais, hastily. "Monsieur, I bid you adieu!" He bowed again, a +profound, a scraping bow, and disappeared through the door. + +Ste. Marie crossed to the window and looked down upon the pavement +below. He saw his late visitor emerge from the house and slip rapidly +down the street toward the rue Vavin. He glanced across into the gardens +and the spy still sat there on his bench, but his head lay back and he +slept--the sleep of the unjust. One imagined that he must be snoring, +for an incredibly small urchin in a blue apron stood on the path before +him and watched with the open mouth of astonishment. + +Ste. Marie turned back into the room, and began to tramp up and down as +was his way in a perplexity or in any time of serious thought. He wished +very much that Richard Hartley were there to consult with. He considered +Hartley to have a judicial mind--a mind to establish, out of confusion, +something like logical order, and he was very well aware that he himself +had not that sort of mind at all. In action he was sufficiently +confident of himself, but to construct a course of action he was afraid, +and he knew that a misstep now, at this critical point, might be +fatal--turn success into disaster. + +He fell to thinking of Captain Stewart (alias M. Ducrot) and he longed +most passionately to leap into a fiacre at the corner below, to drive at +a gallop across the city to the rue du Faubourg St. Honore, to fall upon +that smiling hypocrite in his beautiful treasure-house, to seize him by +the withered throat and say: + +"Tell me what you have done with Arthur Benham before I tear your head +from your miserable body!" + +Indeed, he was far from sure that this was not what it would come to, in +the end, for he reflected that he had not only a tremendous accumulation +of evidence with which to face Captain Stewart, but also a very terrible +weapon to hold over his head--the threat of exposure to the old man who +lay slowly dying in the rue de l'Universite! A few words in old David's +ear, a few proofs of their truth, and the great fortune for which the +son had sold his soul--if he had any left to sell--must pass forever out +of his reach, like gold seen in a dream. + +This is what it might well come to, he said to himself. Indeed, it +seemed to him at that moment far the most feasible plan, for to such +accusations, such demands as that, Captain Stewart could offer no +defence. To save himself from a more complete ruin he would have to give +up the boy or tell what he knew of him. But Ste. Marie was unwilling to +risk everything on this throw without seeing Richard Hartley first, and +Hartley was not to be had until evening. + +He told himself that, after all, there was no immediate hurry, for he +was quite sure the man would be compelled to keep to his bed for a day +or two. He did not know much about epilepsy, but he knew that its +paroxysms were followed by great exhaustion, and he felt sure that +Stewart was far too weak in body to recuperate quickly from any severe +call upon his strength. He remembered how light that burden had been in +his arms the night before, and then an uncontrollable shiver of disgust +went over him as he remembered the sight of the horribly twisted and +contorted face, felt again the shaking, thumping head as it beat against +his shoulder. He wondered how much Stewart knew, how much he would be +able to remember of the events of the evening before, and he was at a +loss there because of his unfamiliarity with epileptic seizures. Of one +thing, however, he was almost certain, and that was that the man could +scarcely have been conscious of who were beside him when the fit was +over. If he had come at all to his proper senses before the ensuing +slumber of exhaustion, it must have been after Mlle. Nilssen and himself +had gone away. + +Upon that he fell to wondering about the spy and the gentleman from +Marseilles--he was a little sorry that Hartley could not have seen the +gentleman from Marseilles--but he reflected that the two were, without +doubt, acting upon old orders, and that the latter had probably been +stalking him for some days before he found him at home. + +He looked at his watch and it was half-past twelve. There was nothing to +be done, he considered, but wait--get through the day somehow; and so, +presently, he went out to lunch. He went up the rue Vavin to the +Boulevard Montparnasse and down that broad thoroughfare to Lavenue's, on +the busy Place de Rennes, where the cooking is the best in all this +quarter, and can, indeed, hold up its head without shame in the face of +those other more widely famous restaurants across the river, frequented +by the smart world and by the travelling gourmet. + +He went through to the inner room, which is built like a raised loggia +round two sides of a little garden, and which is always cool and fresh +in summer. He ordered a rather elaborate lunch, and thought that he sat +a very long time at it, but when he looked again at his watch only an +hour and a half had gone by. It was a quarter-past two. Ste. Marie was +depressed. There remained almost all of the afternoon to be got through, +and Heaven alone could say how much of the evening, before he could have +his consultation with Richard Hartley. He tried to think of some way of +passing the time, but although he was not usually at a loss he found his +mind empty of ideas. None of his common occupations recommended +themselves to him. He knew that whatever he tried to do he would +interrupt it with pulling out his watch every half-hour or so and +cursing the time because it lagged so slowly. He went out to the terrace +for coffee, very low in his mind. + +But half an hour later, as he sat behind his little marble-topped table, +smoking and sipping a liqueur, his eyes fell upon something across the +square which brought him to his feet with a sudden exclamation. One of +the big electric trams that ply between the Place St. Germain des Pres +and Clamart, by way of the Porte de Versailles and Vanves, was dragging +its unwieldy bulk round the turn from the rue de Rennes into the +boulevard. He could see the sign-board along the imperiale--"Clamart-St. +Germain des Pres," with "Issy" and "Vanves" in brackets between. + +Ste. Marie clinked a franc upon the table and made off across the Place +at a run. Omnibuses from Batignolles and Menilmontant got in his way, +fiacres tried to run him down, and a motor-car in a hurry pulled up just +in time to save his life, but Ste. Marie ran on and caught the tram +before it had completed the negotiation of the long curve and gathered +speed for its dash down the boulevard. He sprang upon the step, and the +conductor reluctantly unfastened the chain to admit him. So he climbed +up to the top and seated himself, panting. The dial high on the facade +of the Gare Montparnasse said ten minutes to three. + +He had no definite plan of action. He had started off in this headlong +fashion upon the spur of a moment's impulse, and because he knew where +the tram was going. Now, embarked, he began to wonder if he was not a +fool. He knew every foot of the way to Clamart, for it was a favorite +half-day's excursion with him to ride there in this fashion, walk thence +through the beautiful Meudon wood across to the river, and from Bellevue +or Bas-Meudon take a Suresnes boat back into the city. He knew, or +thought he knew, just where lay the house, surrounded by garden and +half-wild park, of which Olga Nilssen had told him; he had often +wondered whose place it was as the tram rolled along the length of its +high wall. But he knew, also, that he could do nothing there, +single-handed and without excuse or preparation. He could not boldly +ring the bell, demand speech with Mile. Coira O'Hara, and ask her if she +knew anything of the whereabouts of young Arthur Benham, whom a +photographer had suspected of being in love with her. He certainly could +not do that. And there seemed to be nothing else that--Ste. Marie broke +off this somewhat despondent course of reasoning with a sudden little +voiceless cry. For the first time it occurred to him to connect the +house on the Clamart road and Mlle. Coira O'Hara and young Arthur Benham +(it will be remembered that the man had not yet had time to arrange his +suddenly acquired mass of evidence in logical order and to make +deductions from it), for the first time he began to put two and two +together. Stewart had hidden away his nephew; this nephew was known to +have been much enamoured of the girl Coira O'Hara; Coira O'Hara was said +to be living--with her father, probably--in the house on the outskirts +of Paris, where she was visited by Captain Stewart. Was not the +inference plain enough--sufficiently reasonable? It left, without doubt, +many puzzling things to be explained--perhaps too many; but Ste. Marie +sat forward in his seat, his eyes gleaming, his face tense with +excitement. + +"Is young Arthur Benham in the house on the Clamart road?" + +He said the words almost aloud, and he became aware that the fat woman +with a live fowl at her feet and the butcher's boy on his other side +were looking at him curiously. He realized that he was behaving in an +excited manner, and so sat back and lowered his eyes. But over and over +within him the words said themselves--over and over, until they made a +sort of mad, foolish refrain. + +"Is Arthur Benham in the house on the Clamart road? Is Arthur Benham in +the house on the Clamart road?" He was afraid that he would say it aloud +once more, and, he tried to keep a firm hold upon himself. + +The tram swung into the rue de Sevres, and rolled smoothly out the long, +uninteresting stretch of the rue Lecourbe, far out to where the houses, +became scattered, where mounds and pyramids of red tiles stood alongside +the factory where they had been made, where an acre of little glass +hemispheres in long, straight rows winked and glistened in the afternoon +sun--the forcing-beds of some market gardener; out to the Porte de +Versailles at the city wall, where a group of customs officers sprawled +at ease before their little sentry-box or loafed over to inspect an +incoming tram. + +A bugle sounded and a drum beat from the great fosse under the wall, and +a company of piou-pious, red-capped, red-trousered, shambled through +their evolutions in a manner to break the heart of a British or a German +drill-sergeant. Then out past level fields to little Vanves, with its +steep streets and its old gray church, and past the splendid grounds of +the Lycee beyond. The fat woman got down, her live fowl shrieking +protest to the movement, and the butcher's boy got down, too, so that +Ste. Marie was left alone upon the imperiale save for a snuffy old +gentleman in a pot-hat who sat in a corner buried behind the day's +_Droits de l'Homme_. + +Ste. Marie moved forward once more and laid his arms upon the iron rail +before him. They were coming near. They ran past plum and apple orchards +and past humble little detached villas, each with a bit of garden in +front and an acacia or two at the gate-posts. But presently, on the +right, the way began to be bordered by a high stone wall, very long, +behind which showed the trees of a park, and among them, far back from +the wall beyond a little rise of ground, the gables and chimneys of a +house could be made out. The wall went on for perhaps a quarter of a +mile in a straight sweep, but half-way the road swung apart from it to +the left, dipped under a stone railway bridge, and so presently ended at +the village of Clamart. + +As the tram approached the beginning of that long stone wall it began to +slacken speed, there was a grating noise from underneath, and presently +it came to an abrupt halt. Ste. Marie looked over the guard-rail and saw +that the driver had left his place and was kneeling in the dust beside +the car peering at its underworks. The conductor strolled round to him +after a moment and stood indifferently by, remarking upon the strange +vicissitudes to which electrical propulsion is subject. The driver, +without looking up, called his colleague a number of the most surprising +and, it is to be hoped, unwarranted names, and suddenly began to burrow +under the tram, wriggling his way after the manner of a serpent until +nothing could be seen of him but two unrestful feet. His voice, though +muffled, was still tolerably distinct. It cursed, in an unceasing +staccato and with admirable ingenuity, the tram, the conductor, the +sacred dog of an impediment which had got itself wedged into one of the +trucks, and the world in general. + +Ste. Marie, sitting aloft, laughed for a moment, and then turned his +eager eyes upon what lay across the road. The halt had taken place +almost exactly at the beginning of that long stretch of park wall which +ran beside the road and the tramway. From where he sat he could see the +other wing which led inward from the road at something like a right +angle, but was presently lost to sight because of a sparse and unkempt +patch of young trees and shrubs, well-nigh choked with undergrowth, +which extended for some distance from the park wall backward along the +road-side toward Vanves. Whoever owned that stretch of land had +seemingly not thought it worth while to cultivate it or to build upon it +or even to clear it off. + +Ste. Marie's first thought, as his eye scanned the two long stretches of +wall and looked over their tops to the trees of the park and the far-off +gables and chimneys of the house, was to wonder where the entrance to +the place could be, and he decided that it must be on the side opposite +to the Clamart tram-line. He did not know the smaller roads hereabouts, +but he guessed that there must be one somewhere beyond, between the +route de Clamart and Fort d'Issy, and he was right. There is a little +road between the two; it sweeps round in a long curve and ends near the +tiny public garden in Issy, and it is called the rue Barbes. + +His second thought was that this unkempt patch of tree and brush offered +excellent cover for any one who might wish to pass an observant hour +alongside that high stone wall; for any one who might desire to cast a +glance over the lie of the land, to see at closer range that house of +which so little could be seen from the route de Clamart, to look over +the wall's coping into park and garden. + +The thought brought him to his feet with a leaping heart, and before he +realized that he had moved he found himself in the road beside the +halted tram. The conductor brushed past him, mounting to his place, and +from the platform beckoned, crying out: + +"En voiture, Monsieur! En voiture!" + +Again something within Ste. Marie that was not his conscious direction +acted for him, and he shook his head. The conductor gave two little +blasts upon his horn, the tram wheezed and moved forward. In a moment it +was on its way, swinging along at full speed toward the curve in the +line that bore to the left and dipped under the railway bridge. Ste. +Marie stood in the middle of that empty road, staring after it until it +had disappeared from view. + + * * * * * + + + + +XIV + +THE WALLS OF AEA + + +Ste. Marie had acted upon an impulse of which he was scarcely conscious +at all, and when he found himself standing alone in the road and +watching the Clamart tram disappear under the railway bridge he called +himself hard names and wondered what he was to do next. He looked before +and behind him, and there was no living soul in sight. He bent his eyes +again upon that unkempt patch of young trees and undergrowth, and once +more the thought forced itself to his brain that it would make excellent +cover for one who wished to observe a little--to reconnoitre. + +He knew that it was the part of wisdom to turn his back upon this place, +to walk on to Clamart or return to Vanves and mount upon a +homeward-bound tram. He knew that it was the part of folly, of madness +even, to expose himself to possible discovery by some one within the +walled enclosure. What though no one there were able to recognize him, +still the sight of a man prowling about the walls, seeking to spy over +them, might excite an alarm that would lead to all sorts of undesirable +complications. Dimly Ste. Marie realized all this, and he tried to turn +his back and walk away, but the patch of little trees and shrubbery drew +him with an irresistible fascination. "Just a little look along that +unknown wall," he said to himself, "just the briefest of all brief +reconnaissances, the merest glance beyond the masking screen of wood +growth, so that in case of sudden future need he might have the lie of +the place clear in his mind;" for without any sound reason for it he was +somehow confident that this walled house and garden were to play an +important part in the rescue of Arthur Benham. It was once more a matter +of feeling. The rather womanlike intuition which had warned him that +O'Hara was concerned in young Benham's disappearance, and that the two +were not far from Paris, was again at work in him, and he trusted it as +he had done before. + +He gave a little nod of determination, as one who, for good or ill, +casts a die, and he crossed the road. There was a deep ditch, and he had +to climb down into it and up its farther side, for it was too broad to +be jumped. So he came into the shelter of the young poplars and elms and +oaks. The underbrush caught at his clothes, and the dead leaves of past +seasons crackled underfoot; but after a little space he came to somewhat +clearer ground, though the saplings still stood thick about him and hid +him securely. + +He made his way inward along the wall, keeping a short distance back +from it, and he saw that after twenty or thirty yards it turned again at +a very obtuse angle away from him and once more ran on in a long +straight line. Just beyond this angle he came upon a little wooden door +thickly studded with nails. It was made to open inward, and on the +outside there was no knob or handle of any kind, only a large key-hole +of the simple, old-fashioned sort. Slipping up near to look, Ste. Marie +observed that the edges of the key-hole were rusty, but scratched a +little through the rust with recent marks; so the door, it seemed, was +sometimes used. He observed another thing. The ground near by was less +encumbered with trees than at any other point, and the turf was +depressed with many wheel marks--broad marks, such as are made only by +the wheels of a motor-car. He followed these tracks for a little +distance, and they wound in and out among the trees, and beyond the thin +fringe of wood swept away in a curve toward Issy, doubtless to join the +road which he had already imagined to lie somewhere beyond the +enclosure. + +Beyond the more open space about this little door the young trees stood +thick together again, and Ste. Marie pressed cautiously on. He stopped +now and then to listen, and once he thought that he heard from within +the sound of a woman's laugh, but he could not be sure. The slight +change of direction had confused him a little, and he was uncertain as +to where the house lay. The wall was twelve or fifteen feet high, and +from the level of the ground he could, of course, see nothing over it +but tree tops. He went on for what may have been a hundred yards, but it +seemed to him very much more than that, and he came to a tall gnarled +cedar-tree which stood almost against the high wall. It was half dead, +but its twisted limbs were thick and strong, and by force of the tree's +cramped position they had grown in strange and grotesque forms. One of +them stretched across the very top of the stone wall, and with the +wind's action it had scraped away the coping of tiles and bottle-glass +and had made a little depression there to rest in. + +Ste. Marie looked up along this natural ladder, and temptation smote him +sorely. It was so easy and so safe! There was enough foliage left upon +the half-dead tree to screen him well, but whether or no it is probable +that he would have yielded to the proffered lure. There seems to have +been more than chance in Ste. Marie's movements upon this day; there +seems to have been something like the hand of Fate in them--as doubtless +there is in most things, if one but knew. + +He left his hat and stick behind him, under a shrub, and he began to +make his way up the half-bare branches of the gnarled cedar. They bore +him well, without crack or rustle, and the way was very easy. No ladder +made by man could have offered a much simpler ascent. So, mounting +slowly and with care, his head came level with the top of the wall. He +climbed to the next branch, a foot higher, and rested there. The +drooping foliage from the upper part of the cedar-tree, which was still +alive, hung down over him and cloaked him from view, but through its +aromatic screen he could see as freely as through the window curtain in +the rue d'Assas. + +The house lay before him, a little to the left and perhaps a hundred +yards away. It was a disappointing house to find in that great +enclosure, for though it was certainly neither small nor trivial, it was +as certainly far from possessing anything like grandeur. It had been in +its day a respectable, unpretentious square structure of three stories, +entirely without architectural beauty, but also entirely without the +ornate hideousness of the modern villas along the route de Clamart. Now, +however, the stucco was gone in great patches from its stone walls, +giving them an unpleasantly diseased look, and long neglect of all +decent cares had lent the place the air almost of desertion. Anciently +the grounds before the house had been laid out in the formal fashion +with a terrace and geometrical lawns and a pool and a fountain and a +rather fine, long vista between clipped larches, but the same neglect +which had made shabby the stuccoed house had allowed grass and weeds to +grow over the gravel paths, underbrush to spring up and to encroach upon +the geometrical turf-plots, the long double row of clipped larches to +flourish at will or to die or to fall prostrate and lie where they had +fallen. + +So all the broad enclosure was a scene of heedless neglect, a riot of +unrestrained and wanton growth, where should have been decorous and +orderly beauty. It was a sight to bring tears to a gardener's eyes, but +it had a certain untamed charm of its own, for all that. The very riot +of it, the wanton prodigality of untouched natural growth, produced an +effect that was by no means all disagreeable. + +An odd and whimsical thought came into Ste. Marie's mind that thus must +have looked the garden and park round the castle of the sleeping beauty +when the prince came to wake her. + +But sleeping beauties and unkempt grounds went from him in a flash when +he became aware of a sound which was like the sound of voices. +Instinctively he drew farther back into the shelter of his aromatic +screen. His eyes swept the space below him from right to left, and could +see no one. So he sat very still, save for the thunderous beat of a +heart which seemed to him like drum-beats when soldiers are marching, +and he listened--"all ears," as the phrase goes. + +The sound was in truth a sound of voices. He was presently assured of +that, but for some time he could not make out from which direction it +came. And so he was the more startled when quite suddenly there appeared +from behind a row of tall shrubs two young people moving slowly together +up the untrimmed turf in the direction of the house. + +The two young people were Mlle. Coira O'Hara and Arthur Benham, and upon +the brow of this latter youth there was no sign of dungeon pallor, upon +his free-moving limbs no ball and chain. There was no apparent reason +why he should not hasten back to the eager arms in the rue de +l'Universite if he chose to--unless, indeed, his undissembling attitude +toward Mlle. Coira O'Hara might serve as a reason. The young man +followed at her heel with much the manner and somewhat the appearance of +a small dog humbly conscious of unworthiness, but hopeful nevertheless +of an occasional kind word or pat on the head. + +The world wheeled multi-colored and kaleidoscopic before Ste. Marie's +eyes, and in his ears there was a rushing of great winds, but he set his +teeth and clung with all the strength he had to the tree which sheltered +him. His first feeling, after that initial giddiness, was anger, sheer +anger, a bewildered and astonished fury. He had thought to find this +poor youth in captivity, pining through prison bars for the home and the +loved ones and the familiar life from which he had been ruthlessly torn. +Yet here he was strolling in a suburban garden with a lady--free, free +as air, or so he seemed. Ste. Marie thought of the grim and sorrowful +old man in Paris who was sinking untimely into his grave because his +grandson did not return to him; he thought of that timid soul--more +shadow than woman--the boy's mother; he thought of Helen Benham's tragic +eyes, and he could have beaten young Arthur half to death in that moment +in the righteous rage that stormed within him. + +But he turned his eyes from this wretched youth to the girl who walked +beside, a little in advance, and the rage died in him swiftly. + +After all, was she not one to make any boy--or any man--forget duty, +home, friends, everything? + +Rather oddly his mind flashed back to the morning and to the words of +the little photographer, Bernstein. Perhaps the Jew had put it as well +as any man could: + +"She was a goddess, that lady, a queen of goddesses ... the young Juno +before marriage...." + +Ste. Marie nodded his head. Yes, she was just that. The little Jew had +spoken well. It could not be more fairly put--though without doubt it +could have been expressed at much greater length and with a great deal +more eloquence. The photographer's other words came also to his mind, +the more detailed description, and again he nodded his head, for this, +too, was true. + +"She was all color--brown skin with a dull-red stain under the cheeks, +and a great mass of hair that was not black but very nearly +black--except in the sun, and then there were red lights in it." + +It occurred to Ste. Marie, whimsically, that the two young people might +have stepped out of the door of Bernstein's studio straight into this +garden, judging from their bearing each to the other. + +"Ah, a thing to touch the heart! Such devotion as that! Alas, that the +lady should seem so cold to it! ... Still, a goddess! What would you? A +queen among goddesses! ... One would not have them laugh and make little +jokes.... Make eyes at love-sick boys. No, indeed!" + +Certainly Mlle. Coira O'Hara was not making eyes at the love-sick boy +who followed at her heel this afternoon. Perhaps it would be going too +far to say that she was cold to him, but it was very plain to see that +she was bored and weary, and that she wished she might be almost +anywhere else than where she was. She turned her beautiful face a little +toward the wall where Ste. Marie lay perdu, and he could see that her +eyes had the same dark fire, the same tragic look of appeal that he had +seen in them before--once in the Champs-Elysees and again in his dreams. + +Abruptly he became aware that while he gazed, like a man in a trance, +the two young people walked on their way and were on the point of +passing beyond reach of eye or ear. He made a sudden involuntary +movement as if he would call them back, and for the first time his +faithful hiding-place, strained beyond silent endurance, betrayed him +with a loud rustle of shaken branches. Ste. Marie shrank back, his heart +in his throat. It was too late to retreat now down the tree. The damage +was already done. He saw the two young people halt and turn to look, and +after a moment he saw the boy come slowly forward, staring. He heard him +say: + +"What's up in that tree? There's something in the tree." And he heard +the girl answer: "It's only birds fighting. Don't bother!" But young +Arthur Benham came on, staring up curiously until he was almost under +the high wall. + +Then Ste. Marie's strange madness, or the hand of Fate, or whatever +power it was which governed him on that day, thrust him on to the +ultimate pitch of recklessness. He bent forward from his insecure perch +over the wall until his head and shoulders were in plain sight, and he +called down to the lad below in a loud whisper: + +"Benham! Benham!" + +The boy gave a sharp cry of alarm and began to back away. And after a +moment Ste. Marie heard the cry echoed from Coira O'Hara. He heard her +say: + +"Be careful! Be careful, Arthur! Come away! Oh, come away quickly!" + +Ste. Marie raised his own voice to a sort of cry. He said: + +"Wait! I tell you to wait, Benham! I must have a word with you. I come +from your family--from Helen!" + +To his amazement the lad turned about and began to run toward where the +girl stood waiting; and so, without a moment's hesitation, Ste. Marie +threw himself across the top of the wall, hung for an instant by his +hands, and dropped upon the soft turf. Scarcely waiting to recover his +balance, he stumbled forward, shouting: + +"Wait! I tell you, wait! Are you mad? Wait, I say! Listen to me!" + +Vaguely, in the midst of his great excitement, he had heard a whistle +sound as he dropped inside the wall. He did not know then whence the +shrill call had come, but afterward he knew that Coira O' Hara had blown +it. And now, as he ran forward toward the two who stood at a distance +staring at him, he heard other steps and he slackened his pace to look. + +A man came running down among the black-boled trees, a strange, squat, +gnomelike man whose gait was as uncouth as his dwarfish figure. He held +something in his two hands as he ran, and when he came near he threw +this thing with a swift movement up before him, but he did not pause in +his odd, scrambling run. + +Ste. Marie felt a violent blow upon his left leg between hip and knee. +He thought that somebody had crept up behind him and struck him; but as +he whirled about he saw that there was no one there, and then he heard a +noise and knew that the gnomelike running man had shot him. He faced +about once more toward the two young people. He was very angry and he +wished to say so, and very much he wished to explain why he had +trespassed there, and why they had no right to shoot him as if he were +some wretched thief. But he found that in some quite absurd fashion he +was as if fixed to the ground. It was as if he had suddenly become of +the most ponderous and incredible weight, like lead--or that other +metal, not gold, which is the heaviest of all. Only the metal, +seemingly, was not only heavy but fiery hot, and his strength was +incapable of holding it up any longer. His eyes fixed themselves in a +bewildered stare upon the figure of Mlle. Coira O'Hara; he had time to +observe that she had put up her two hands over her face, then he fell +down forward, his head struck something very hard, and he knew no more. + + * * * * * + + + + +XV + +A CONVERSATION AT LA LIERRE + + +Captain Stewart walked nervously up and down the small inner +drawing-room at La Lierre, his restless hands fumbling together behind +him, and his eyes turning every half-minute with a sharp eagerness to +the closed door. But at last, as if he were very tired, he threw himself +down in a chair which stood near one of the windows, and all his tense +body seemed to relax in utter exhaustion. It was not a very comfortable +chair that he had sat down in, but there were no comfortable chairs in +the room--nor, for that matter, in all the house. When he had taken the +place, about two months before this time, he had taken it furnished, but +that does not mean very much in France. No French country-houses--or +town-houses, either--are in the least comfortable, by Anglo-Saxon +standards, and that is at least one excellent reason why Frenchmen spend +just as little time in them as they possibly can. Half the cafes in +Paris would promptly put up their shutters if Parisian homes could all +at once turn themselves into something like English or American ones. As +for La Lierre, it was even more dreary and bare and tomblike than other +country-houses, because it was, after all, a sort of ruin, and had not +been lived in for fifteen years, save by an ancient caretaker and his +nearly as ancient wife. And that was, perhaps, why it could be taken on +a short lease at such a very low price. + +The room in which Captain Stewart sat was behind the large drawing-room, +which was always kept closed now, and it looked out by one window to the +west, and by two windows to the north, over a corner of the kitchen +garden and a vista of trees beyond. It was a high-ceiled room with walls +bare except for two large mirrors in the Empire fashion, which stared at +each other across the way with dull and flaking eyes. Under each of +these stood a heavy gilt and ebony console with a top of +chocolate-colored marble, and in the centre of the room there was a +table of a like fashion to the consoles. Further than this there was +nothing save three chairs, upon one of which lay Captain Stewart's +dust-coat and motoring cap and goggles. + +A shaft of golden light from the low sun slanted into the place through +the western window from which the Venetians had been pulled back, and +fell across the face of the man who lay still and lax in his chair, eyes +closed and chin dropped a little so that his mouth hung weakly open. He +looked very ill, as, indeed, any one might look after such an attack as +he had suffered on the night previous. That one long moment of deathly +fear before he had fallen down in a fit had nearly killed him. All +through this following day it had continued to recur until he thought he +should go mad. And there was worse still. How much did Olga Nilssen +know? And how much had she told? She had astonished and frightened him +when she had said that she knew about the house on the road to Clamart, +for he thought he had hidden his visits to La Lierre well. He wondered +rather drearily how she had discovered them, and he wondered how much +she knew more than she had admitted. He had a half-suspicion of +something like the truth, that Mlle. Nilssen knew only of Coira O'Hara's +presence here, and drew a rather natural inference. If that was all, +there was no danger from her--no more, that is, than had already borne +its fruit, for Stewart knew well enough that Ste. Marie must have +learned of the place from her. In any case Olga Nilssen had left +Paris--he had discovered that fact during the day--and so for the +present she might be eliminated as a source of peril. + +The man in the chair gave a little groan and rolled his head wearily to +and fro against the uncomfortable chair-back, for now he came to the +real and immediate danger, and he was so very tired and ill, and his +head ached so sickeningly that it was almost beyond him to bring himself +face to face with it. + +There was the man who lay helpless upon a bed up-stairs! And there were +the man's friends, who were not at all helpless or bedridden or in +captivity! + +A wave of almost intolerable pain swept through Stewart's aching head, +and he gave another groan which was almost like a child's sob. But at +just that moment the door which led into the central hall opened, and +the Irishman O'Hara came into the room. Captain Stewart sprang to his +feet to meet him, and he caught the other man by the arm in his +eagerness. + +"How is he?" he cried out. "How is he? How badly was he hurt?" + +"The patient?" said O'Hara. "Let go my arm! Hang it, man, you're +pinching me! Oh, he'll do well enough. He'll be fit to hobble about in a +week or ten days. The bullet went clean through his leg and out again +without cutting an artery. It was a sort of miracle--and a damned lucky +miracle for all hands, too! If we'd had a splintered bone or a severed +artery to deal with I should have had to call in a doctor. Then the +fellow would have talked, and there'd have been the devil to pay. As it +is, I shall be able to manage well enough with my own small skill. I've +dressed worse wounds than that in my time. By Jove, it was a miracle, +though!" A sudden little gust of rage swept him. He cried out: "That +confounded fool of a gardener, that one-eyed Michel, ought to be beaten +to death. Why couldn't he have slipped up behind this fellow and knocked +him on the head, instead of shooting him from ten paces away? The +benighted idiot! He came near upsetting the whole boat!" + +"Yes," said Captain Stewart, with a sharp, hard breath, "he should have +shot straighter or not at all." + +The Irishman stared at him with his bright blue eyes, and after a moment +he gave a short laugh. + +"Jove, you're a bloodthirsty beggar, Stewart!" said he. "That would have +been a rum go, if you like! Killing the fellow! All his friends down on +us like hawks, and the police and all that! You can't go about killing +people in the outskirts of Paris, you know--at least not people with +friends. And this chap looks like a gentleman, more or less, so I take +it he has friends. As a matter of fact, his face is rather familiar. I +think I've seen him before, somewhere. You looked at him just now +through the crack of the door; do you know who he is? Coira tells me he +called out to Arthur by name, but Arthur says he never saw him before +and doesn't know him at all." + +Captain Stewart shivered. It had not been a pleasant moment for him, +that moment when he had looked through the crack of the door and +recognized Ste. Marie. + +"Yes," he said, half under his breath--"yes, I know who he is. A friend +of the family." + +The Irishman's lips puckered to a low whistle. He said: + +"Spying, then, as I thought. He has run us to earth." + +And the other nodded. O'Hara took a turn across the room and back. + +"In that case," he said, presently--"in that case, then, we must keep +him prisoner here so long as we remain. That's certain." He spun round +sharply with an exclamation. "Look here!" he cried, in a lower tone, +"how about this fellow's friends? It isn't likely he's doing his dirty +work alone. How about his friends, when he doesn't turn up to-night? If +they know he was coming here to spy on us; if they know where the place +is; if they know, in short, what he seems to have known, we're done for. +We'll have to run, get out, disappear. Hang it, man, d'you understand? +We're not safe here for an hour." + +Captain Stewart's hands shook a little as he gripped them together +behind him, and a dew of perspiration stood out suddenly upon his +forehead and cheek-bones, but his voice, when he spoke, was well under +control. + +"It's an odd thing," said he--"another miracle, if you like--but I +believe we are safe--reasonably safe. I--have reason to think that this +fellow learned about La Lierre only last evening from some one who left +Paris to-day to be gone a long time. And I also have reason to believe +that the fellow has not seen the one friend who is in his confidence, +since he obtained his information. By chance I met the friend, the other +man, in the street this afternoon. I asked after this fellow whom we +have here, and the friend said he hadn't seen him for twenty-four +hours--was going to see him to-night." + +"By the Lord!" cried the Irishman, with a great laugh of relief. "What +luck! What monumental luck! If all that's true, we're safe. Why, man, +we're as safe as a fox in his hole. The lad's friends won't have the +ghost of an idea of where he's gone to.... Wait, though! Stop a bit! He +won't have left written word behind him, eh? He won't have done +that--for safety?" + +"I think not," said Captain Stewart, but he breathed hard, for he knew +well enough that there lay the gravest danger. "I think not," he said +again. + +He made a rather surprisingly accurate guess at the truth--that Ste. +Marie had started out upon impulse, without intending more than a +general reconnaissance, and therefore without leaving any word behind +him. Still, the shadow of danger uplifted itself before the man and he +was afraid. A sudden gust of weak anger shook him like a wind. + +"In Heaven's name," he cried, shrilly, "why didn't that one-eyed fool +kill the fellow while he was about it? There's danger for us every +moment while he is alive here. Why didn't that shambling idiot kill +him?" + +Captain Stewart's outflung hand jumped and trembled and his face was +twisted into a sort of grinning snarl. He looked like an angry and +wicked cat, the other man thought. + +"If I weren't an over-civilized fool," he said, viciously, "I'd go +up-stairs and kill him now with my hands while he can't help himself. +We're all too scrupulous by half." + +The Irishman stared at him and presently broke into amazed laughter. + +"Scrupulous!" said he. "Well, yes, I'm too scrupulous to murder a man in +his bed, if you like. I'm not squeamish, but--Good Lord!" + +"Do you realize," demanded Captain Stewart, "what risks we run while +that fellow is alive--knowing what he knows?" + +"Oh yes, I realize that," said O'Hara. "But I don't see why _you_ should +have heart failure over it." + +Captain Stewart's pale lips drew back again in their catlike fashion. + +"Never mind about me," he said. "But I can't help thinking you're +peculiarly indifferent in the face of danger." + +"No, I'm not!" said the Irishman, quickly. "No, I'm not. Don't you run +away with that idea! I merely said," he went oh--"I merely said that I'd +stop short of murder. I don't set any foolish value on life--my own or +any other. I've had to take life more than once, but it was in fair +fight or in self-defence, and I don't regret it. It was your coldblooded +joke about going up-stairs and killing this chap in his bed that put me +on edge. Naturally I know you didn't mean it. Don't you go thinking that +I'm lukewarm or that I'm indifferent to danger. I know there's danger +from this lad up-stairs, and I mean to be on guard against it. He stays +here under strict guard until--what we're after is accomplished--until +young Arthur comes of age. If there's danger," said he, "why, we know +where it lies, and we can guard against it. That kind of danger is not +very formidable. The dangerous dangers are the ones that you don't know +about--the hidden ones." + +He came forward a little, and his lean face was as hard and as impassive +as ever, and the bright blue eyes shone from it steady and unwinking. +Stewart looked up to him with a sort of peevish resentment at the man's +confidence and cool poise. It was an odd reversal of their ordinary +relations. For the hour the duller villain, the man who was wont to take +orders and to refrain from overmuch thought or question, seemed to have +become master. Sheer physical exhaustion and the constant maddening pain +had had their will of Captain Stewart. A sudden shiver wrung him so that +his dry fingers rattled against the wood of the chair-arms. + +"All the same," he cried, "I'm afraid. I've been confident enough until +now. Now I'm afraid. I wish the fellow had been killed." + +"Kill him, then!" laughed the Irishman. "I won't give you up to the +police." + +He crossed the room to the door, but halted short of it and turned about +again, and he looked back very curiously at the man who sat crouched in +his chair by the window. It had occurred to him several times that +Stewart was very unlike himself. The man was quite evidently tired and +ill, and that might account for some of the nervousness, but this fierce +malignity was something a little beyond O'Hara's comprehension. It +seemed to him that the elder man had the air of one frightened beyond +the point the circumstances warranted. + +"Are you going back to town," he asked, "or do you mean to stay the +night?" + +"I shall stay the night," Stewart said. "I'm too tired to bear the +ride." He glanced up and caught the other's eyes fixed upon him. "Well!" +he cried, angrily. "What is it? What are you looking at me like that +for? What do you want?" + +"I want nothing," said the Irishman, a little sharply. "And I wasn't +aware that I'd been looking at you in any unusual way. You're precious +jumpy to-day, if you want to know.... Look here!" He came back a step, +frowning. "Look here!" he repeated. "I don't quite make you out. Are you +keeping back anything? Because if you are, for Heaven's sake have it out +here and now! We're all in this game together, and we can't afford to be +anything but frank with one another. We can't afford to make +reservations. It's altogether too dangerous for everybody. You're too +much frightened. There's no apparent reason for being so frightened as +that." + +Captain Stewart drew a long breath between closed teeth, and afterward +he looked up at the younger man coldly. + +"We need not discuss my personal feelings, I think," said he. "They have +no--no bearing on the point at issue. As you say, we are all in this +thing together, and you need not fear that I shall fail to do my part, +as I have done it in the past.... That's all, I believe." + +"Oh, _as_ you like! As you like!" said the Irishman, in the tone of one +rebuffed. He turned again and left the room, closing the door behind +him. Outside on the stairs it occurred to him that he had forgotten to +ask the other man what this fellow's name was--the fellow who lay +wounded up-stairs. No, he had asked once, but in the interest of the +conversation the question had been lost. He determined to inquire again +that evening at dinner. + +But Captain Stewart, left thus alone, sank deeper in the uncomfortable +chair, and his head once more stirred and sought vainly for ease against +the chair's high back. The pain swept him in regular throbbing waves +that were like the waves of the sea--waves which surge and crash and +tear upon a beach. But between the throbs of physical pain there was +something else that was always present while the waves came and went. +Pain and exhaustion, if they are sufficiently extreme, can well nigh +paralyze mind as well as body, and for some time Captain Stewart +wondered what this thing might be which lurked at the bottom of him +still under the surges of agony. Then at last he had the strength to +look at it, and it was fear, cold and still and silent. He was afraid to +the very depths of his soul. + +True, as O'Hara had said, there did not seem to be any very desperate +peril to face, but Stewart was afraid with the gambler's unreasoning, +half-superstitious fear, and that is the worst fear of all. He realized +that he had been afraid of Ste. Marie from the beginning, and that, of +course, was why he had tried to draw him into partnership with himself +in his own official and wholly mythical search for Arthur Benham. He +could have had the other man under his eye then. He could have kept him +busy for months running down false scents. As it was, Ste. Marie's +uncanny instinct about the Irishman O'Hara had led him true--that and +what he doubtless learned from Olga Nilssen. + +If Stewart had been in a condition and mood to philosophize, he would +doubtless have reflected that seven-tenths of the desperate causes, both +good and bad, which fail in this world, fail because they are wrecked by +some woman's love or jealousy--or both. But it is unlikely that he was +able just at this time to make such a reflection, though certainly he +wondered how much Olga Nilssen had known, and how much Ste. Marie had +had to put together out of her knowledge and any previous suspicions +which he may have had. + +The man would have been amazed if he could have known what a mountain of +information and evidence had piled itself up over his head all in twelve +hours. He would have been amazed and, if possible, even more frightened +than he was, but he was without question sufficiently frightened, for +here was Ste. Marie in the very house, he had seen Arthur Benham, and +quite obviously he knew all there was to know, or at least enough to +ruin Arthur Benham's uncle beyond all recovery or hope of +recovery--irretrievably. + +Captain Stewart tried to think what it would mean to him--failure in +this desperate scheme--but he had not the strength or the courage. He +shrank from the picture as one shrinks from something horrible in a bad +dream. There could be no question of failure. He had to succeed at any +cost, however desperate or fantastic. Once more the spasm of childish, +futile rage swept over him and shook him like a wind. + +"Why couldn't the fellow have been killed by that one-eyed fool?" he +cried, sobbing. "Why couldn't he have been killed? He's the only one who +knows--the only thing in the way. Why couldn't he have keen killed?" + +Quite suddenly Captain Stewart ceased to sob and shiver, and sat still +in his chair, gripping the arms with white and tense fingers. His eyes +began to widen, and they became fixed in a long, strange stare. He drew +a deep breath. + +"I wonder!" he said, aloud. "I wonder, now." + + * * * * * + + + + +XVI + +THE BLACK CAT + + +That providential stone or tree-root, or whatever it may have been, +proved a genuine blessing in disguise to Ste. Marie. It gave him a +splitting headache for a few hours, but it saved him a good deal of +discomfort the while his bullet wound was being more or less probed and +very skilfully cleansed and dressed by O'Hara. For he did not regain +consciousness until this surgical work was almost at its end, and then +he wanted to fight the Irishman for tying the bandages too tight. + +But when O'Hara had gone away and left him alone he lay still--or as +still as the smarting, burning pain in his leg and the ache in his head +would let him--and stared at the wall beyond his bed, and bit by bit the +events of the past hour came back to him, and he knew where he was. He +cursed himself very bitterly, as he well might do, for a bungling idiot. +The whole thing had been in his hands, he said, with perfect +truth--Arthur Benham's whereabouts proved Stewart's responsibility or, +at the very least, complicity and the sordid motive therefor. +Remained--had Ste. Marie been a sane being instead of an impulsive +fool--remained but to face Stewart down in the presence of witnesses, +threaten him with exposure, and so, with perfect ease, bring back the +lost boy in triumph to his family. + +It should all have been so simple, so easy, so effortless! Yet now it +was ruined by a moment's rash folly, and Heaven alone knew what would +come of it. He remembered that he had left behind him no indication +whatever of where he meant to spend the afternoon. Hartley would come +hurrying across town that evening to the rue d'Assas, and would find no +one there to receive him. He would wait and wait, and at last go home. +He would come again on the next morning, and then he would begin to be +alarmed and would start a second search--but with what to reckon by? +Nobody knew about the house on the road to Clamart but Mlle. Olga +Nilssen, and she was far away. + +He thought of Captain Stewart, and he wondered if that gentleman was by +any chance here in the house, or if he was still in bed in the rue du +Faubourg St. Honore, recovering from his epileptic fit. + +After that he fell once more to cursing himself and his incredible +stupidity, and he could have wept for sheer bitterness of chagrin. + +He was still engaged in this unpleasant occupation when the door of the +room opened and the Irishman O'Hara entered, having finished his +interview with Captain Stewart below. He came up beside the bed and +looked down not unkindly upon the man who lay there, but Ste. Marie +scowled back at him, for he was in a good deal of pain and a vile humor. + +"How's the leg--_and_ the head?" asked the amateur surgeon. To do him +justice, he was very skilful, indeed, through much experience. + +"They hurt," said Ste. Marie, shortly. "My head aches like the devil, +and my leg burns." + +O'Hara made a sound which was rather like a gruff laugh, and nodded. + +"Yes, and they'll go on doing it, too," said he. "At least the leg will. +Your head will be all right again in a day or so. Do you want anything +to eat? It's near dinner-time. I suppose we can't let you starve--though +you deserve it." + +"Thanks; I want nothing," said Ste. Marie. "Pray don't trouble about +me." + +The other man nodded again indifferently and turned to go out of the +room, but in the doorway he halted and looked back. + +"As we're to have the pleasure of your company for some time to come," +said he, "you might suggest a name to call you by. Of course I don't +expect you to tell your own name--though I can learn that easily +enough." + +"Easily enough, to be sure," said the man on the bed. "Ask Stewart. He +knows only too well." + +The Irishman scowled. And after a moment he said: + +"I don't know any Stewart." + +But at that Ste. Marie gave a laugh, and a tinge of red came over the +Irishman's cheeks. + +"And so, to save Captain Stewart the trouble," continued the wounded +man, "I'll tell you my name with pleasure. I don't know why I shouldn't. +It's Ste. Marie." + +"What?" cried O'Hara, hoarsely. "What? Say that again!" + +He came forward a swift step or two into the room, and he stared at the +man on the bed as if he were staring at a ghost. + +"Ste. Marie?" he cried, in a whisper. "It's impossible! What are you," +he demanded, "to Gilles, Comte de Ste. Marie de Mont-Perdu? What are you +to him?" + +"He was my father," said the younger man; "but he is dead. He has been +dead for ten years." + +He raised his head, with a little grimace of pain, to look curiously +after the Irishman, who had all at once turned away across the room and +stood still beside a window with bent head. + +"Why?" he questioned. "What about my father? Why did you ask that?" + +O'Hara did not answer at once, and he did not stir from his place by the +window, but after a while he said: + +"I knew him.... That's all." + +And after another space he came back beside the bed, and once more +looked down upon the young man who lay there. His face was veiled, +inscrutable. It betrayed nothing. + +"You have a look of your father," said he. "That was what puzzled me a +little. I was just saying to--I was just thinking that there was +something familiar about you.... Ah, well, we've all come down in the +world since then. The Ste. Marie blood, though. Who'd have thought it?" + +The man shook his head a little sorrowfully, but Ste. Marie stared up at +him in frowning incomprehension. The pain had dulled him somewhat. And +presently O'Hara again moved toward the door. On the way he said: + +"I'll bring or send you something to eat--not too much. And later on +I'll give you a sleeping-powder. With that head of yours you may have +trouble in getting to sleep. Understand, I'm doing this for your +father's son, and not because you've any right yourself to +consideration." + +Ste. Marie raised himself with difficulty on one elbow. + +"Wait!" said he. "Wait a moment!" and the other halted just inside the +door. "You seem to have known my father," said Ste. Marie, "and to have +respected him. For my father's sake, will you listen to me for five +minutes?" + +"No, I won't," said the Irishman, sharply. "So you may as well hold your +tongue. Nothing you can say to me or to any one in this house will have +the slightest effect. We know what you came spying here for. We know all +about it." + +"Yes," said Ste. Marie, with a little sigh, and he fell back upon the +pillows. "Yes, I suppose you do. I was rather a fool to speak. You +wouldn't all be doing what you're doing if words could affect you. I was +a fool to speak." + +The Irishman stared at him for another moment, and went out of the room, +closing the door behind him. + +So he was left once more alone to his pain and his bitter +self-reproaches and his wild and futile plans for escape. But O'Hara +returned in an hour or thereabout with food for him--a cup of broth and +a slice of bread; and when Ste. Marie had eaten these the Irishman +looked once more to his wounded leg, and gave him a sleeping-powder +dissolved in water. + +He lay restless and wide-eyed for an hour, and then drifted away through +intermediate mists into a sleep full of horrible dreams, but it was at +least relief from bodily suffering, and when he awoke in the morning his +headache was almost gone. + +He awoke to sunshine and fresh, sweet odors and the twittering of birds. +By good chance O'Hara had been the last to enter the room on the evening +before, and so no one had come to close the shutters or draw the blinds. +The windows were open wide, and the morning breeze, very soft and +aromatic, blew in and out and filled the place with sweetness. The room +was a corner room, with windows that looked south and east, and the +early sun slanted in and lay in golden squares across the floor. + +Ste. Marie opened his eyes with none of the dazed bewilderment that he +might have expected. The events of the preceding day came back to him +instantly and without shock. He put up an experimental hand, and found +that his head was still very sore where he had struck it in falling, but +the ache was almost gone. He tried to stir his leg, and a protesting +pain shot through it. It burned dully, even when it was quiet, but the +pain was not at all severe. He realized that he was to get off rather +well, considering what might have happened, and he was so grateful for +this that he almost forgot to be angry with himself over his monumental +folly. + +A small bird chased by another wheeled in through the southern window +and back again into free air. Finally, the two settled down upon the +parapet of the little shallow balcony which was there to have their +disagreement out, and they talked it over with a great deal of noise and +many threatening gestures and a complete loss of temper on both sides. +Ste. Marie, from his bed, cheered them on, but there came a commotion in +the ivy which draped the wall below, and the two birds fled in +ignominious haste, and just in the nick of time, for when the cause of +the commotion shot into view it was a large black cat, of great bodily +activity and an ardent single-heartedness of aim. + +The black cat gazed for a moment resentfully after its vanished prey, +and then composed its sleek body upon the iron rail, tail and paws +tucked neatly under. Ste. Marie chirruped, and the cat turned yellow +eyes upon him in mild astonishment, as one who should say, "Who the +deuce are you, and what the deuce are you doing here?" He chirruped +again, and the cat, after an ostentatious yawn and stretch, came to +him--beating up to windward, as it were, and making the bed in three +tacks. When O'Hara entered the room some time later he found his patient +in a very cheerful frame of mind, and the black cat sitting on his chest +purring like a dynamo and kneading like an industrious baker. + +"Ho," said the Irishman, "you seem to have found a friend!" + +"Well, I need one friend here," argued Ste. Marie. "I'm in the enemy's +stronghold. You needn't be alarmed; the cat can't tell me anything, and +it can't help me to escape. It can only sit on me and purr. That's +harmless enough." + +O'Hara began one of his gruff laughs, but he seemed to remember himself +in the middle of it and assumed an intimidating scowl instead. + +"How's the leg?" he demanded, shortly. "Let me see it." He took off the +bandages and cleansed and sprayed the wound with some antiseptic liquid +that he had brought in a bottle. "There's a little fever," said he, "but +that can't be avoided. You're going on very well--a good deal better +than you'd any right to expect." He had to inflict not a little pain in +his examination and redressing of the wound. He knew that, and once or +twice he glanced up at Ste. Marie's face with a sort of reluctant +admiration for the man who could bear so much without any sign whatever. +In the end he put together his things and nodded with professional +satisfaction. "You'll do well enough now for the rest of the day," he +said. "I'll send up old Michel to valet you. He's the gardener who shot +you yesterday, and he may take it into his head to finish the job this +morning. If he does I sha'n't try to stop him." + +"Nor I," said Ste. Marie. "Thanks very much for your trouble. An +excellent surgeon was lost in you." + +O'Hara left the room, and presently the old caretaker, one-eyed, +gnomelike, shambling like a bear, sidled in and proceeded to set things +to rights. He looked, Ste. Marie said to himself, like something in an +old German drawing, or in those imitations of old drawings that one +sometimes sees nowadays in _Fliegende Blaetter_. He tried to make the +strange creature talk, but Michel went about his task with an air +half-frightened, half-stolid, and refused to speak more than an +occasional "oui" or a "bien, Monsieur," in answer to orders. Ste. Marie +asked if he might have some coffee and bread, and the old Michel nodded +and slipped from the room as silently as he had entered it. + +Thereafter Ste. Marie trifled with the cat and got one hand well +scratched for his trouble, but in five minutes there came a knocking at +the door. He laughed a little. "Michel grows ceremonious when it's a +question of food," he said. "Entrez, mon vieux!" + +The door opened, and Ste. Marie caught his breath. + +"Michel is busy," said Coira O'Hara, "so I have brought your coffee." + +She came into the sunlit room holding the steaming bowl of cafe au lait +before her in her two hands. Over it her eyes went out to the man who +lay in his bed, a long and steady and very grave look. "A goddess that +lady, a queen among goddesses--" Thus the little Jew of the Boulevard de +la Madeleine. Ste. Marie gazed back at her, and his heart was sick +within him to think of the contemptible role Fate had laid upon this +girl to play: the candle to the moth, the bait to the eager, unskilled +fish, the lure to charm a foolish boy. + +The girl's splendid beauty seemed to fill all that bright room with, as +it were, a richer, subtler light. There could be no doubt of her +potency. Older and wiser heads than young Arthur Benham's might well +forget the world for her. Ste. Marie watched, and the heartsickness +within him was like a physical pain, keen and bitter. He thought of that +first and only previous meeting--the single minute in the +Champs-Elysees, when her eyes had held him, had seemed to beseech him +out of some deep agony. He thought of how they had haunted him afterward +both by day and by night--calling eyes--and he gave a little groan of +sheer bitterness, for he realized that all this while she was laying her +snares about the feet of an inexperienced boy, decoying him to his ruin. +There was a name for such women, an ugly name. They were called +adventuresses. + +The girl set the bowl which she carried down upon a table not far from +the bed. "You will need a tray or something," said she. "I suppose you +can sit up against your pillows? I'll bring a tray and you can hold it +on your knees and eat from it." She spoke in a tone of very deliberate +indifference and detachment. There seemed even to be an edge of scorn in +it, but nothing could make that deep and golden voice harsh or unlovely. +As the girl's extraordinary beauty had filled all the room with its +light, so the sound of her voice seemed to fill it with a sumptuous and +hushed resonance like a temple bell muffled in velvet. "I must bring +something to eat, too," she said. "Would you prefer croissants or +brioches or plain bread-and-butter? You might as well have what you +like." + +"Thank you!" said Ste. Marie. "It doesn't matter. Anything. You are most +kind. You are Hebe, Mademoiselle, server of feasts." The girl turned her +head for a moment and looked at him with some surprise. + +"If I am not mistaken," she said, "Hebe served to gods." Then she went +out of the room, and Ste. Marie broke into a sudden delighted laugh +behind her. She would seem to be a young woman with a tongue in her +head. She had seized the rash opening without an instant's hesitation. + +The black cat, which had been cruising, after the inquisitive fashion of +its kind, in far corners of the room, strolled back and looked up to the +table where the bowl of coffee steamed and waited. + +"Get out!" cried Ste. Marie. "Va t'en, sale petit animal! Go and eat +birds! That's _my_ coffee. Va! Sauve toi! He, voleur que tu es!" He +sought for something by way of missile, but there was nothing within +reach. + +The black cat turned its calm and yellow eyes toward him, looked back to +the aromatic feast, and leaped expertly to the top of the table. Ste. +Marie shouted and made horrible threats. He waved an impotent pillow, +not daring to hurl it for fear of smashing the table's entire contents, +but the black cat did not even glance toward him. It smelled the coffee, +sneezed over it because it was hot, and finally proceeded to lap very +daintily, pausing often to take breath or to shake its head, for cats +disapprove of hot dishes, though they will partake of them at a pinch. + +There came a step outside the door, and the thief leaped down with some +haste, yet not quite in time to escape observation. Mlle. O'Hara came +in, breathing terrible threats. + +"Has that wretched animal touched your coffee?" she cried. "I hope not." +But Ste. Marie laughed weakly from his bed, and the guilty beast stood +in mid-floor, brown drops beading its black chin and hanging upon its +whiskers. + +"I did what I could, Mademoiselle," said Ste. Marie, "but there was +nothing to throw. I am sorry to be the cause of so much trouble." + +"It is nothing," said she. "I will bring some more coffee, only it will +take ten minutes, because I shall have to make some fresh." She made as +if she would smile a little in answer to him, but her face turned grave +once more and she went out of the room with averted eyes. + +Thereafter Ste. Marie occupied himself with watching idly the movements +of the black cat, and, as he watched, something icy cold began to grow +within him, a sensation more terrible than he had ever known before. He +found himself shivering as if that summer day had all at once turned to +January, and he found that his face was wet with a chill perspiration. + +When the girl at length returned she found him lying still, his face to +the wall. The black cat was in her path as she crossed the room, so that +she had to thrust it out of the way with her foot, and she called it +names for moving with such lethargy. + +"Here is the coffee at last," she said. "I made it fresh. And I have +brought some brioches. Will you sit up and have the tray on your knees?" + +"Thank you," said Ste. Marie. "I do not wish anything." + +"You do not--" she repeated after him. "But I have made the coffee +especially for you," she protested. "I thought you wanted it. I don't +understand." + +With a sudden movement the man turned toward her a white and drawn face. + +"Mademoiselle," he cried, "it would have been more merciful to let your +gardener shoot again yesterday. Much more merciful, Mademoiselle." + +She stared at him under her straight, black brows. + +"What do you mean?" she demanded. "More merciful? What do you mean by +that?" + +Ste. Marie stretched out a pointing finger, and the girl followed it. +She gave, after a tense instant, a single, sharp scream. And upon that: + +"No, no! It's not true! It's not possible!" + +Moving stiffly, she set down the bowl she carried, and the hot liquid +splashed up round her wrists. For a moment she hung there, drooping, +holding herself up by the strength of her hands upon the table. It was +as if she had been seized with faintness. Then she sprang to where the +cat crouched beside a chair. She dropped upon her knees and tried to +raise it in her arms, but the beast bit and scratched at her feebly, and +crept away to a little distance, where it lay struggling and very +unpleasant to see. + +"Poison!" she said, in a choked, gasping whisper. "Poison!" She looked +once toward the man upon the bed, and she was white and shivering. "It's +not true!" she cried again. "I--won't believe it! It's because the +cat--was not used to coffee. Because it was hot. I won't believe it! I +won't believe it!" She began to sob, holding her hands over her white +face. + +Ste. Marie watched her with puzzled eyes. If this was acting, it was +very good acting. A little glimmer of hope began to burn in him--hope +that in this last shameful thing, at least, the girl had had no part. + +"It's impossible," she insisted, piteously. "I tell you it's impossible. +I brought the coffee myself from the kitchen. I took it from the pot +there--the same pot we had all had ours from. It was never out of my +sight--or, that is--I mean--" + +She halted there, and Ste. Marie saw her eyes turn slowly toward the +door, and he saw a crimson flush come up over her cheeks and die away, +leaving her white again. He drew a little breath of relief and gladness, +for he was sure of her now. She had had no part in it. + +"It is nothing, Mademoiselle," said he, cheerfully. "Think no more of +it. It is nothing." + +"Nothing?" she cried, in a loud voice. "Do you call poison nothing?" She +began to shiver again very violently. "You would have drunk it!" she +said, staring at him in a white agony. "But for a miracle you would have +drunk it--and died!" + +Abruptly she came beside the bed and threw herself upon her knees there. +In her excitement and horror she seemed to have forgotten what they two +were to each other. She caught him by the shoulders with her two hands, +and the girl's violent trembling shook them both. + +"Will you believe," she cried, "that I had nothing to do with this? Will +you believe me? You must believe me!" + +There was no acting in that moment. She was wrung with a frank anguish, +an utter horror, and between her words there were hard and terrible +sobs. + +"I believe you, Mademoiselle," said the man, gently. "I believe you. +Pray think no more about it." + +He smiled up into the girl's beautiful face, though within him he was +still cold and a-shiver, as even the bravest man might well be at such +an escape, and after a moment she turned away again. With unsteady hands +she put the new-made bowl of coffee and the brioches and other things +together upon the tray and started to carry it across the room to the +bed, but half-way she turned back again and set the tray down. She +looked about and found an empty glass, and she poured a little of the +coffee into it. Ste. Marie, who was watching her, gave a sudden cry. + +"No, no, Mademoiselle, I beg you! You must not!" + +But the girl shook her head at him gravely over the glass. + +"There is no danger," she said, "but I must be sure." + +She drank what was in the glass, and afterward went across to one of the +windows and stood there with her back to the room for a little time. + +In the end she returned and once more brought the breakfast-tray to the +bed. Ste. Marie raised himself to a sitting posture and took the thing +upon his knees, but his hands were shaking. + +"If I were not as helpless as a dead man, Mademoiselle," said he, "you +should not have done that. If I could have stopped you, you should not +have done it, Mademoiselle." + +A wave of color spread up under the brown skin of the girl's face, but +she did not speak. She stood by for a moment to see if he was supplied +with everything he needed, and when Ste. Marie expressed his gratitude +for her pains she only bowed her head. Then presently she turned away +and left the room. + +Outside the door she met some one who was approaching. Ste. Marie heard +her break into rapid and excited speech, and he heard O'Hara's voice in +answer. The voice expressed astonishment and indignation and a sort of +gruff horror, but the man who listened could hear only the tones, not +the words that were spoken. + +The Irishman came quickly into the room. He glanced once toward the bed +where Ste. Marie sat eating his breakfast with apparent unconcern--there +may have been a little bravado in this--and then bent over the thing +which lay moving feebly beside a chair. When he rose again his face was +hard and tense and his blue eyes glittered in a fashion that boded +trouble for somebody. + +"This looks very bad for us," he said, gruffly. "I should--I should like +to have you believe that neither my daughter nor I had any part in it. +When I fight I fight openly, I don't use poison. Not even with spies." + +"Oh, that's all right," said Ste. Marie, taking an ostentatious sip of +coffee. "That's understood. I know well enough who tried to poison me. +If you'll just keep your friend Stewart out of the kitchen I sha'n't +worry about my food." + +The Irishman's cheeks reddened with a quick flush and he dropped his +eyes. But in an instant he raised them again and looked full into the +eyes of the man who sat in bed. + +"You seem," said he, "to be laboring under a curious misapprehension. +There is no Stewart here, and I don't know any man of that name." + +Ste. Marie laughed. + +"Oh, don't you?" he said. "That's my mistake then. Well, if you don't +know him, you ought to. You have interests in common." + +O'Hara favored his patient with a long and frowning stare. But at the +end he turned without a word and went out of the room. + + * * * * * + + + + +XVII + +THOSE WHO WERE LEFT BEHIND + + +That meeting with Richard Hartley of which Captain Stewart, in the small +drawing-room at La Lierre, spoke to the Irishman O'Hara, took place at +Stewart's own door in the rue du Faubourg St. Honore, and it must have +been at just about the time when Ste. Marie, concealed among the +branches of his cedar, looked over the wall and saw Arthur Benham +walking with Mlle. Coira O'Hara. Hartley had lunched at Durand's with +his friends, whose name--though it does not at all matter here--was +Reeves-Davis, and after lunch the four of them, Major and Lady +Reeves-Davis, Reeves-Davis' sister, Mrs. Carsten, and Hartley, spent an +hour at a certain picture-dealer's near the Madeleine. After that Lady +Reeves-Davis wanted to go in search of an antiquary's shop which was +somewhere in the rue du Faubourg, and she did not know just where. They +went in from the rue Royale, and amused themselves by looking at the +attractive windows on the way. + +During one of their frequent halts, while the two ladies were +passionately absorbed in a display of hats, and Reeves-Davis was making +derisive comments from the rear, Hartley, who was too much bored to pay +attention, saw a figure which seemed to him familiar emerge from an +adjacent doorway and start to cross the pavement to a large touring-car, +with the top up, which stood at the curb. The man wore a dust-coat and a +cap, and he moved as if he were in a hurry, but as he went he cast a +quick look about him and his eye fell upon Richard Hartley. Hartley +nodded, and he thought the elder man gave a violent start; but then he +looked very white and ill and might have started at anything. For an +instant Captain Stewart made as if he would go on his way without taking +notice, but he seemed to change his mind and turned back. He held out +his hand with a rather wan and nervous smile, saying: + +"Ah, Hartley! It is you, then! I wasn't sure." He glanced over the +other's shoulder and said, "Is that our friend Ste. Marie with you?" + +"No," said Richard Hartley, "some English friends of mine. I haven't +seen Ste. Marie to-day. I'm to meet him this evening. You've seen him +since I have, as a matter of fact. He came to your party last night, +didn't he? Sorry I couldn't come. They must have tired you out, I should +think. You look ill." + +"Yes," said the other man, absently. "Yes, I had an attack of--an old +malady last night. I am rather stale to-day. You say you haven't seen +Ste. Marie? No, to be sure. If you see him later on you might say that I +mean to drop in on him to-morrow to make my apologies. He'll understand. +Good-day." + +So he turned away to the motor which was waiting for him, and Hartley +went back to his friends, wondering a little what it was that Stewart +had to apologize for. + +As for Captain Stewart, he must have gone at once out to La Lierre. What +he found there has already been set forth. + +It was about ten that evening when Hartley, who had left his people, +after dinner was over, at the Marigny, reached the rue d'Assas. The +street door was already closed for the night, and so he had to ring for +the cordon. When the door clicked open and he had closed it behind him +he called out his name before crossing the court to Ste. Marie's stair; +but as he went on his way the voice of the concierge reached him from +the little loge. + +"M. Ste. Marie n'est pas la," + +Now, the Parisian concierge, as every one knows who has lived under his +iron sway, is a being set apart from the rest of mankind. He has, in +general, no human attributes, and certainly no human sympathy. His hand +is against all the world, and the hand of all the world is against him. +Still, here and there among this peculiar race are to be found a very +few beings who are of softer substance--men and women instead of spies +and harpies. The concierge who had charge of the house wherein Ste. +Marie dwelt was an old woman, undeniably severe upon occasion, but for +the most part a kindly and even jovial soul. She must have become a +concierge through some unfortunate mistake. + +She snapped open her little square window and stuck out into the moonlit +court a dishevelled gray head. + +"Il n'est pas la." she said again, beaming upon Richard Hartley, whom +she liked, and, when he protested that he had a definite and important +appointment with her lodger, went on to explain that Ste. Marie had gone +out, doubtless to lunch, before one o'clock and had never returned. + +"He may have left word for me up-stairs," Hartley said; "I'll go up and +wait, if I may." So the woman got him her extra key, and he went up, let +himself into the flat, and made lights there. + +Naturally he found no word, but his own note of that morning lay spread +out upon a table where Ste. Marie had left it, and so he knew that his +friend was in possession of the two facts he had learned about Stewart. +He made himself comfortable with a book and some cigarettes, and settled +down to wait. + +Ste. Marie out at La Lierre, with a bullet-hole in his leg, was deep in +a drugged sleep just then, but Hartley waited for him, looking up now +and then from his book with a scowl of impatience, until the little +clock on the mantel said that it was one o'clock. Then he went home in a +very bad temper, after writing another note and leaving it on the table, +to say that he would return early in the morning. + +But in the morning he began to be alarmed. He questioned the concierge +very closely as to Ste. Marie's movements on the day previous, but she +could tell him little, save to mention the brief visit of a man with an +accent of Toulouse or Marseilles, and there seemed to be no one else to +whom he could go. He spent the entire morning in the flat, and returned +there after a hasty lunch. But at mid-afternoon he took a fiacre at the +corner of the Gardens and drove to the rue du Faubourg St. Honore. + +Captain Stewart was at home. He was in a dressing-gown, and still looked +fagged and unwell. He certainly betrayed some surprise at sight of his +visitor, but he made Hartley welcome at once and insisted upon having +cigars and things to drink brought out for him. On the whole he +presented an astonishingly normal exterior, for within him he must have +been cold with fear, and in his ears a question must have rung and +shouted and rung again unceasingly--"What does this fellow know? What +does he know?" + +Hartley's very presence there had a perilous look. + +The younger man shook his head at the servant who asked him what he +wished to drink. + +"Thanks, you're very good," he said to Captain Stewart, and that +gentleman eyed him silently. "I can't stay but a moment. I just dropped +in to ask if you'd any idea what can have become of Ste. Marie." + +"Ste. Marie?" said Captain Stewart. "What do you mean--'become of him'?" +He moistened his lips to speak, but he said the words without a tremor. + +"Well, what I meant was," said Hartley, "that you'd seen him last. He +was here Thursday evening. Did he say anything to you about going +anywhere in particular the next day--yesterday? He left his rooms about +noon and hasn't turned up since." + +Captain Stewart drew a short breath and sat down, abruptly, in a near-by +chair, for all at once his knees had begun to tremble under him. He was +conscious of a great and blissful wave of relief and well-being, and he +wanted to laugh. He wanted so much to laugh that it became a torture to +keep his face in repose. + +So Ste. Marie had left no word behind him, and the danger was past! + +With a great effort he looked up from where he sat to Richard Hartley, +who stood anxious and frowning before him. + +"Forgive me for sitting down," he said, "and sit down yourself, I beg. +I'm still very shaky from my attack of illness. Ste. Marie--Ste. Marie +has disappeared? How very extraordinary! It's like poor Arthur. Still--a +single day! He might be anywhere for a single day, might he not? For all +that, though, it's very odd. Why, no. No, I don't think he said anything +about going away. At least I remember nothing about it." The relief and +triumph within him burst out in a sudden little chuckle of malicious +fun. "I can think of only one thing," said he, "that might be of use to +you. Ste. Marie seemed to take a very great fancy to one of the ladies +here the other evening. And, I must confess, the lady seemed to return +it. It had all the look of a desperate flirtation--a most desperate +flirtation. They spent the evening in a corner together. You don't +suppose," he said, still chuckling gently, "that Ste. Marie is taking a +little holiday, do you? You don't suppose that the lady could account +for him?" + +"No," said Richard Hartley, "I don't. And if you knew Ste. Marie a +little better you wouldn't suppose it, either." But after a pause he +said: "Could you give me the--lady's name, by any chance? Of course, I +don't want to leave any stone unturned." + +And once more the other man emitted his pleased little chuckle that was +so like a cat's mew. + +"I can give you her name," said he. "The name is Mlle.---- Bertrand. +Elise Bertrand. But I regret to say I haven't the address by me. She +came with some friends. I will try and get it and send it you. Will that +be all right?" + +"Yes, thanks!" said Richard Hartley. "You're very good. And now I must +be going on. I'm rather in a hurry." + +Captain Stewart protested against this great haste, and pressed the +younger man to sit down and tell him more about his friend's +disappearance, but Hartley excused himself, repeating that he was in a +great hurry, and went off. + +When he had gone Captain Stewart lay back in his chair and laughed until +he was weak and ached from it, the furious, helpless laughter which +comes after the sudden release from a terrible strain. He was not, as a +rule, a demonstrative man, but he became aware that he would like to +dance and sing, and probably he would have done both if it had not been +for the servant in the next room. + +So there was no danger to be feared, and his terrors of the night +past--he shivered a little to think of them--had been, after all, +useless terrors! As for the prisoner out at La Lierre, nothing was to be +feared from him so long as a careful watch was kept. Later on he might +have to be disposed of, since both bullet and poison had failed--he +scowled over that, remembering a bad quarter of an hour with O'Hara +early this morning--but that matter could wait. Some way would present +itself. He thought of the wholly gratuitous lie he had told Hartley, a +thing born of a moment's malice, and he laughed again. It struck him +that it would be very humorous if Hartley should come to suspect his +friend of turning aside from his great endeavors to enter upon an affair +with a lady. He dimly remembered that Ste. Marie's name had, from time +to time, been a good deal involved in romantic histories, and he said to +himself that his lie had been very well chosen, indeed, and might be +expected to cause Richard Hartley much anguish of spirit. + +After that he lighted a very large cigarette, half as big as a cigar, +and he lay back in his low, comfortable chair and began to think of the +outcome of all this plotting and planning. As is very apt to be the case +when a great danger has been escaped, he was in a mood of extreme +hopefulness and confidence. Vaguely he felt as if the recent happenings +had set him ahead a pace toward his goal, though of course they had done +nothing of the kind. The danger that would exist so long as Ste. Marie, +who knew everything, was alive, seemed in some miraculous fashion to +have dwindled to insignificance; in this rebound from fear and despair +difficulties were swept away and the path was clear. The man's mind +leaped to his goal, and a little shiver of prospective joy ran over him. +Once that goal gained he could defy the world. Let eyes look askance, +let tongues wag, he would be safe then--safe for all the rest of his +life, and rich, rich, rich! + +For he was playing against a feeble old man's life. Day by day he +watched the low flame sink lower as the flame of an exhausted lamp sinks +and flickers. It was slow, for the old man had still a little strength +left, but the will to live--which was the oil in the lamp--was almost +gone, and the waiting could not be long now. One day, quite suddenly, +the flame would sink down to almost nothing, as at last it does in the +spent lamp. It would flicker up and down rapidly for a few moments, and +all at once there would be no flame there. Old David would be dead, and +a servant would be sent across the river in haste to the rue du Faubourg +St. Honore. Stewart lay back in his chair and tried to imagine that it +was true, that it had already happened, as happen it must before long, +and once more the little shiver, which was like a shiver of voluptuous +delight, ran up and down his limbs, and his breath began to come fast +and hard. + + * * * * * + +But Richard Hartley drove at once back to the rue d'Assas. He was not +very much disappointed in having learned nothing from Stewart, though he +was thoroughly angry at that gentleman's hint about Ste. Marie and the +unknown lady. He had gone to the rue du Faubourg because, as he had +said, he wished to leave no stone unturned, and, after all, he had +thought it quite possible that Stewart could give him some information +which would be of value. Hartley firmly believed the elder man to be a +rascal, but of course he knew nothing definite save the two facts which +he had accidentally learned from Helen Benham, and it had occurred to +him that Captain Stewart might have sent Ste. Marie off upon another +wild-goose chase such as the expedition to Dinard had been. He would +have been sure that the elder man had had something to do with Ste. +Marie's disappearance if the latter had not been seen since Stewart's +party, but instead of that Ste. Marie had come home, slept, gone out the +next morning, returned again, received a visitor, and gone out to lunch. +It was all very puzzling and mysterious. + +His mind went back to the brief interview with Stewart and dwelt upon +it. Little things which had at the time made no impression upon him +began to recur and to take on significance. He remembered the elder +man's odd and strained manner at the beginning, his sudden and causeless +change to ease and to something that was almost like a triumphant +excitement, and then his absurd story about Ste. Marie's flirtation with +a lady. Hartley thought of these things; he thought also of the fact +that Ste. Marie had disappeared immediately after hearing grave +accusations against Stewart. Could he have lost his head, rushed across +the city at once to confront the middle-aged villain, and +then--disappeared from human ken? It would have been very like him to do +something rashly impulsive upon reading that note. + +Hartley broke into a sudden laugh of sheer amusement when he realized to +what a wild and improbable flight his fancy was soaring. He could not +quite rid himself of a feeling that Stewart was, in some mysterious +fashion, responsible for his friend's vanishing, but he was unlike Ste. +Marie: he did not trust his feelings, either good or bad, unless they +were backed by excellent evidence, and he had to admit that there was +not a single scrap of evidence in this instance against Miss Benham's +uncle. + +The girl's name recalled him to another duty. He must tell her about +Ste. Marie. He was by this time half-way up the Boulevard St. Germain, +but he gave a new order, and the fiacre turned back to the rue de +l'Universite. The footman at the door said that Mademoiselle was not in +the drawing-room, as it was only four o'clock, but that he thought she +was in the house. So Hartley sent up his name and went in to wait. + +Miss Benham came down looking a little pale and anxious. + +"I've been with grandfather," she explained. "He had some sort of +sinking-spell last night and we were very much frightened. He's much +better, but--well, he couldn't have many such spells and live. I'm +afraid he grows a good deal weaker day by day now. He sees hardly any +one outside the family, except Baron de Vries." She sat down with a +little sigh of fatigue and smiled up at her visitor. "I'm glad you've +come," said she. "You'll cheer me up, and I rather need it. What are you +looking so solemn about, though? You won't cheer me up if you look like +that." + +"Well, you see," said Hartley, "I came at this impossible hour to bring +you some bad news. I'm sorry. Perhaps," he modified, "bad news is +putting it with too much seriousness. Strange news is better. To be +brief, Ste. Marie has disappeared--vanished into thin air. I thought you +ought to know." + +"Ste. Marie!" cried the girl. "How? What do you mean--vanished? When did +he vanish?" + +She gave a sudden exclamation of relief. + +"Oh, he has come upon some clew or other and has rushed off to follow +it. That's all. How dare you frighten me so?" + +"He went without luggage," said the man, shaking his head, "and he left +no word of any kind behind him. He went out to lunch yesterday about +noon, and, as I said, simply vanished, leaving no trace whatever behind +him. I've just been to see your uncle, thinking that he might know +something, but he doesn't." + +The girl looked up quickly. + +"My uncle?" she said. "Why my uncle?" + +"Well," said Hartley, "you see, Ste. Marie went to a little party at +your uncle's flat on the night before he disappeared, and I thought your +uncle might have heard him say something that would throw light on his +movements the next day." + +Hartley remembered the unfortunate incident of the galloping pigs, and +hurried on: + +"He went to the party more for the purpose of having a talk with your +uncle than for any other reason, I think. I was to have gone myself, but +gave it up at the eleventh hour for the Cains' dinner at Armenonville. +Well, the next morning after Captain Stewart's party he went out early. +I called at his rooms to see him about something important that I +thought he ought to know. I missed him, and so left a note for him which +he got on his return and read. I found it open on his table later on. At +noon he went out again, and that's all. Frankly, I'm worried about him." + +Miss Benham watched the man with thoughtful eyes, and when he had +finished she asked: + +"Could you tell me what was in this note that you left for Ste. Marie?" + +Hartley was by nature a very open and frank young man, and in +consequence an unusually bad liar. He hesitated and looked away, and he +began to turn red. + +"Well--no," he said, after a moment--"no, I'm afraid I can't. It was +something you wouldn't understand--wouldn't know about." + +And the girl said, "Oh!" and remained for a little while silent. But at +the end she looked up and met his eyes, and the man saw that she was +very grave. She said: + +"Richard, there is something that you and I have been avoiding and +pretending not to see. It has gone too far now, and we've got to face it +with perfect frankness. I know what was in your note to Ste. Marie. It +was what you found out the other evening about--my uncle--the matter of +the will and the other matter. He knew about the will, but he told you +and Ste. Marie that he didn't. He said to you, also, that I had told him +about my engagement and Ste. Marie's determination to search for Arthur, +and that was--a lie. I didn't tell him, and grandfather didn't tell him. +He listened in the door yonder and heard it himself. I have a good +reason for knowing that. And then," she said, "he tried very hard to +persuade you and Ste. Marie to take up your search under his direction, +and he partly succeeded. He sent Ste. Marie upon a foolish expedition to +Dinard, and he gave him and gave you other clews just as foolish as that +one. Richard, do you believe that my uncle has hidden poor Arthur away +somewhere or--worse than that? Do you? Tell me the truth!" + +"There is not," said Hartley, "one particle of real evidence against him +that I'm aware of. There's plenty of motive, if you like, but motive is +not evidence." + +"I asked you a question," the girl said. "Do you believe my uncle has +been responsible for Arthur's disappearance?" + +"Yes," said Richard Hartley, "I'm afraid I do." + +"Then," she said, "he has been responsible for Ste. Marie's +disappearance also. Ste. Marie became dangerous to him, and so vanished. +What can we do, Richard? What can we do?" + + * * * * * + + + + +XVIII + +A CONVERSATION OVERHEARD + + +In the upper chamber at La Lierre the days dragged very slowly by, and +the man who lay in bed there counted interminable hours and prayed for +the coming of night with its merciful oblivion of sleep. His inaction +was made bitterer by the fact that the days were days of green and gold, +of breeze-stirred tree-tops without his windows, of vagrant sweet airs +that stole in upon his solitude, bringing him all the warm fragrance of +summer and of green things growing. + +He suffered little pain. There was, for the first three or four days, a +dull and feverish ache in his wounded leg, but presently even that +passed, and the leg hurt him only when he moved it. He thought sometimes +that he would be grateful for a bit of physical anguish to make the +hours pass more quickly. + +The other inmates of the house held aloof from him. Once a day O'Hara +came in to see to the wound, but he maintained a well-nigh complete +silence over his work, and answered questions only with a brief yes or +no. Sometimes he did not answer them at all. The old Michel came twice +daily, but this strange being had quite plainly been frightened into +dumbness, and there was nothing to be got out of him. He shambled +hastily about the place, his one scared eye upon the man in bed, and as +soon as possible fled away, closing the door behind him. Sometimes +Michel brought in the meals, sometimes his wife, a creature so like him +that the two might well have passed for twin survivors of some unknown +race; sometimes--thrice altogether in that first week--Coira O'Hara +brought the tray, and she was as silent as the others. + +So Ste. Marie was left alone to get through the interminable days as +best he might, and ever afterward the week remained in his memory as a +sort of nightmare. Lying idle in his bed, he evolved many surprising and +fantastic schemes for escape, for getting word to the outside world of +his presence here, and one by one he gave them up in disgust as their +impossibility forced itself upon him. Plans and schemes were useless +while he lay bedridden, unfamiliar even with the house wherein he dwelt, +with the garden and park that surrounded it. + +As for aid from any of the inmates of the place, that was to be laughed +at. They were engaged together in a scheme so desperate that failure +must mean utter ruin to them all. He sometimes wondered if the two +servants could be bribed. Avarice unmistakable gleamed from their +little, glittering, ratlike eyes, but he was sure that they would sell +out for no small sum, and in so far as he could remember there had been +in his pockets, when he came here, not more than five or six louis. +Doubtless the old Michel had managed to abstract those in his daily +offices about the room, for Ste. Marie knew that the clothes hung in a +closet across from his bed. He had seen them there once when the +closet-door was open. + +Any help that might come to him must come from outside--and what help +was to be expected there? Over and over again he reminded himself of how +little Richard Hartley knew. He might suspect Stewart of complicity in +this new disappearance, but how was he to find out anything definite? +How was any one to do so? + +It was at such times as this, when brain and nerves were strained and +worn almost to breaking-point, that Ste. Marie had occasion to be +grateful for the Southern blood that was in him, the strong tinge of +fatalism which is common alike to Latin and to Oriental. It rescued him +more than once from something like nervous breakdown, calmed him +suddenly, lifted his burdens from outwearied shoulders, and left him in +peace to wait until some action should be possible. Then, in such hours, +he would fall to thinking of the girl for whose sake, in whose cause, he +lay bedridden, beset with dangers. As long before, she came to him in a +sort of waking vision--a being but half earthly, enthroned high above +him, calm-browed, very pure, with passionless eyes that gazed into far +distance and were unaware of the base things below. What would she think +of him, who had sworn to be true knight to her, if she could know how he +had bungled and failed? He was glad that she did not know, that if he +had blundered into peril the knowledge of it could not reach her to hurt +her pride. + +And sometimes, also, with a great sadness and pity, he thought of poor +Coira O'Hara and of the pathetic wreck her life had fallen into. The +girl was so patently fit for better things! Her splendid beauty was not +a cheap beauty. She was no coarse-blown, gorgeous flower, imperfect at +telltale points. It was good blood that had modelled her dark +perfection, good blood that had shaped her long and slim and tapering +hands. + +"A queen among goddesses!" The words remained with him, and he knew that +they were true. She might have held up her head among the greatest, this +adventurer's girl; but what chance had she had? What merest ghost of a +chance? + +He watched her on the rare occasions when she came into the room. He +watched the poise of her head, her walk, the movements she made, and he +said to himself that there was no woman of his acquaintance whose grace +was more perfect--certainly none whose grace was so native. + +Once he complained to her of the desperate idleness of his days, and +asked her to lend him a book of some kind, a review, even a daily +newspaper, though it be a week old. + +"I should read the very advertisements with joy," he said. + +She went out of the room and returned presently with an armful of books, +which she laid upon the bed without comment. + +"In my prayers, Mademoiselle," cried Ste. Marie, "you shall be foremost +forever!" He glanced at the row of titles and looked up in sheer +astonishment. "May I ask whose books these are?" he said. + +"They are mine," said the girl. "I caught up the ones that lay first at +hand. If you don't care for any of them, I will choose others." + +The books were: _Diana of the Crossways, Richard Feverel,_ Henri +Lavedan's _Le Duel_, Maeterlinck's _Pelleas et Melisande, Don Quixote de +la Mancha_, in Spanish, a volume of Virgil's _Eclogues_, and the _Life +of the Chevalier Bayard_, by the Loyal Servitor. Ste. Marie stared at +her. + +"Do you read Spanish," he demanded, "and Latin, as well as French and +English?" + +"My mother was Spanish," said she. "And as for Latin, I began to read it +with my father when I was a child. Shall I leave the books here?" + +Ste. Marie took up the _Bayard_ and held it between his hands. + +"It is worn from much reading, Mademoiselle," he said. + +"It is the best of all," said she. "The very best of all. I didn't know +I had brought you that." + +She made a step toward him as if she would take the book away, and over +it their eyes met and were held. In that moment it may have come to them +both who she was, who so loved the knight without fear and without +reproach--the daughter of art Irish adventurer of ill repute--for their +faces began suddenly to flush with red, and after an instant the girl +turned away. + +"It is of no consequence," said she. "You may keep the book if you care +to." + +And Ste. Marie said, very gently: "Thank you, Mademoiselle. I will keep +it for a little while." + +So she went out of the room and left him alone. + +This was at noon on the sixth day, and, after he had swallowed hastily +the lunch which had been set before him, Ste. Marie fell upon the books +like a child upon a new box of sweets. Like the child again, it was +difficult for him to choose among them. He opened one and then another, +gloating over them all, but in the end he chose the _Bayard_, and for +hours lost himself among the high deeds of the Preux Chevalier and his +faithful friends--among whom, by the way, there was a Ste. Marie who +died nobly for France. It was late afternoon when at last he laid the +book down with a sigh and settled himself more comfortably among the +pillows. + +The sun was not in the room at that hour, but from where he lay he could +see it on the tree-tops, gold upon green. Outside his south window the +leaves of a chestnut which stood there quivered and rustled gently under +a soft breeze. Delectable odors floated in to Ste. Marie's nostrils, and +he thought how very pleasant it would be if he were lying on the turf +under the trees instead of bedridden in this upper chamber, which he had +come to hate with a bitter hatred. + +He began to wonder if it would be possible to drag himself across the +floor to that south window, and so to lie down for a while with his head +in the tiny balcony beyond, his eyes turned to the blue sky. Astir with +the new thought, he sat up in bed and carefully swung his feet out till +they hung to the floor. The wound in the left leg smarted and burned, +but not too severely, and with slow pains Ste. Marie stood up. He almost +cried out when he discovered that it could be done quite easily. He +essayed to walk, and he was a little weak, but by no means helpless. He +found that it gave him pain to raise his left leg in the ordinary action +of walking or to bend that knee, but he could get about well enough by +dragging the injured member beside him, for when it was straight it +supported him without protest. + +He took his pillows across to the window and disposed them there, for it +was a French window opening to the floor, and the level of the little +balcony outside was but a few inches above the level of the room. Then +the desire seized him to make a tour of his prison walls. He went first +to the closet where he had seen his clothes hanging, and they were still +there. He felt in the pockets and withdrew his little English pigskin +sovereign-purse. It had not been tampered with, and he gave an +exclamation of relief over that, for he might later on have use for +money. There were eight louis in it, each in its little separate +compartment, and in another pocket he found a fifty-franc note and some +silver. He went to the two east windows and looked out. The trees stood +thick together on that side of the house, but between two of them he +could see the park wall fifty yards away. He glanced down, and the side +of the house was covered thick with the ivy which had given the place +its name, but there was no water-pipe near, nor any other thing which +seemed to offer foot or hand hold, unless, perhaps, the ivy might prove +strong enough to bear a man's weight. Ste. Marie made a mental note to +look into that when he was a little stronger, and turned back to the +south window where he had disposed his pillows. + +The unaccustomed activity was making his wound smart and prickle, and he +lay down at once with head and shoulders in the open air, and out of the +warm and golden sunshine and the emerald shade the breath of summer came +to him and wrapped him round with sweetness and pillowed him upon its +fragrant breast. + +He became aware after a long time of voices below, and turned upon his +elbows to look. The ivy had clambered upon and partly covered the iron +grille of the little balcony, and he could observe without being seen. +Young Arthur Benham and Coira O'Hara had come out of the door of the +house, and they stood upon the raised and paved terrace which ran the +width of the facade, and seemed to hesitate as to the direction they +should take. Ste. Marie heard the girl say: + +"It's cooler here in the shade of the house," and after a moment the two +came along the shady terrace whose outer margin was set at intervals +with stained and discolored marble nymphs upon pedestals, and between +the nymphs with moss-grown stone benches. They halted before a bench +upon which, earlier in the day, a rug had been spread out to dry in the +sun and had been forgotten, and after a moment's further hesitation they +sat down upon it. Their faces were turned toward the house, and every +word that they spoke mounted in that still air clear and distinct to the +ears of the man above. + +Ste. Marie wriggled back into the room and sat up to consider. The +thought of deliberately listening to a conversation not meant for him +sent a hot flush to his cheeks. He told himself that it could not be +done, and that there was an end to the matter. Whatever might hang upon +it, it could not be asked of him that he should stoop to dishonor. But +at that the heavy and grave responsibility, which really did hang upon +him and upon his actions, came before his mind's eye and loomed there +mountainous. The fate of this foolish boy who was set round with thieves +and adventurers--even though his eyes were open and he knew where he +stood--that came to Ste. Marie and confronted him; and the picture of a +bitter old man who was dying of grief came to him; and a mother's face; +and _hers_. There could be no dishonor in the face of all this, only a +duty very clear and plain. He crept back to his place, his arms folded +beneath him as he lay, his eyes at the thin screen of ivy which cloaked +the balcony grille. + +Young Arthur Benham appeared to be giving tongue to a rather sharp +attack of homesickness. It may be that long confinement within the walls +of La Lierre was beginning to try him somewhat. + +"Mind you," he declared, as Ste. Marie's ears came once more within +range--"mind you, I'm not saying that Paris hasn't got its points. It +has. Oh yes! And so has London, and so has Ostend, and so has Monte +Carlo. Verree much so! I like Paris. I like the theatres and the +vaudeville shows in the Champs-Elysees, and I like Longchamps. I like +the boys who hang around Henry's Bar. They're good sports all right, all +right! But, by golly, I want to go home! Put me off at the corner of +Forty-second Street and Broadway, and I'll ask no more. Set me down at 7 +P.M., right there on the corner outside the Knickerbocker, for that's +where I would live and die." There came into the lad's somewhat strident +voice a softness that was almost pathetic. "You don't know Broadway, +Coira, do you? Nix! of course not. Little girl, it's the one street of +all this large world. It's the equator that runs north and south instead +of east and west. It's a long, bright, gay, live wire!--that's what +Broadway is. And I give you my word of honor, like a little man, that +it--is--not--slow. No-o, indeed! When I was there last it was being +called the 'Gay White Way.' It is not called the 'Gay White Way' now. It +has had forty other new, good names since then, and I don't know what +they are, but I do know that it is forever gay, and that the electric +signs are still blazing all along the street, and the street-cars are +still killing people in the good old fashion, and the news-boys are +still dodging under the automobiles to sell you a _Woild_ or a _Choinal_ +or, if it's after twelve at night, a _Morning Telegraph_. Coira, my +girl, standing on that corner after dark you can see the electric signs +of fifteen theatres, not one of them more than five minutes' walk away; +and just round the corner there are more. I want to go home! I want to +take one large, unparalleled leap from here and come down at the corner +I told you about. D'you know what I'd do? We'll say it's 7 P.M. and +beginning to get dark. I'd dive into the Knickerbocker--that's the hotel +that the bright and happy people go to for dinner or supper--and I'd +engage a table up on the terrace. Then I'd telephone to a little friend +of mine whose name is Doe--John Doe--and in about ten minutes he'd have +left the crowd he was standing in line with and he'd come galloping up, +that glad to see me you'd cry to watch him. We'd go up on the terrace, +where the potted palms grow, for our dinner, and the tables all around +us would be full of people that would know Johnnie Doe and me, and +they'd all make us drink drinks and tell us how glad they were to see us +aboard again. And after dinner," said young Arthur Benham, with wide and +smiling eyes--"after dinner we'd go to see one of the roof-garden shows. +Let me tell you they've got the Marigny or the Ambassadeurs or the +Jardin de Paris beaten to a pulp--to--a--pulp! And after the show we'd +slip round to the stage-door--you bet we would!--and capture the two +most beautiful ladies in the world and take 'em off to supper." + +He wrinkled his young brow in great perplexity. "Now I wonder," said he, +anxiously--"I wonder where we'd go for supper. You see," he apologized, +"it's two years since I left the Real Street, and, gee! what a lot can +happen on Broadway in two years! There's probably half a dozen new +supper-places that I don't know anything about, and one of them's the +place where the crowd goes. Well, anyhow, we'd go to that place, and +there'd be a band playing, and the electric fans would go round and +round, and Johnnie Doe and I and the two most beautiful ladies would put +it all over the other pikers there." + +Young Benham gave a little sigh of pleasure and excitement. "That's what +I'd like to do to-night," said he, "and that's what I'll do, you can bet +your sh--boots, when all this silly mess is over and I'm a free man. +I'll hike back to good old Broadway, and if ever you see any one trying +to pry me loose from it again you can laugh yourself to death, because +he'll never, never succeed. + +"That's where I'll go," he said, nodding, "when this waiting is +over--straight back to Liberty Land and the bright lights. The rest of +the family can stay here till they die, if they want to--and I suppose +they do--_I'm_ going home as soon as I've got my money. Old Charlie'll +manage all that for me. He'll get a lawyer to look after it, and I won't +have to see anybody in the family at all. + +"Nine more weeks shut in by stone walls!" said the boy, staring about +him with a sort of bitterness. "Nine weeks more!" + +"Is it so hard as that?" asked the girl. + +There was no foolish coquetry in her tone. She spoke as if the words +involved no personal question at all, but there was a little smile at +her lips, and Arthur Benham turned toward her quickly and caught at her +hands. + +"No, no!" he cried. "I didn't mean that. You know I didn't mean that. +You're worth nine years' waiting. You're the best--d'you hear?--the best +there is. There's nobody anywhere that can touch you. Only--well, this +place is getting on my nerves. It's got me worn to a frazzle. I feel +like a criminal doing time." + +"You came very near having to do time somewhere else," said the girl. +"If this M. Ste. Marie hadn't blundered we should have had them all +round our ears, and you'd have had to run for it." + +"Yes," the boy said, nodding gravely. "Yes, that was great luck." + +He raised his head and looked up along the windows above him. + +"Which is his room?" he asked, and Mlle. O'Hara said: + +"The one just overhead, but he's in bed far back from the window. He +couldn't possibly hear us talking." + +She paused for a moment in frowning hesitation, and in the end said: + +"Tell me about him, this Ste. Marie! Do you know anything about him?" + +"No," said Arthur Benham, "I don't--not personally, that is. Of course +I've heard of him. Lots of people have spoken of him to me. And the odd +part of it is that they all had a good word to say. Everybody seemed to +like him. I got the idea that he was the best ever. I wanted to know +him. I never thought he'd take on a piece of dirty work like this." + +"Nor I," said the girl, in a low voice. "Nor I." + +The boy looked up. + +"Oh, you've heard of him, too, then?" said he. + +And she said, still in her low voice, "I--saw him once." + +"Well," declared young Benham, "it's beyond me. I give it up. You never +can tell about people, can you? I guess they'll all go wrong when +there's enough in it to make it worth while. That's what old Charlie +always says. He says most people are straight enough when there's +nothing in it, but make the pot big enough and they'll all go crooked." + +The young man's face turned suddenly hard and old and bitter. + +"Gee! I ought to know that well enough, oughtn't I?" he said. "I guess +nobody knows that better than I do after what happened to me.... Come +along and take a walk in the garden, Maud! I'm sick of sitting still." + +Mlle. Coira O'Hara looked up with a start, as if she had not been +listening, but she rose when the boy held out his hand to her, and the +two went down from the terrace and moved off toward the west. + +Ste. Marie watched them until they had disappeared among the trees, and +then turned on his back, staring up into the softly stirring canopy of +green above him and the little rifts of bright blue sky. He did not +understand at all. Something mysterious had crept in where all had +seemed so plain to the eye. Certain words that young Arthur Benham had +spoken repeated themselves in his mind, and he could not at once make +them out. Assuredly there was something mysterious here. + +In the first place, what did the boy mean by "dirty work"? To be sure, +spying, in its usual sense, is not held to be one of the noblest of +occupations, but--in such a cause as this! It was absurd, ridiculous, to +call it "dirty work." And what did he mean by the words which he had +used afterward? Ste. Marie did not quite follow the idiom about the "big +enough pot," but he assumed that it referred to money. Did the young +fool think he was being paid for his efforts? That was ridiculous, too. + +The boy's face came before him as it had looked with that sudden hard +and bitter expression. What did he mean by saying that no one knew the +crookedness of humanity under money temptation better than he knew it +after something that had happened to him? In a sense his words were +doubtless very true. Captain Stewart--and he must have been "old +Charlie"; Ste. Marie remembered that the name was Charles--O'Hara, and +O'Hara's daughter stood excellent examples of that bit of cynicism, but +obviously the boy had not spoken in that sense--certainly not before +Mlle. O'Hara! He meant something else, then. But what--what? + +Ste. Marie rose with some difficulty to his feet and carried the pillows +back to the bed whence he had taken them. He sat down upon the edge of +the bed, staring in great perplexity across the room at the open window, +but all at once he uttered an exclamation and smote his hands together. + +"That boy doesn't know!" he cried. "They're tricking him, these others!" + +The lad's face came once more before him, and it was a foolish and +stubborn face, perhaps, but it was neither vicious nor mean. It was the +face of an honest, headstrong boy who would be incapable of the cold +cruelty to which all circumstances seemed to point. + +"They're tricking him somehow!" cried Ste. Marie again. "They're lying +to him and making him think--" + +What was it they were making him think, these three conspirators? What +possible thing could they make him think other than the plain truth? +Ste. Marie shook a weary head and lay down among his pillows. He wished +that he had "old Charlie" in a corner of that room with his fingers +round "old Charlie's" wicked throat. He would soon get at the truth +then; or O'Hara, either, that grim and saturnine chevalier d'industrie, +though O'Hara would be a bad handful to manage; or--Ste. Marie's head +dropped back with a little groan when the face of young Arthur's +enchantress came between him and the opposite wall of the room and her +great and tragic eyes looked into his. + +It seemed incredible that that queen among goddesses should be what she +was! + + * * * * * + + + + +XIX + +THE INVALID TAKES THE AIR + + +When O'Hara, the next morning, went through the formality of looking in +upon his patient, and after a taciturn nod was about to go away again, +Ste. Marie called him back. He said, "Would you mind waiting a moment?" +and the Irishman halted inside the door. "I made an experiment +yesterday," said Ste. Marie, "and I find that, after a poor fashion, I +can walk--that is to say, I can drag myself about a little without any +great pain if I don't bend the left leg." + +O'Hara returned to the bed and made a silent examination of the bullet +wound, which, it was plain to see, was doing very well indeed. "You'll +be all right in a few days," said he, "but you'll be lame for a week +yet--maybe two. As a matter of fact, I've known men to march half a day +with a hole in the leg worse than yours, though it probably was not +quite pleasant." + +"I'm afraid I couldn't march very far," said Ste. Marie, "but I can +hobble a bit. The point is, I'm going mad from confinement in this room. +Do you think I might be allowed to stagger about the garden for an hour, +or sit there under one of the trees? I don't like to ask favors, but, so +far as I can see, it could do no harm. I couldn't possibly escape, you +see. I couldn't climb a fifteen-foot wall even if I had two good legs; +as it is, with a leg and a half, I couldn't climb anything." + +The Irishman looked at him sharply, and was silent for a time, as if +considering. But at last he said: "Of course there is no reason whatever +for granting you any favors here. You're on the footing of a spy--a +captured spy--and you're very lucky not to have got what you deserved +instead of a trumpery flesh wound." The man's face twisted into a heavy +scowl. "Unfortunately," said he, "an accident has put me--put us in as +unpleasant a position toward you as you had put yourself toward us. We +seem to stand in the position of having tried to poison you, and--well, +we owe you something for that. Still, I'd meant to keep you locked up in +this room so long as it was necessary to have you at La Lierre." He +scowled once more in an intimidating fashion at Ste. Marie, and it was +evident that he found himself embarrassed. "And," he said, awkwardly, "I +suppose I owe something to your father's son.... Look here! If you're to +be allowed in the garden, you must understand that it's at fixed hours +and not alone. Somebody will always be with you, and old Michel will be +on hand to shoot you down if you try to run for it or if you try to +communicate with Arthur Benham. Is that understood?" + +"Quite," said Ste. Marie, gayly. "Quite understood and agreed to. And +many thanks for your courtesy. I sha'n't forget it. We differ rather +widely on some rather important subjects, you and I, but I must confess +that you're very generous, and I thank you. The old Michel has my full +permission to shoot at me if he sees me trying to fly over a +fifteen-foot wall." + +"He'll shoot without asking your permission," said the Irishman, grimly, +"if you try that on, but I don't think you'll be apt to try it for the +present--not with a crippled leg." He pulled out his watch and looked at +it. "Nine o'clock," said he. "If you care to begin to-day you can go out +at eleven for an hour. I'll see that old Michel is ready at that time." + +"Eleven will suit me perfectly," said Ste. Marie. "You're very good. +Thanks once more!" The Irishman did not seem to hear. He replaced the +watch in his pocket and turned away in silence. But before he left the +room he stood a moment beside one of the windows, staring out into the +morning sunshine, and the other man could see that his face had once +more settled into the still and melancholic gloom which was +characteristic of it. Ste. Marie watched, and for the first time the man +began to interest him as a human being. He had thought of O'Hara before +merely as a rather shady adventurer of a not very rare type, but he +looked at the adventurer's face now and he saw that it was the face of a +man of unspeakable sorrows. When O'Hara looked at one, one saw only a +pair of singularly keen and hard blue eyes set under a bony brow. When +those eyes were turned away, the man's attention relaxed, the face +became a battle-ground furrowed and scarred with wrecked pride and with +bitterness and with shame and with agony. Most soldiers of fortune have +faces like that, for the world has used them very ill, and they have +lost one precious thing after another until all are gone, and they have +tasted everything that there is in life, and the flavor which remains is +a very bitter flavor--dry, like ashes. + +It came to Ste. Marie, as he lay watching this man, that the story of +the man's life, if he could be made to tell it, would doubtless be one +of the most interesting stories in the world, as must be the tale of the +adventurous career of any one who has slipped down the ladder of +respectability, rung by rung, into that shadowy no-man's-land where the +furtive birds of prey foregather and hatch their plots. It was plain +enough that O'Hara had, as the phrase goes, seen better days. Without +question he was a villain, but, after all, a generous villain. He had +been very decent about making amends for that poisoning affair. A +cheaper rascal would have behaved otherwise. Ste. Marie suddenly +remembered what a friend of his had once said of this mysterious +Irishman. The two had been sitting on the terrace of a cafe, and as +O'Hara passed by Ste. Marie's friend pointed after him and said: "There +goes some of the best blood that ever came out of Ireland. See what it +has fallen to!" + +Seemingly it had fallen pretty low. He would have liked very much to +know about the downward stages, but he knew that he would never hear +anything of them from the man himself, for O'Hara was clad, as it were, +in an armor of taciturnity. He was incredibly silent. He wore mail that +nothing could pierce. + +The Irishman turned abruptly away and left the room, and Ste. Marie, +with all the gay excitement of a little girl preparing for her first +nursery party, began to get himself ready to go out. The old Michel had +already been there to help him bathe and shave, so that he had only to +dress himself and attend to his one conspicuous vanity--the painstaking +arrangement of his hair, which he wore, according to the fashion of the +day, parted a little at one side and brushed almost straight back, so +that it looked rather like a close-fitting and incredibly glossy +skullcap. Richard Hartley, who was inclined to joke at his friend's +grave interest in the matter, said that it reminded him of +patent-leather. + +When he was dressed--and he found that putting on his left boot was no +mean feat--Ste. Marie sat down in a chair by the window and lighted a +cigarette. He had half an hour to wait, and so he picked up the volume +of _Bayard_, which Coira O'Hara had not yet taken away from him, and +began to read in it at random. He became so absorbed that the old +Michel, come to summon him, took him by surprise. But it was a pleasant +surprise and very welcome. He followed the old man out of the room with +a heart that beat fast with eagerness. + +The descent of the stairs offered difficulties, for the wounded leg +protested sharply against being bent more than a very little at the +knee. But by the aid of Michel's shoulder he made the passage in safety +and so came to the lower story. At the foot of the stairs some one +opened a door almost in their faces, but closed it again with great +haste, and Ste. Marie gave a chuckle of laughter, for, though it was +almost dark there, he thought he had recognized Captain Stewart. + +"So old Charlie's with us to-day, is he?" he said, aloud, and Michel +queried: + +"Comment, Monsieur?" because Ste. Marie had spoken in English. + +They came out upon the terrace before the house, and the fresh, sweet +air bore against their faces, and little flecks of live gold danced and +shivered about their feet upon the moss-stained tiles. The gardener +stepped back for an instant into the doorway, and reappeared bearing +across his arms the short carbine with which Ste. Marie had already made +acquaintance. The victim looked at this weapon with a laugh, and the old +Michel's gnomelike countenance distorted itself suddenly and a weird +cackle came from it. + +"It is my old friend?" demanded Ste. Marie, and the gardener cackled +once more, stroking the barrel of the weapon as if it were a faithful +dog. + +"The same, Monsieur," said he. "But she apologizes for not doing +better." + +"Beg her for me," said the young man, "to cheer up. She may get another +chance." + +Old Michel's face froze into an expression of anxious and rather +frightened solicitude, but he waved his arm for the prisoner to precede +him, and Ste. Marie began to limp down across the littered and unkempt +sweep of turf. Behind him, at the distance of a dozen paces, he heard +the shambling footfalls of his guard, but he had expected that, and it +could not rob him of his swelling and exultant joy at treading once more +upon green grass and looking up into blue sky. He was like a man newly +released from a dungeon rather than from a sunny and by no means +uncomfortable upper chamber. He would have liked to dance and sing, to +run at full speed like a child until he was breathless and red in the +face. Instead of that he had to drag himself with slow pains and some +discomfort, but his spirit ran ahead, dancing and singing, and he +thought that it even halted now and then to roll on the grass. + +As he had observed a week before, from the top of the wall, a double row +of larches led straight down away from the front of the house, making a +wide and long vista interrupted half-way to its end by a rond point, in +the centre of which were a pool and a fountain. The double row of trees +was sadly broken now, and the trees were untrimmed and uncared for. One +of them had fallen, probably in a wind-storm, and lay dead across the +way. Ste. Marie turned aside toward the west and found himself presently +among chestnuts, planted in close rows, whose tops grew in so thick a +canopy above that but little sunshine came through, and there was no +turf under foot, only black earth, hard-trodden, mossy here and there. + +From beyond, in the direction he had chanced to take, and a little +toward the west, a soft morning breeze bore to him the scent of roses so +constant and so sweet, despite its delicacy, that to breathe it was like +an intoxication. He felt it begin to take hold upon and to sway his +senses like an exquisite, an insidious wine. + +"The flower-gardens, Michel?" he asked, over his shoulder. "They are +before us?" + +"Ahead and to the left, Monsieur," said the old man, and he took up once +more his slow and difficult progress. + +But again, before he had gone many steps, he was halted. There began to +reach his ears a rich but slender strain of sound, a golden thread of +melody. At first he thought that it was a 'cello or the lower notes of a +violin, but presently he became aware that it was a woman singing in a +half-voice without thought of what she sang--as women croon to a child, +or over their work, or when they are idle and their thoughts are far +wandering. + +The mistake was not as absurd as it may seem, for it is a fact that the +voice which is called a contralto, if it is a good and clear and fairly +resonant voice, sounds at a distance very much indeed like a 'cello or +the lower register of a violin. And that is especially true when the +voice is hushed to a half-articulate murmur. Indeed, this is but one of +the many strange peculiarities of that most beautiful of all human +organs. The contralto can rarely express the lighter things, and it is +quite impossible for it to express merriment or gayety, but it can +thrill the heart as can no other sound emitted by a human throat, and it +can shake the soul to its very innermost hidden deeps. It is the soft, +yellow gold of singing--the wine of sound; it is mystery; it is shadowy, +unknown, beautiful places; it is enchantment. Ste. Marie stood still and +listened. The sound of low singing came from the right. Without +realizing that he had moved, he began to make his way in that direction, +and the old Michel, carbine upon arm, followed behind him. He had no +doubt of the singer. He knew well who it was, for the girl's speaking +voice had thrilled him long before this. He came to the eastern margin +of the grove of chestnuts and found that he was beside the open rond +point, where the pool lay within its stone circumference, unclean and +choked with lily-pads, and the fountain--a naked lady holding aloft a +shell--stood above. The rond point was not in reality round; it was an +oval with its greater axis at right angles to the long, straight avenue +of larches. At the two ends of the oval there were stone benches with +backs, and behind these, tall shrubs grew close and overhung, so that +even at noonday the spots were shaded. + + * * * * * + + + + +XX + +THE STONE BENCH AT THE ROND POINT + + +Mlle. Coira O'Hara sat alone upon the stone bench at the hither end of +the rond point. With a leisurely hand she put fine stitches into a +mysterious garment of white, with lace on it, and over her not too +arduous toil she sang, a demi voix, a little German song all about the +tender passions. + +Ste. Marie halted his dragging steps a little way off, but the girl +heard him and turned to look. After that she rose hurriedly and stood as +if poised for flight, but Ste. Marie took his hat in his hands and came +forward. + +"If you go away, Mademoiselle," said he, "if you let me drive you from +your place, I shall limp across to that pool and fall in and drown +myself, or I shall try to climb the wall yonder and Michel will have to +shoot me." + +He came forward another step. + +"If it is impossible," he said, "that you and I should stay here +together for a few little moments and talk about what a beautiful day it +is--if that is impossible, why then I must apologize for intruding upon +you and go on my way, inexorably pursued by the would-be murderer who +now stands six paces to the rear. Is it impossible, Mademoiselle?" said +Ste. Marie. + +The girl's face was flushed with that deep and splendid understain. She +looked down upon the white garment in her hand and away across the broad +rond point, and in the end she looked up very gravely into the face of +the man who stood leaning upon his stick before her. + +"I don't know," she said, in her deep voice, "what my father would wish. +I did not know that you were coming into the garden this morning, or--" + +"Or else," said Ste. Marie, with a little touch of bitterness in his +tone--"or else you would not have been here. You would have remained in +the house." + +He made a bow. + +"To-morrow, Mademoiselle," said he, "and for the remainder of the days +that I may be at La Lierre, I shall stay in my room. You need have no +fear of me." + +All the man's life he had been spoiled. The girl's bearing hurt him +absurdly, and a little of the hurt may have betrayed itself in his face +as he turned away, for she came toward him with a swift movement, +saying: + +"No, no! Wait!--I have hurt you," she said, with a sort of wondering +distress. "You have let me hurt you.... And yet surely you must see,... +you must realize on what terms.... Do you forget that you are not among +your friends... outside?... This is so very different!" + +"I had forgotten," said he. "Incredible as it sounds, I had for a moment +forgotten. Will you grant me your pardon for that? And yet," he +persisted, after a moment's pause--"yet, Mademoiselle, consider a +little! It is likely that--circumstances have so fallen that it seems I +shall be here within your walls for a time, perhaps a long time. I am +able to walk a little now. Day by day I shall be stronger, better able +to get about. Is there not some way--are there hot some terms under +which we could meet without embarrassment? Must we forever glare at each +other and pass by warily, just because we--well, hold different views +about--something?" + +It was not a premeditated speech at all. It had never until this moment +occurred to him to suggest any such arrangement with any member of the +household at La Lierre. At another time he would doubtless have +considered it undignified, if not downright unwise, to hold intercourse +of any friendly sort with this band of contemptible adventurers. The +sudden impulse may have been born of his long week of almost intolerable +loneliness, or it may have come of the warm exhilaration of this first +breath of sweet, outdoor air, or perhaps it needed neither of these +things, for the girl was very beautiful--enchantment breathed from her, +and, though he knew what she was, in what despicable plot she was +engaged, he was too much Ste. Marie to be quite indifferent to her. +Though he looked upon her sorrowfully and with pain and vicarious shame, +he could not have denied the spell she wielded. After all, he was Ste. +Marie. + +Once more the girl looked up very gravely under her brows, and her eyes +met the man's eyes. "I don't know," she said. "Truly, I don't know. I +think I should have to ask my father about it.--I wish," she said, "that +we might do that. I should like it. I should like to be able to talk to +some one--about the things I like--and care for. I used to talk with my +father about things; but not lately. There is no one now." Her eyes +searched him. "Would it be possible, I wonder," said she. "Could we two +put everything else aside--forget altogether who we are and why we are +here. Is that possible?" + +"We could only try, Mademoiselle," said Ste. Marie. "If we found it a +failure we could give it up." He broke into a little laugh. "And +besides," he said, "I can't help thinking that two people ought to be +with me all the time I am in the garden here--for safety's sake. I might +catch the old Michel napping one day, you know, throttle him, take his +rifle away, and escape. If there were two, I couldn't do it." + +For an instant she met his laugh with an answering smile, and the smile +came upon her sombre beauty like a moment of golden light upon darkness. +But afterward she was grave again and thoughtful. "Is it not rather +foolish," she asked, "to warn us--to warn me of possibilities like that? +You might quite easily do what you have said. You are putting us on our +guard against you." + +"I meant to, Mademoiselle," said Ste. Marie. "I meant to. Consider my +reasons. Consider what I was pleading for!" And he gave a little laugh +when the color began again to rise in the girl's cheeks. + +She turned away from him, shaking her head, and he thought that he had +said too much and that she was offended, but after a moment the girl +looked up, and when she met his eyes she laughed outright. + +"I cannot forever be scowling and snarling at you," said she. "It is +quite too absurd. Will you sit down for a little while? I don't know +whether or not my father would approve, but we have met here by +accident, and there can be no harm, surely, in our exchanging a few +civil words. If you try to bring up forbidden topics I can simply go +away; and, besides, Michel stands ready to murder you if it should +become necessary. I think his failure of a week ago is very heavy on his +conscience." + +Ste. Marie sat down in one corner of the long stone bench, and he was +very glad to do it, for his leg was beginning to cause him some +discomfort. It felt hot and as if there were a very tight band round it +above the knee. The relief must have been apparent in his face, for +Mlle. O'Hara looked at him in silence for a moment, and she gave a +little, troubled, anxious frown. Men can be quite indifferent to +suffering in each other if the suffering is not extreme, and women can +be, too, but men are quite miserable in the presence of a woman who is +in pain, and women, before a suffering man, while they are not +miserable, are always full of a desire to do something that will help. +And that might be a small, additional proof--if any more proof were +necessary--that they are much the more practical of the two sexes. + +The girl's sharp glance seemed to assure her that Ste. Marie was +comfortable, now that he was sitting down, for the frown went from her +brows, and she began to arrange the mysterious white garment in her lap +in preparation to go on with her work. + +Ste. Marie watched her for a while in a contented silence. The leaves +overhead stirred under a puff of air, and a single yellow beam of +sunlight came down and shivered upon the girl's dark head and played +about the bundle of white over which her hands were busy. She moved +aside to avoid it, but it followed her, and when she moved back it +followed again and danced in her lap as if it were a live thing with a +malicious sense of humor. It might have been Tinker Bell out of _Peter +Pan_, only it did not jingle. Mlle. O'Hara uttered an exclamation of +annoyance, and Ste. Marie laughed at her, but in a moment the leaves +overhead were still again, and the sunbeam, with a sense of humor, was +gone to torment some one else. + +Still neither of the two spoke, and Ste. Marie continued to watch the +girl bent above her sewing. He Was thinking of what she had said to him +when he asked her if she read Spanish--that her mother had been Spanish. +That would account, then, for her dark eyes. It would account for the +darkness of her skin, too, but not for its extraordinary clearness and +delicacy, for Spanish women are apt to have dull skins of an opaque +texture. This was, he said to himself, an Irish skin with a darker +stain, and he was quite sure that he had never before seen anything at +all like it. + +Apart from coloring, she was all Irish, of the type which has become +famous the world over, and which in the opinion of men who have seen +women in all countries, and have studied them, is the most beautiful +type that exists in our time. + +Ste. Marie was dark himself, and in the ordinary nature of things he +should have preferred a fair type in women. In theory, for that matter, +he did prefer it, but it was impossible for him to sit near Coira O'Hara +and watch her bent head and busy, hovering hands, and remain unstirred +by her splendid beauty. He found himself wondering why one kind of +loveliness more than another should exert a potent and mysterious spell +by virtue of mere proximity, and when the woman who bore it was entirely +passive. If this girl had been looking at him the matter would have been +easy to understand, for an eye-glance is often downright hypnotic; but +she was looking at the work in her hands, and, so far as could be +judged, she had altogether forgotten his presence; yet the mysterious +spell, the potent enchantment, breathed from her like a vapor, and he +could not be insensible to it. It was like sorcery. + +The girl looked up so suddenly that Ste. Marie jumped. She said: + +"You are not a very talkative person. Are you always as silent as this?" + +"No," said he, "I am not. I offer my humblest apologies. It seems as if +I were not properly grateful for being allowed to sit here with you, +but, to tell the truth, I was buried in thought." + +They had begun to talk in French, but midway of Ste. Marie's speech the +girl glanced toward the old Michel, who stood a short distance away, and +so he changed to English. + +"In that case," she said, regarding her work with her head on one side +like a bird--"in that case you might at least tell me what your thoughts +were. They might be interesting." + +Ste. Marie gave a little embarrassed laugh. + +"I'm sorry," said he, "but I'm afraid they were too personal. I'm afraid +if I told you you'd get up and go away and be frigidly polite to me when +next we passed each other in the garden here. But there's no harm," he +said, "in telling you one thing that occurred to me. It occurred to me +that, as far as a young girl can be said to resemble an elderly woman, +you bear a most remarkable resemblance to a very dear old friend of mine +who lives near Dublin--Lady Margaret Craith. She's a widow, and almost +all of her family are dead, I believe--I didn't know any of them--and +she lives there in a huge old house with a park, quite alone with her +army of servants. I go to see her whenever I'm in Ireland, because she +is one of the sweetest souls I have ever known." + +He became aware suddenly that Mlle. O'Hara's head was bent very low over +her sewing and that her face, or as much of it as he could see, was +crimson. + +"Oh, I--I beg your pardon!" cried Ste. Marie. "I've done something +dreadful. I don't know what it is, but I'm very, very sorry. Please +forgive me if you can!" + +"It is nothing," she said, in a low voice, and after a moment she looked +up for the swiftest possible glance and down again. "That is my--aunt," +she said. "Only--please let us talk about something else! Of course you +couldn't possibly have known." + +"No," said Ste. Marie, gravely. "No, of course. You are very good to +forgive me." + +He was silent a little while, for what the girl had told him surprised +him very much indeed, and touched him, too. He remembered again the +remark of his friend when O'Hara had passed them on the boulevard: + +"There goes some of the best blood that ever came out of Ireland. See +what it has fallen to!" + +"It is a curious fact," said he, "that you and I are very close +compatriots in the matter of blood--if 'compatriots' is the word. You +are Irish and Spanish. My mother was Irish and my people were Bearnais, +which is about as much Spanish as French; and, indeed, there was a great +deal of blood from across the mountains in them, for they often married +Spanish wives." + +He pulled the _Bayard_ out of his pocket. + +"The Ste. Marie in here married a Spanish lady, didn't he?" + +The girl looked up to him once more. + +"Yes," she said. "Yes, I remember. He was a brave man, Monsieur. He had +a great soul. And he died nobly." + +"Well, as for that," he said, flushing a little, "the Ste. Maries have +all died rather well." + +He gave a short laugh. + +"Though I must admit," said he, "that the last of them came precious +near falling below the family standard a week ago. I should think that +probably none of my respected forefathers was killed in climbing over a +garden-wall. Autres temps, autres moeurs." + +He burst out laughing again at what seemed to him rather comic, but +Mlle. O'Hara did not smile. She looked very gravely into his eyes, and +there seemed to be something like sorrow in her look. Ste. Marie +wondered at it, but after a moment it occurred to him that he was very +near forbidden ground, and that doubtless the girl was trying to give +him a silent warning of it. He began to turn over the leaves of the book +in his hand. + +"You have marked a great many pages here," said he. + +And she said: "It is my best of all books. I read in it very often. I am +so thankful for it that there are no words to say how thankful I am--how +glad I am that I have such a world as that to--take refuge in sometimes +when this world is a little too unbearable. It does for me now what the +fairy stories did when I was little. And to think that it's true, true! +To think that once there truly were men like that--sans peur et sans +reproche! It makes life worth while to think that those men lived even +if it was long ago." + +Ste. Marie bent his head over the little book, for he could not look at +Mlle. O'Hara just then. It seemed to him well-nigh the most pathetic +speech that he had ever heard. His heart bled for her. Out of what mean +shadows had the girl to turn her weary eyes upward to this sunlight of +ancient heroism! + +"And yet, Mademoiselle," said he, gently, "I think there are such men +alive to-day, if only one will look for them. Remember, they were not +common even in Bayard's time. Oh yes, I think there are preux chevaliers +nowadays, only perhaps they don't go about things in quite the same +fashion. Other times, other manners," he said again. + +"Do you know any such men?" she demanded, facing him with shadowy eyes. + +And he said: "Yes, I know men who are in all ways as honorable and as +high-hearted as Bayard was. In his place they would have acted as he +did, but nowadays one has to practise heroism much less +conspicuously--in the little things that few people see and that no one +applauds or writes books about. It is much harder to do brave little +acts than brave big ones." + +"Yes." she agreed, slowly. "Oh yes, of course." + +But there was no spirit in her tone, rather a sort of apathy. Once more +the leaves overhead swayed in the breeze, opened a tiny rift, and the +little trembling ray of sunshine shot down to her where she sat. She +stretched out one hand cup-wise, and the sunbeam, after a circling +gyration, darted into it and lay there like a small golden bird panting, +as it were, from fright. + +"If I were a painter," said Ste. Marie, "I should be in torture and +anguish of soul until I had painted you sitting there on a stone bench +and holding a sunbeam in your hand. I don't know what I should call the +picture, but I think it would be something figurative--symbolic. Can you +think of a name?" + +Coira O'Hara looked up at him with a slight smile, but her eyes were +gloomy and full of dark shadows. "It might be called any one of a great +number of things, I should think," said she. +"Happiness--belief--illusion. See! The sunbeam is gone." + + * * * * * + + + + +XXI + +A MIST DIMS THE SHINING STAR + + +Ste. Marie remained in his room all the rest of that day, and he did not +see Mlle. O'Hara again, for Michel brought him his lunch and the old +Justine his dinner. For the greater part of the time he sat in bed +reading, but rose now and then and moved about the room. His wound +seemed to have suffered no great inconvenience from the morning's +outing. If he stood or walked too long it burned somewhat, and he had +the sensation of a tight band round the leg; but this passed after he +had lain down for a little while, or even sat in a chair with the leg +straight out before him; so he knew that he was not to be crippled very +much longer, and his thoughts began to turn more and more keenly upon +the matter of escape. + +He realized, of course, that now, since he was once more able to walk, +he would be guarded with unremitting care every moment of the day, and +quite possibly every moment of the night as well, though the simple +bolting of his door on the outside would seem to answer the purpose save +when he was out-of-doors. Once he went to the two east windows and hung +out of them, testing as well as he could with his hands the strength and +tenacity of the ivy which covered that side of the house. He thought it +seemed strong enough to give hand and foot hold without being torn +loose, but he was afraid it would make an atrocious amount of noise if +he should try to climb down it, and, besides, he would need two very +active legs for that. + +At another time a fresh idea struck him, and he put it at once into +action. There might be just a chance, when out one day with Michel, of +getting near enough to the wall which ran along the Clamart road to +throw something over it when the old man was not looking. In one of his +pockets he had a card-case with a little pencil fitted into a loop at +the edge, and in the case it was his custom to carry postage-stamps. He +investigated and found pencil and stamps. Of course he had nothing but +cards to write upon, and they were useless. He looked about the room and +went through an empty chest of drawers in vain, but at last, on some +shelves in the closet where his clothes had hung, he found several large +sheets of coarse white paper. The shelves were covered with it loosely +for the sake of cleanliness. He abstracted one of these sheets, and cut +it into squares of the ordinary note-paper size, and he sat down and +wrote a brief letter to Richard Hartley, stating where he was, that +Arthur Benham was there, the O'Haras, and, he thought, Captain Stewart. +He did not write the names out, but put instead the initial letters of +each name, knowing that Hartley would understand. He gave careful +directions as to how the place was to be reached, and he asked Hartley +to come as soon as possible by night to that wall where he himself had +made his entrance, to climb up by the cedar-tree, and to drop his answer +into the thick leaves of the lilac bushes immediately beneath--an answer +naming a day and hour, preferably by night, when he could return with +three or four to help him, surprise the household at La Lierre, and +carry off young Benham. + +Ste. Marie wrote this letter four times, and each of the four copies he +enclosed in an awkwardly fashioned envelope, made with infinite pains so +that its flaps folded in together, for he had no gum. He addressed and +stamped the four envelopes, and put them all in his pocket to await the +first opportunity. + +Afterward he lay down for a while, and as, one after another, the books +he had in the room failed to interest him, his thoughts began to turn +back to Mlle. Coira O'Hara and his hour with her upon the old stone +bench in the garden. He realized all at once that he had been putting +off this reflection as one puts off a reckoning that one a little dreads +to face, and rather vaguely he realized why. + +The spell that the girl wielded--quite without being conscious of it; he +granted her that grace--was too potent. It was dangerous, and he knew +it. Even imaginative and very unpractical people can be in some things +surprisingly matter-of-fact, and Ste. Marie was matter-of-fact about +this. The girl had made a mysterious and unprecedented appeal to him at +his very first sight of her, long before, and ever since that time she +had continued, intermittently at least, to haunt his dreams. Now he was +in the very house with her. It was quite possible that he might see her +and speak with her every day, and he knew there was peril in that. + +He closed his eyes and she came to him, dark and beautiful, magnetically +vital, spreading enchantment about her like a fragrance. She sat beside +him on the moss-stained bench in the garden, holding out her hand +cup-wise, and a sunbeam lay in the hand like a little, golden, +fluttering bird. His thoughts ran back to that first morning when he had +narrowly escaped death by poison. He remembered the girl's agony of fear +and horror. He felt her hands once more upon his shoulders, and he was +aware that his breath was coming faster and that his heart beat quickly. +He got to his feet and went across to one of the windows, and he stood +there for a long time frowning out into the summer day. If ever in his +life, he said to himself with some deliberation, he was to need a cool +and clear head, faculties unclouded and unimpaired by emotion, it was +now in these next few days. Much more than his own well-being depended +upon him now. The fates of a whole family, and quite possibly the lives +of some of them, were in his hands. He must not fail, and he must not, +in any least way, falter. + +For enemies he had a band of desperate adventurers, and the very boy +himself, the centre and reason for the whole plot, had been, in some +incomprehensible way, so played upon that he, too, was against him. + +The man standing by the window forced himself quite deliberately to look +the plain facts in the face. He compelled himself to envisage this +beautiful girl with her tragic eyes for just what his reason knew her to +be--an adventuress, a decoy, a lure to a callow, impressionable, foolish +lad, the tool of that arch-villain Stewart and of the lesser villain her +father. It was like standing by and watching something lovely and +pitiful vilely befouled. It turned his heart sick within him, but he +held himself to the task. He brought to aid him the vision of his lady, +in whose cause he was pursuing this adventure. For strength and +determination he reached eye and hand to her where she sat enthroned, +calm-browed, serene. + +For the first time since the beginning of all things his lady failed +him, and Ste. Marie turned cold with fear. + +Where was that splendid frenzy that had been wont to sweep him all in an +instant into upper air--set his feet upon the stars? Where was it? The +man gave a sudden, voiceless cry of horror. The wings that had such +countless times upborne him fluttered weakly near the earth and could +not mount. His lady was there; through infinite space he was aware of +her, but she was cold and aloof, and her eyes gazed very serenely beyond +at something he could not see. + +He knew well enough that the fault lay somewhere within himself. She was +as she had ever been, but he lacked the strength to rise to her. Why? +Why? He searched himself with a desperate earnestness, but he could find +no answer to his questioning. In himself, as in her, there had come no +change. She was still to him all that she ever had been--the star of his +destiny, the pillar of fire by night, of cloud by day, to guide him on +his path. Where, then, the fine, pure fervor that should, at thought of +her, whirl him on high and make a god of him? + +He stood wrapped in bewilderment and despair, for he could find no +answer. + +In plain words, in commonplace black-and-white, the man's anguish has an +over-fanciful, a well-nigh absurd look, but to Ste. Marie the thing was +very real and terrible, as real and as terrible as, to a half-starved +monk in his lonely cell, the sudden failure of the customary exaltation +of spirit after a night's long prayer. + +He went, after a time, back to the bed, and lay down there with one +upflung arm across his eyes to shut out the light. He was filled with a +profound dejection and a sense of hopelessness. Through all the long +week of his imprisonment he had been cheerful, at times even gay. +However evil his case might have looked, his elastic spirits had mounted +above all difficulties and cares, confident in the face of apparent +defeat. Now at last he lay still, bruised, as it were, and battered and +weary. The flame of courage burned very low in him. From sheer +exhaustion he fell after a time into a troubled sleep, but even there +the enemy followed him and would not let him rest. He seemed to himself +to be in a place of shadows and fears. He strained his eyes to make out +above him the bright, clear star of guidance, for so long as that shone +he was safe; but something had come between--cloud or mist--and his star +shone dimly in fitful glimpses. + + * * * * * + +On the next morning he went out once more with the old Michel into the +garden. He went with a stronger heart, for the morning had renewed his +courage, as bright, fresh mornings do. From the anguish of the day +before he held himself carefully aloof. He kept his mind away from all +thought of it, and gave his attention to the things about him. It would +return, doubtless, in the slow, idle hours; he would have to face it +again and yet again; he would have to contend with it; but for the +present he put it out of his thoughts, for there were things to do. + +It was no more than human of him--and certainly it was very +characteristic of Ste. Marie--that he should be half glad and half +disappointed at not finding Coira O'Hara in her place at the rond point. +It left him free to do what he wished to do--make a careful +reconnaissance of the whole garden enclosure--but it left him empty of +something he had, without conscious thought, looked forward to. + +His wounded leg was stronger and more flexible than on the day before; +it burned and prickled less, and could be bent a little at the knee with +small distress; so he led the old Michel at a good pace down the length +of the enclosure, past the rose-gardens, a tangle of unkempt sweetness, +and so to the opposite wall. He found the gates there, very +formidable-looking, made of vertical iron bars connected by cross-pieces +and an ornamental scroll. They were fastened together by a heavy chain +and a padlock. The lock was covered with rust, as were the gates +themselves, and Ste. Marie observed that the lane outside upon which +they gave was overgrown with turf and moss, and even with seedling +shrubs; so he felt sure that this entrance was never used. The lane, he +noted, swept away to the right toward Issy and not toward the Clamart +road. He heard, as he stood there, the whir of a tram from far away at +the left, a tram bound to or from Clamart, and the sound brought to his +mind what he wished to do. He turned about and began to make his way +round the rose-gardens, which were partly enclosed by a low brick wall +some two or three feet high. Beyond them the trees and shrubbery were +not set out in orderly rows as they were near the house, but grew at +will without hindrance or care. It was like a bit of the Meudon wood. + +He found the going more difficult here for his bad leg, but he pressed +on, and in a little while saw before him that wall which skirted the +Clamart road. He felt in his pocket for the four sealed and stamped +letters, but just then the old Michel spoke behind him: + +"Pardon, Monsieur! Ce n'est pas permis." + +"What is not permitted?" demanded Ste. Marie, wheeling about. + +"To approach that wall, Monsieur," said the old man, with an incredibly +gnomelike and apologetic grin. + +Ste. Marie gave an exclamation of disgust. "Is it believed that I could +leap over it?" he asked. "A matter of five metres? Merci, non! I am not +so agile. You flatter me." + +The old Michel spread out his two gnarled hands. + +"Pas de ma faute. I have orders, Monsieur. It will be my painful duty to +shoot if Monsieur approaches that wall." He turned his strange head on +one side and regarded Ste. Marie with his sharp and beadlike eye. The +smile of apology still distorted his face, and he looked exactly like +the Punchinello in a street show. + +Ste. Marie slowly withdrew from his pocket two louis d'or and held them +before him in the palm of his hand. He looked down upon them, and Michel +looked, too, with a gaze so intense that his solitary eye seemed to +project a very little from his withered face. He was like a hypnotized +old bird. + +"Mon vieux," said Ste. Marie. "I am a man of honor." + +"Surement! Surement, Monsieur!" said the old Michel, politely, but his +hypnotized gaze did not stir so much as a hair's-breadth. "Ca va sans le +dire." + +"A man of honor," repeated Ste. Marie. "When I give my word I keep it. +Voila! I keep it. And," said he, "I have here forty francs. Two louis. A +large sum. It is yours, my brave Michel, for the mere trouble of turning +your back just thirty seconds." + +"Monsieur," whispered the old man, "it is impossible. He would kill +me--by torture." + +"He will never know," said Ste. Marie, "for I do not mean to try to +escape. I give you my word of honor that I shall not try to escape. +Besides, I could not climb over that wall, as you see. Two louis, +Michel! Forty francs!" + +The old man's hands twisted and trembled round the barrel of the +carbine, and he swallowed once with some difficulty. He seemed to +hesitate, but in the end he shook his head. It was as if he shook it in +grief over the grave of his first-born. "It is impossible," he said +again. "Impossible." He tore the beadlike eye away from those two +beautiful, glowing golden things, and Ste. Marie saw that there was +nothing to be done with him just now. He slipped the money back into his +pocket with a little sigh and turned away toward the rose-gardens. + +"Ah, well," said he. "Another time, perhaps. Another time. And there are +more louis still, mon vieux. Perhaps three or four. Who knows?" + +Michel emitted a groan of extreme anguish, and they moved on. + +But a few moments later Ste. Marie gave a sudden low exclamation, and +then a soundless laugh, for he caught sight of a very familiar figure +seated in apparent dejection upon a fallen tree-trunk and staring across +the tangled splendor of the roses. + + * * * * * + + + + +XXII + +A SETTLEMENT REFUSED + + +Captain Stewart had good reason to look depressed on that fresh and +beautiful morning when Ste. Marie happened upon him beside the +rose-gardens. Matters had not gone well with him of late. He was ill and +he was frightened, and he was much nearer than is agreeable to a +complete nervous breakdown. + +It seemed to him that perils beset him upon every side, perils both seen +and unseen. He felt like a man who is hunted in the dark, hard pressed +until his strength is gone, and he can flee no farther. He imagined +himself to be that man shivering in the gloom in a strange place, hiding +eyes and ears lest he see or hear something from which he cannot escape. +He imagined the morning light to come, very slow and cold and gray, and +in it he saw round about him a silent ring of enemies, the men who had +pursued him and run him down. He saw them standing there in the pale +dawn, motionless, waiting for the day, and he knew that at last the +chase was over and he near done for. + +Crouching alone in the garden, with the scent of roses in his nostrils, +he wondered with a great and bitter amazement at that madman--himself of +only a few months ago--who had sat down deliberately, in his proper +senses, to play at cards with Fate, the great winner of all games. He +wondered if, after all, he had been in his proper senses, for the deed +now loomed before him gigantic and hideous in its criminal folly. His +mind went drearily back to the beginning of it all, to the tremendous +debts which had hounded him day and night, to his fear to speak of them +with his father, who had never had the least mercy upon gamblers. He +remembered as if it were yesterday the afternoon upon which he learned +of young Arthur's quarrel with his grandfather, old David's senile +anger, and the boy's tempestuous exit from the house, vowing never to +return. He remembered his talk with old David later on about the will, +in which he learned that he was now to have Arthur's share under certain +conditions. He remembered how that very evening, three days after his +disappearance, the lad had come secretly to the rue du Faubourg St. +Honore begging his uncle to take him in for a few days, and how, in a +single instant that was like a lightning flash, the Great Idea had come +to him. + +What gigantic and appalling madness it had all been! And yet for a time +how easy of execution! For a time. Now.... He gave another quick shiver, +for his mind came back to what beset him and compassed him round +about--perils seen and hidden. + +The peril seen was ever before his eyes. Against the light of day it +loomed a gigantic and portentous shadow, and it threatened him--the +figure of Ste. Marie _who knew_. His reason told him that if due care +were used this danger need not be too formidable, and, indeed, in his +heart he rather despised Ste. Marie as an individual; but the man's +nerve was broken, and in these days fear swept wavelike over reason and +had its way with him. Fear looked up to this looming, portentous shadow +and saw there youth and health and strength, courage and hopefulness, +and, best of all armors, a righteous cause. How was an ill and tired and +wicked old man to fight against these? It became an obsession, the +figure of this youth; it darkened the sun at noonday, and at night it +stood beside Captain Stewart's bed in the darkness and watched him and +waited, and the very air he breathed came chill and dark from its silent +presence there. + +But there were perils unseen as well as seen. He felt invisible threads +drawing round him, weaving closer and closer, and he dared not even try +how strong they were lest they prove to be cables of steel. He was +almost certain that his niece knew something or at the least suspected. +As has already been pointed out, the two saw very little of each other, +but on the occasions of their last few meetings it had seemed to him +that the girl watched him with a strange stare, and tried always to be +in her grandfather's chamber when he called to make his inquiries. Once, +stirred by a moment's bravado, he asked her if M. Ste. Marie had +returned from his mysterious absence, and the girl said: + +"No. He has not come back yet, but I expect him soon now--with news of +Arthur. We shall all be very glad to see him, grandfather and Richard +Hartley and I." + +It was not a very consequential speech, and, to tell the truth, it was +what in the girl's own country would be termed pure "bluff," but to +Captain Stewart it rang harsh and loud with evil significance, and he +went out of that room cold at heart. What plans were they perfecting +among them? What invisible nets for his feet? + +And there was another thing still. Within the past two or three days he +had become convinced that his movements were being watched--and that +would be Richard Hartley at work, he said to himself. Faces vaguely +familiar began to confront him in the street, in restaurants and cafes. +Once he thought his rooms had been ransacked during his absence at La +Lierre, though his servant stoutly maintained that they had never been +left unoccupied save for a half-hour's marketing. Finally, on the day +before this morning by the rose-gardens, he was sure that as he came out +from the city in his car he was followed at a long distance by another +motor. He saw it behind him after he had left the city gate, the Porte +de Versailles, and he saw it again after he had left the main route at +Issy and entered the little rue Barbes which led to La Lierre. Of +course, he promptly did the only possible thing under the circumstances. +He dashed on past the long stretch of wall, swung into the main avenue +beyond, and continued through Clamart to the Meudon wood, as if he were +going to St. Cloud. In the labyrinth of roads and lanes there he came to +a halt, and after a half-hour's wait ran slowly back to La Lierre. + +There was no further sign of the other car, the pursuer, if so it had +been, but he passed two or three men on bicycles and others walking, and +what one of these might not be a spy paid to track him down? + +It had frightened him badly, that hour of suspense and flight, and he +determined to remain at La Lierre for at least a few days, and wrote to +his servant in the rue du Faubourg to forward his letters there under +the false name by which he had hired the place. + +He was thinking very wearily of all these things as he sat on the fallen +tree-trunk in the garden and stared unseeing across tangled ranks of +roses. And after a while his thoughts, as they were wont to do, returned +to Ste. Marie--that looming shadow which darkened the sunlight, that +incubus of fear which clung to him night and day. He was so absorbed +that he did not hear sounds which might otherwise have roused him. He +heard nothing, saw nothing, save that which his fevered mind projected, +until a voice spoke his name. + +He looked over his shoulder thinking that O'Hara had sought him out. He +turned a little on the tree-trunk to see more easily, and the image of +his dread stood there a living and very literal shadow against the +daylight. + +Captain Stewart's overstrained nerves were in no state to bear a sudden +shock. He gave a voiceless, whispering cry and he began to tremble very +violently, so that his teeth chattered. All at once he got to his feet +and began to stumble away backward, but a projecting limb of the fallen +tree caught him and held him fast. It must be that the man was in a sort +of frenzy. He must have seen through a red mist just then, for when he +found that he could not escape his hand went swiftly to his coat-pocket, +and in his white and contorted face there was murder plain and +unmistakable. + +Ste. Marie was too lame to spring aside or to dash upon the man across +intervening obstacles and defend himself. He stood still in his place +and waited. And it was characteristic of him that at that moment he felt +no fear, only a fine sense of exhilaration. Open danger had no terrors +for him. It was secret peril that unnerved him, as in the matter of the +poison a week before. + +Captain Stewart's hand fell away empty, and Ste. Marie laughed. + +"Left it at the house?" said he. "You seem to have no luck, Stewart. +First the cat drinks the poison, and then you leave your pistol at home. +Dear, dear, I'm afraid you're careless." + +Captain Stewart stared at the younger man under his brows. His face was +gray and he was still shivering, but the sudden agony of fear, which had +been, after all, only a jangle of nerves, was gone away. He looked upon +Ste. Marie's gay and untroubled face with a dull wonder, and he began to +feel a grudging admiration for the man who could face death without even +turning pale. He pulled out his watch and looked at it. + +"I did not know," he said, "that this was your hour out-of-doors." + +As a matter of fact, he had quite forgotten that the arrangement +existed. When he had first heard of it he had protested vigorously, but +had been overborne by O'Hara with the plea that they owed their prisoner +something for having come near to poisoning him, and Stewart did not +care to have any further attention called to that matter; it had already +put a severe strain upon the relations at La Lierre. + +"Well," observed Ste. Marie, "I told you you were careless. That proves +it. Come! Can't we sit down for a little chat? I haven't seen you since +I was your guest at the other address--the town address. It seems to +have become a habit of mine--doesn't it?--being your guest." He laughed +cheerfully, but Captain Stewart continued to regard him without smiling. + +"If you imagine," said the elder man, "that this place belongs to me you +are mistaken. I came here to-day to make a visit." + +But Ste. Marie sat down at one end of the tree-trunk and shook his head. + +"Oh, come, come!" said he. "Why keep up the pretence? You must know that +I know all about the whole affair. Why, bless you, I know it all--even +to the provisions of the will. Did you think I stumbled in here by +accident? Well, I didn't, though I don't mind admitting to you that I +remained by accident." + +He glanced over his shoulder toward the one-eyed Michel, who stood +near-by, regarding the two with some alarm. + +Captain Stewart looked up sharply at the mention of the will, and he +wetted his dry lips with his tongue. But after a moment's hesitation he +sat down upon the tree-trunk, and he seemed to shrink a little together, +when his limbs and shoulders had relaxed, so that he looked small and +feeble, like a very tired old man. He remained silent for a few moments, +but at last he spoke without raising his eyes. He said: + +"And now that you--imagine yourself to know so very much, what do you +expect to do about it?" + +Ste. Marie laughed again. + +"Ah, that would be telling!" he cried. "You see, in one way I have the +advantage, though outwardly all the advantage seems to be with your +side--I know all about your game. I may call it a game? Yes? But you +don't know mine. You don't know what I--what we may do at any moment. +That's where we have the better of you." + +"It would seem to me," said Captain Stewart, wearily, "that since you +are a prisoner here and very unlikely to escape, we know with great +accuracy what you will do--and what you will not." + +"Yes," admitted Ste. Marie, "it would seem so. It certainly would seem +so. But you never can tell, can you?" + +And at that the elder man frowned and looked away. Thereafter another +brief silence fell between the two, but at its end Ste. Marie spoke in a +new tone, a very serious tone. He said: + +"Stewart, listen a moment!" + +And the other turned a sharp gaze upon him. + +"You mustn't forget," said Ste. Marie, speaking slowly as if to choose +his words with care--"you mustn't forget that I am not alone in this +matter. You mustn't forget that there's Richard Hartley--and that there +are others, too. I'm a prisoner, yes. I'm helpless here for the +present--perhaps, perhaps--but they are not, _and they know, Stewart. +They know_." + +Captain Stewart's face remained gray and still, but his hands twisted +and shook upon his knees until he hid them. + +"I know well enough what you're waiting for," continued Ste. Marie. +"You're waiting--you've got to wait--for Arthur Benham to come of age, +or, better yet, for your father to die." He paused and shook his head. +"It's no good. You can't hold out as long as that--not by half. We shall +have won the game long before. Listen to me! Do you know what would +occur if your father should take a serious turn for the worse +to-night--or at any time? Do you? Well, I'll tell you. A piece of +information would be given him that would make another change in that +will just as quickly as a pen could write the words. That's what would +happen." + +"That is a lie!" said Captain Stewart, in a dry whisper. "A lie!" + +And Ste. Marie contented himself with a slight smile by way of answer. +He was by no means sure that what he had said was true, but he argued +that since Hartley suspected, or perhaps by this time knew so much, he +would certainly not allow old David to die without doing what he could +do in an effort to save young Arthur's fortune from a rascal. In any +event, true or false, the words had had the desired effect. Captain +Stewart was plainly frightened by them. + +"May I make a suggestion?" asked the younger man. + +The other did not answer him, and he made it. + +"Give it up!" said he. "You're riding for a tremendous fall, you know. +We shall smash you completely in the end. It'll mean worse than +ruin--much worse. Give it up, now, before you're too late. Help me to +send for Hartley and we'll take the boy back to his home. Some story can +be managed that will leave you out of the thing altogether, and those +who know will hold their tongues. It's your last chance, Stewart. I +advise you to take it." + +Captain Stewart turned his gray face slowly and looked at the other man +with a sort of dull and apathetic wonder. + +"Are you mad?" he asked, in a voice which was altogether without feeling +of any kind. "Are you quite mad?" + +"On the contrary," said Ste. Marie, "I am quite sane, and I'm offering +you a chance to save yourself before it's too late. Don't misunderstand +me!" he continued. "I am not urging this out of any sympathy for you. I +urge it because it will bring about what I wish a little more quickly, +also because it will save your family from the disgrace of your +smash-up. That's why I'm making my suggestion." + +Captain Stewart was silent for a little while, but after that he got +heavily to his feet. "I think you must be quite mad," said he, as +before, in a voice altogether devoid of expression. "I cannot talk with +madmen." He beckoned to the old Michel, who stood near-by, leaning upon +his carbine, and when the gardener had approached he said, "Take +this--prisoner back to his room!" + +Ste. Marie rose with a little sigh. He said: "I'm sorry, but you'll +admit I have done my best for you. I've warned you. I sha'n't do it +again. We shall smash you now, without mercy." + +"Take him away!" cried Captain Stewart, in a sudden loud voice, and the +old Michel touched his charge upon the shoulder. So Ste. Marie went +without further words. From a little distance he looked back, and the +other man still stood by the fallen tree-trunk, bent a little, his arms +hanging lax beside him, and his face, Ste. Marie thought, fancifully, +was like the face of a man damned. + + * * * * * + + + + +XXIII + +THE LAST ARROW + + +The one birdlike eye of the old Michel regarded Ste. Marie with a glance +of mingled cunning and humor. It might have been said to twinkle. + +"To the east, Monsieur?" inquired the old Michel. + +"Precisely!" said Ste. Marie. "To the east, mon vieux." It was the +morning of the fourth day after that talk with Captain Stewart beside +the rose-gardens. + +The two bore to the eastward, down among the trees, and presently came +to the spot where a certain trespasser had once leaped down from the top +of the high wall and had been shot for his pains. The old Michel halted +and leaned upon the barrel of his carbine. With an air of complete +detachment, an air vague and aloof as of one in a revery, he gazed away +over the tree-tops of the ragged park; but Ste. Marie went in under the +row of lilac shrubs which stood close against the wall, and a passer-by +might have thought the man looking for figs on thistles, for lilacs in +late July. He had gone there with eagerness, with flushed cheeks and +bright eyes; he emerged after some moments, moving slowly, with downcast +head. + +"There are no lilac blooms now, Monsieur," observed the old Michel, and +his prisoner said, in a low voice: + +"No, mon vieux. No. There are none." He sighed and drew a long breath. +So the two stood for some time silent, Ste. Marie a little pale, his +eyes fixed upon the ground, his hands chafing together behind him, the +gardener with his one bright eye upon his charge. But in the end Ste. +Marie sighed again and began to move away, followed by the gardener. +They went across the broad park, past the double row of larches, through +that space where the chestnut-trees stood in straight, close rows, and +so came to the west wall which skirted the road to Clamart. Ste. Marie +felt in his pocket and withdrew the last of the four letters--the last +there could be, for he had no more stamps. The others he had thrown over +the wall, one each morning, beginning with the day after he had made the +first attempt to bribe old Michel. As he had expected, twenty-four hours +of avaricious reflection had proved too much for that gnomelike being. + +One each day he had thrown over the wall, weighted with a pebble tucked +loosely under the flap of the improvised envelope, in such a manner that +it would drop but when the letter struck the ground beyond. And each +following day he had gone with high hopes to the appointed place under +the cedar-tree to pick figs of thistles, lilac blooms in late July. But +there had been nothing there. + +"Turn your back, Michel!" said Ste. Marie. + +And the old man said, from a little distance: "It is turned, Monsieur. I +see nothing. Monsieur throws little stories at the birds to amuse +himself. It does not concern me." + +Ste. Marie slipped a pebble under the flap of the envelope and threw his +letter over the wall. It went like a soaring bird, whirling +horizontally, and it must have fallen far out in the middle of the road +near the tramway. For the third time that morning the prisoner drew a +sigh. He said, "You may turn round now, my friend," and the old Michel +faced him. "We have shot our last arrow," said he. "If this also fails, +I think--well, I think the bon Dieu will have to help us then.--Michel," +he inquired, "do you know how to pray?" + +"Sacred thousand swine, no!" cried the ancient gnome, in something +between astonishment and horror. "No, Monsieur. 'Pas mon metier, ca!" He +shook his head rapidly from side to side like one of those toys in a +shop-window whose heads oscillate upon a pivot. But all at once a gleam +of inspiration sparkled in his lone eye. "There is the old Justine!" he +suggested. "Toujours sur les genoux, cette imbecile la." + +"In that case," said Ste. Marie, "you might ask the lady to say one +little extra prayer for--the pebble I threw at the birds just now. +Hein?" He withdrew from his pocket the last two louis d'or, and Michel +took them in a trembling hand. There remained but the note of fifty +francs and some silver. + +"The prayer shall be said, Monsieur," declared the gardener. "It shall +be said. She shall pray all night or I will kill her." + +"Thank you," said Ste. Marie. "You are kindness itself. A gentle soul." + +They turned away to retrace their steps, and Michel rubbed the side of +his head with a reflective air. + +"The old one is a madman," said he. (The "old one" meant Captain +Stewart.) "A madman. Each day he is madder, and this morning he struck +me--here on the head, because I was too slow. Eh! a little more of that, +and--who knows? Just a little more, a small little! Am I a dog, to be +beaten? Hein? Je ne le crois pas. He!" He called Captain Stewart two +unprintable names, and after a moment's thought he called him an animal, +which is not so much of an anti-climax as it may seem, because to call +anybody an animal in French is a serious matter. + +The gardener was working himself up into something of a quiet passion, +and Ste. Marie said: + +"Softly, my friend! Softly!" It occurred to him that the man's +resentment might be of use later on, and he said: "You speak the truth. +The old one is an animal, and he is also a great rascal." + +But Michel betrayed the makings of a philosopher. He said, with profound +conviction: "Monsieur, all men are great rascals. It is I who say it." + +And at that Ste. Marie had to laugh. + + * * * * * + +He had not consciously directed his feet, but without direction they led +him round the corner of the rose-gardens and toward the rond point. He +knew well whom he would find there. She had not failed him during the +past three days. Each morning he had found her in her place, and for his +allotted hour--which more than once stretched itself out to nearly two +hours, if he had but known--they had sat together on the stone bench, +or, tiring of that, had walked under the trees beyond. + +Long afterward Ste. Marie looked back upon these hours with, among other +emotions, a great wonder--at himself and at her. It seemed to him then +one of the strangest relationships--intimacies, for it might well be so +called--that ever existed between a man and a woman, and he was amazed +at the ease, the unconsciousness, with which it had come about. + +But during this time he did not allow himself to wonder or to examine, +scarcely even to think. The hours were golden hours, unrelated, he told +himself, to anything else in his life or in his interests. They were +like pleasant dreams, very sweet while they endured, but to be put away +and forgotten upon the waking. Only in that long afterward he knew that +they had not been put away, that they had been with him always, that the +morning hour had remained in his thoughts all the rest of the long day, +and that he had waked upon the morrow with a keen and exquisite sense of +something sweet to come. + +It was a strange fool's paradise that the man dwelt in, and in some +small, vague measure he must, even at the time, have known it, for it is +certain that he deliberately held himself away from +thought--realization; that he deliberately shut his eyes, held his ears +lest he should hear or see. + +That he was not faithless to his duty has been shown. He did his utmost +there, but he was for the time helpless save for efforts to communicate +with Richard Hartley, and those efforts could consume no more than ten +minutes out of the weary day. + +So he drifted, wilfully blind to bearings, wilfully deaf to Sound of +warning or peril, and he found a companionship sweeter and fuller and +more perfect than he had ever before known in all his life, though that +is not to say very much, because sympathetic companionships between men +and women are very rare indeed, and Ste. Marie had never experienced +anything which could fairly be called by that name. He had had, as has +been related, many flirtations, and not a few so-called love-affairs, +but neither of these two sorts of intimacies are of necessity true +intimacies at all; men often feel varying degrees of love for women +without the least true understanding or sympathy or real companionship. + +He was wondering, as he bore round the corner of the rose-gardens on +this day, in just what mood he would find her. It seemed to him that in +their brief acquaintance he had seen her in almost all the moods there +are, from bitter gloom to the irrepressible gayety of a little child. He +had told her once that she was like an organ, and she had laughed at him +for being pretentious and high-flown, though she could upon occasion be +quite high-flown enough herself for all ordinary purposes. + +He reached the cleared margin of the rond point, and a little cold fear +stirred in him when he did not hear her singing under her breath, as she +was wont to do when alone, but he went forward and she was there in her +place upon the stone bench. She had been reading, but the book lay +forgotten beside her and she sat idle, her head laid back against the +thick stems of shrubbery which grew behind, her hands in her lap. It was +a warm, still morning, with the promise of a hot afternoon, and the girl +was dressed in something very thin and transparent and cool-looking, +open in a little square at the throat and with sleeves which came only +to her elbows. The material was pale and dull yellow, with very vaguely +defined green leaves in it, and against it the girl's dark and clear +skin glowed rich and warm and living, as pearls glow and seem to throb +against the dead tints of the fabric upon which they are laid. + +She did not move when he came before her, but looked up to him gravely +without stirring her head. + +"I didn't hear you come," said she. "You don't drag your left leg any +more. You walk almost as well as if you had never been wounded." + +"I'm almost all right again," he answered. "I suppose I couldn't run or +jump, but I certainly can walk very much like a human being. May I sit +down?" + +Mlle. O'Hara put out one hand and drew the book closer to make a place +for him on the stone bench, and he settled himself comfortably there, +turned a little so that he was facing toward her. + +It was indicative of the state of intimacy into which the two had grown +that they did not make polite conversation with each other, but indeed +were silent for some little time after Ste. Marie had seated himself. It +was he who spoke first. He said: + +"You look vaguely classical to-day. I have been trying to guess why, and +I cannot. Perhaps it's because your--what does one say: frock, dress, +gown?--because it is cut out square at the throat." + +"If you mean by classical, Greek," said she, "it wouldn't be square at +the neck at all; it would be pointed--V-shaped. And it would be very +different in other ways, too. You are not an observing person, after +all." + +"For all that," insisted Ste. Marie, "you look classical. You look like +some lady one reads about in Greek poems--Helen or Iphigenia or Medea or +somebody." + +"Helen had yellow hair, hadn't she?" objected Mlle. O'Hara. "I should +think I probably look more like Medea--Medea in Colchis before Jason--" + +She seemed suddenly to realize that she had hit upon an unfortunate +example, for she stopped in the middle of her sentence and a wave of +color swept up over her throat and face. + +For a moment Ste. Marie did not understand, then he gave a low +exclamation, for Medea certainly had been an unhappy name. He remembered +something that Richard Hartley had said about that lady a long time +before. He made another mistake, for to lessen the moment's +embarrassment he gave speech to the first thought which entered his +mind. He said: + +"Some one once remarked that you look like the young Juno--before +marriage. I expect it's true, too." + +She turned upon him swiftly. + +"Who said that?" she demanded. "Who has ever talked to you about me?" + +"I beg your pardon," he said. "I seem to be singularly stupid this +morning. A mild lunacy. You must forgive me, if you can. To tell you +what you ask would be to enter upon forbidden ground, and I mustn't do +that." + +"Still, I should like to know," said the girl, watching him with sombre +eyes. + +"Well, then," said he, "it was a little Jewish photographer in the +Boulevard de la Madeleine." + +And she said, "Oh!" in a rather disappointed tone and looked away. + +"We seem to be making conversation chiefly about my personal +appearance," she said, presently. "There must be other topics if one +should try hard to find them. Tell me stories. You told me stories +yesterday; tell me more. You seem to be in a classical mood. You shall +be Odysseus, and I will be Nausicaa, the interesting laundress. Tell me +about wanderings and things. Have you any more islands for me?" + +"Yes," said Ste. Marie, nodding at her slowly. "Yes, Nausicaa, I have +more islands for you. The seas are full of islands. What kind do you +want?" + +"A warm one," said the girl. "Even on a hot day like this I choose a +warm one, because I hate the cold." + +She settled herself more comfortably, with a little sigh of content that +was exactly like a child's happy sigh when stories are going to be told +before the fire. + +"I know an island," said Ste. Marie, "that I think you would like +because it is warm and beautiful and very far away from troubles of all +kinds. As well as I could make out, when I went there, nobody on the +island had ever even heard of trouble. Oh yes, you'd like it. The people +there are brown, and they're as beautiful as their own island. They wear +hibiscus flowers stuck in their hair, and they very seldom do any work." + +"I want to go there!" cried Mlle. Coira O'Hara. "I want to go there now, +this afternoon, at once! Where is it?" + +"It's in the South Pacific," said he, "not so very far from Samoa and +Fiji and other groups that you will have heard about, and its name is +Vavau. It's one of the Tongans. It's a high, volcanic island, not a +flat, coral one like the southern Tongans. I came to it, one evening, +sailing north from Nukualofa and Haapai, and it looked to me like a +single big mountain jutting up out of the sea, black-green against the +sunset. It was very impressive. But it isn't a single mountain, it's a +lot of high, broken hills covered with a tangle of vegetation and set +round a narrow bay, a sort of fjord, three or four miles long, and at +the inner end of this are the village and the stores of the few white +traders. I'm afraid," said Ste. Marie, shaking his head--"I'm afraid I +can't tell you about it, after all. I can't seem to find the words. You +can't put into language--at least, I can't--those slow, hot, island days +that are never too hot because the trades blow fresh and strong, or the +island nights that are more like black velvet with pearls sewed on it +than anything else. You can't describe the smell of orange groves and +the look of palm-trees against the sky. You can't tell about the sweet, +simple, natural hospitality of the natives. They're like little, +unsuspicious children. In short," said he, "I shall have to give it up, +after all, just because it's too big for me. I can only say that it's +beautiful and unspeakably remote from the world, and that I think I +should like to go back to Vavau and stay a long time, and let the rest +of the world go hang." + +Mlle. O'Hara stared across the park of La Lierre with wide and shadowy +eyes, and her lips trembled a little. + +"Oh, I want to go there!" she cried again. "I want to go there--and +rest--and forget everything!" She turned upon him with a sudden bitter +resentment. "Why do you tell me things like that?" she cried. "Oh yes, I +know. I asked you, but--can't you see? To hide one's self away in a +place like that!" she said. "To let the sun warm you and the trade-winds +blow away--all that had ever tortured you! Just to rest and be at +peace!" She turned her eyes to him once more. "You needn't be afraid +that you have failed to make me see your island! I see it. I feel it. It +doesn't need many words. I can shut my eyes and I am there. But it was a +little cruel. Oh, I know, I asked for it. It's like the garden of the +Hesperides, isn't it?" + +"Very like it," said Ste. Marie, "because there are oranges--groves of +them. (And they were the golden apples, I take it.) Also, it is very far +away from the world, and the people live in complete and careless +ignorance of how the world goes on. Emperors and kings die, wars come +and go, but they hear only a little faint echo of it all, long +afterward, and even that doesn't interest them." + +"I know," she said. "I understand. Didn't you know I'd understand?" + +"Yes," said he, nodding. "I suppose I did. We--feel things rather alike, +I suppose. We don't have to say them all out." + +"I wonder," she said, in a low voice, "if I'm glad or sorry." She stared +under her brows at the man beside her. "For it is very probable that +when we have left La Lierre you and I will never meet again. I wonder if +I'm--" + +For some obscure reason she broke off there and turned her eyes away, +and she remained without speaking for a long time. Her mind, as she sat +there, seemed to go back to that southern island, and to its peace and +loveliness, for Ste. Marie, who watched her, saw a little smile come to +her lips, and he saw her eyes half close and grow soft and tender as if +what they saw were very sweet to her. He watched many different +expressions come upon the girl's face and go again, but at last he +seemed to see the old bitterness return there and struggle with +something wistful and eager. + +"I envy you your wide wanderings," she said, presently. "Oh, I envy you +more than I can find any words for. Your will is the wind's will. You go +where your fancy leads you, and you're free--free. We have wandered, you +know," said she, "my father and I. I can't remember when we ever had a +home to live in. But that is--that is different--a different kind of +wandering." + +"Yes," said Ste. Marie. "Yes, perhaps." And within himself he said, with +sorrow and pity, "Different, indeed!" + +As if at some sudden thought the girl looked up at him quickly. "Did +that sound regretful?" she asked. "Did what I say sound--disloyal to my +father? I didn't mean it to. I don't want you to think that I regret it. +I don't. It has meant being with my father. Wherever he has gone I have +gone with him, and if anything ever has been--unpleasant, I was willing, +oh, I was glad, glad to put up with it for his sake and because I could +be with him. If I have made his life a little happier by sharing it, I +am glad of everything. I don't regret." + +"And yet," said Ste. Marie, gently, "it must have been hard sometimes." +He pictured to himself that roving existence lived among such people as +O'Hara must have known, and it sent a hot wave of anger and distress +over him from head to foot. + +But the girl said: "I had my father. The rest of it didn't matter in the +face of that." After a little silence she said, "M. Ste. Marie!" + +And the man said, "What is it, Mademoiselle?" + +"You spoke the other day," she said, hesitating over her words, "about +my aunt, Lady Margaret Craith. I suppose I ought not to ask you more +about her, for my father quarrelled with his people very long ago and he +broke with them altogether. But--surely, it can do no harm--just for a +moment--just a very little! Could you tell me a little about her, M. +Ste. Marie--what she is like and--and how she lives--and things like +that?" + +So Ste. Marie told her all that he could of the old Irishwoman who lived +alone in her great house, and ruled with a slack Irish hand, a sweet +Irish heart, over tenants and dependants. And when he had come to an end +the girl drew a little sigh and said: + +"Thank you. I am so glad to hear of her. I--wish everything were +different, so that--I think I should love her very much if I might." + +"Mademoiselle," said Ste. Marie, "will you promise me something?" + +She looked at him with her sombre eyes, and after a little she said: "I +am afraid you must tell me first what it is. I cannot promise blindly." + +He said: "I want you to promise me that if anything ever should +happen--any difficulty--trouble--anything to put you in the position of +needing care or help or sympathy--" + +But she broke in upon him with a swift alarm, crying: "What do you mean? +You're trying to hint at something that I don't know. What difficulty or +trouble could happen to me? Please tell me just what you mean." + +"I'm not hinting at any mystery," said Ste. Marie. "I don't know of +anything that is going to happen to you, but--will you forgive me for +saying it?--your father is, I take it, often exposed to--danger of +various sorts. I'm afraid I can't quite express myself, only, if any +trouble should come to you, Mademoiselle, will you promise me to go to +Lady Margaret, your aunt, and tell her who you are and let her care for +you?" + +"There was an absolute break," she said. "Complete." + +But the man shook his head, saying: + +"Lady Margaret won't think of that. She'll think only of you--that she +can mother you, perhaps save you grief--and of herself, that in her old +age she has a daughter. It would make a lonely old woman very happy, +Mademoiselle." + +The girl bent her head away from him, and Ste. Marie saw, for the first +time since he had known her, tears in her eyes. After a long time she +said: + +"I promise, then. But," she said, "it is very unlikely that it should +ever come about--for more than one reason. Very unlikely." + +"Still, Mademoiselle," said he, "I am glad you have promised. This is an +uncertain world. One never can tell what will come with the to-morrows." + +"I can," the girl said, with a little tired smile that Ste. Marie did +not understand. "I can tell. I can see all the to-morrows--a long, long +row of them. I know just what they're going to be like--to the very +end." + +But the man rose to his feet and looked down upon her as she sat before +him. And he shook his head. + +"You are mistaken," he said. "Pardon me, but you are mistaken. No one +can see to-morrow--or the end of anything. The end may surprise you very +much." + +"I wish it would!" cried Mlle. O'Hara. "Oh, I wish it would!" + + * * * * * + + + + +XXIV + +THE JOINT IN THE ARMOR + + +Ste. Marie put down a book as O'Hara came into the room and rose to meet +his visitor. + +"I'm compelled," said the Irishman, "to put you on your honor to-day if +you are to go out as usual. Michel has been sent on an errand, and I am +busy with letters. I shall have to put you on your honor not to make any +effort to escape. Is that agreed to? I shall trust you altogether. You +could manage to scramble over the wall somehow, I suppose, and get clean +away, but I think you won't try it if you give your word." + +"I give my word gladly," said Ste. Marie. "And thanks very much. You've +been uncommonly kind to me here. I--regret more than I can say that +we--that we find ourselves on opposite sides, as it were. I wish we were +fighting for the same cause." + +The Irishman looked at the younger man sharply for an instant, and he +made as if he would speak, but seemed to think better of it. In the end +he said: + +"Yes, quite so. Quite so. Of course you understand that any +consideration I have used toward you has been by way of making amends +for--for an unfortunate occurrence." + +Ste. Marie laughed. + +"The poison," said he. "Yes, I know. And of course I know who was at the +bottom of that. By the way, I met Stewart in the garden the other day. +Did he tell you? He was rather nervous and tried to shoot me, but he had +left his revolver at the house--at least it wasn't in his pocket when he +reached for it." + +O'Hara's hard face twitched suddenly, as if in anger, and he gave an +exclamation under his breath, so the younger man inferred that "old +Charlie" had not spoken of their encounter. And after that the Irishman +once more turned a sharp, frowning glance upon his prisoner as if he +were puzzled about something. But, as before, he stopped short of speech +and at last turned away. + +"Just a moment!" said the younger man. He asked: "Is it fair to inquire +how long I may expect to be confined here? I don't want to presume upon +your good-nature too far, but if you could tell me I should be glad to +know." + +The Irishman hesitated a moment and then said:-- + +"I don't know why I shouldn't answer that. It can't help you, so far as +I can see, to do anything that would hinder us. You'll stay until Arthur +Benham comes of age, which will be in about two months from now." + +"Yes," said the other. "Thanks. I thought so. Until young Arthur comes +of age and receives his patrimony--or until old David Stewart dies. Of +course that might happen at any hour." + +The Irishman said: "I don't quite see what--Ah, yes, to be sure! Yes, I +see. Well, I should count upon eight weeks if I were you. In eight weeks +the boy will be independent of them all, and we shall go to England for +the wedding." + +"The wedding?" cried Ste. Marie. "What wedding?--Ah!" + +"Arthur Benham and my daughter are to be married," said O'Hara, "so soon +as he reaches his majority. I thought you knew that." + +In a very vague fashion he realized that he had expected it. And still +the definite words came to him with a shock which was like a physical +blow, and he turned his back with a man's natural instinct to hide his +feeling. Certainly that was the logical conclusion to be drawn from +known premises. That was to be the O'Haras' reward for their labor. To +Stewart the great fortune, to the O'Haras a good marriage for the girl +and an assured future. That was reward enough surely for a few weeks of +angling and decoying and luring and lying. That was what she had meant, +on the day before, by saying that she could see all the to-morrows. He +realized that he must have been expecting something like this, but the +thought turned him sick, nevertheless. He could not forget the girl as +he had come to know her during the past week. He could not face with any +calmness the thought of her as the adventuress who had lured poor Arthur +Benham on to destruction. It was an impossible thought. He could have +laughed at it in scornful anger, and yet--What else was she? + +He began to realize that his action in turning his back upon the other +man in the middle of a conversation must look very odd, and he faced +round again trying to drive from his expression the pain and distress +which he knew must be there, plain to see. But he need not have troubled +himself, for the other man was standing before the next window and +looking out into the morning sunlight, and his hard, bony face had so +altered that Ste. Marie stared at him with open amazement. He thought +O'Hara must be ill. + +"I want to see her married!" cried the Irishman, suddenly, and it was a +new voice, a voice Ste. Marie did not know. It shook a little with an +emotion that sat uncouthly upon this grim, stern man. + +"I want to see her married and safe!" he said. "I want her to be rid of +this damnable, roving, cheap existence. I want her to be rid of me and +my rotten friends and my rotten life." + +He chafed his hands together before him, and his tired eyes fixed +themselves upon something that he seemed to see out of the window and +glared at it fiercely. + +"I should like," said he, "to die on the day after her wedding, and so +be out of her way forever. I don't want her to have any shadows cast +over her from the past. I don't want her to open closet doors and find +skeletons there. I want her to be free--free to live the sort of life +she was born to and has a right to." + +He turned sharply upon the younger man. + +"You've seen her!" he cried. "You've talked to her; you know her! Think +of that girl dragged about Europe with me ever since she was a little +child! Think of the people she's had to know, the things she's had to +see! Do you wonder that I want to have her free of it all, married and +safe and comfortable and in peace? Do you? I tell you it has driven me +as nearly mad as a man can be. But I couldn't go mad, because I had to +take care of her. I couldn't even die, because she'd have been left +alone without any one to look out for her. She wouldn't leave me. I +could have settled her somewhere in some quiet place where she'd have +been quit at least of shady, rotten people, but she wouldn't have it. +She's stuck to me always, through good times and bad. She's kept my +heart up when I'd have been ready to cut my throat if I'd been alone. +She's been the--bravest and faithfulest--Well, I--And look at her! Look +at her now! Think of what she's had to see and know--the people she's +had to live with--and look at her! Has any of it stuck to her? Has it +cheapened her in any littlest way? No, by God! She has come through it +all like a--like a Sister of Charity through a city slum--like an angel +through the dark." + +The Irishman broke off speaking, for his voice was beyond control, but +after a moment he went on again, more calmly: + +"This boy, this young Benham, is a fool, but he's not a mean fool. +She'll make a man of him. And, married to him, she'll have the comforts +that she ought to have and the care and--freedom. She'll have a chance +to live the life that she has a right to, among the sort of people she +has a right to know. I'm not afraid for her. She'll do her part and +more. She'll hold up her head among duchesses, that girl. I'm not afraid +for her." + +He said this last sentence over several times, standing before the +window and staring out at the sun upon the tree-tops. + +"I'm not afraid for her.... I'm not afraid for her." + +He seemed to have forgotten that the younger man was in the room, for he +did not look toward him again or pay him any attention for a long while. +He only gazed out of the window into the fresh morning sunlight, and his +face worked and quivered and his lean hands chafed restlessly together +before him. But at last he seemed to realize where he was, for he turned +with a sudden start and stared at Ste. Marie, frowning as if the younger +man were some one he had never seen before. He said: + +"Ah, yes, yes. You were wanting to go out into the garden. Yes, quite +so. I--I was thinking of something else. I seem to be absent-minded of +late. Don't let me keep you here." + +He seemed a little embarrassed and ill at ease, and Ste. Marie said: + +"Oh, thanks. There's no hurry. However, I'll go, I think. It's after +eleven. I understand that I'm on my honor not to climb over the wall or +burrow under it or batter it down. That's understood. I--" + +He felt that he ought to say something in acknowledgment of O'Hara's +long speech about his daughter, but he could think of nothing to say, +and, besides, the Irishman seemed not to expect any comment upon his +strange outburst. So, in the end, Ste. Marie nodded and went out of the +room without further ceremony. + +He had been astonished almost beyond words at that sudden and +unlooked-for breakdown of the other man's impregnable reserve, and dimly +he realized that it must have come out of some very extraordinary +nervous strain, but he himself had been in no state to give the +Irishman's words the attention and thought that he would have given them +at another time. His mind, his whole field of mental vision, had been +full of one great fact--_the girl was to be married to young Arthur +Benham_. The thing loomed gigantic before him, and in some strange way +terrifying. He could neither see nor think beyond it. O'Hara's burst of +confidence had reached his ears very faintly, as if from a great +distance--poignant but only half-comprehended words to be reflected upon +later in their own time. + +He stumbled down the ill-lighted stair with fixed, wide, unseeing eyes, +and he said one sentence over and over aloud, as the Irishman standing +beside the window had said another. + +"She is going to be married. She is going to be married." + +It would seem that he must have forgotten his previous half-suspicion of +the fact. It would seem to have remained, as at the first hearing, a +great and appalling shock, thunderous out of a blue sky. + +Below, in the open, his feet led him mechanically straight down under +the trees, through the tangle of shrubbery beyond, and so to the wall +under the cedar. Arrived there, he awoke all at once to his task, and +with a sort of frowning anger shook off the dream which enveloped him. +His eyes sharpened and grew keen and eager. He said: + +"The last arrow! God send it reached home!" and so went in under the +lilac shrubs. + +He was there longer than usual; unhampered now, he may have made a +larger search, but when at last he emerged Ste. Marie's hands were over +his face and his feet dragged slowly like an old man's feet. + +Without knowing that he had stirred he found himself some distance away, +standing still beside a chestnut-tree. A great wave of depression and +fear and hopelessness swept him, and he shivered under it. He had an +instant's wild panic, and mad, desperate thoughts surged upon him. He +saw utter failure confronting him. He saw himself as helpless as a +little child, his feeble efforts already spent for naught, and, like a +little child, he was afraid. He would have rushed at that grim +encircling wall and fought his way up and over it, but even as the +impulse raced to his feet the momentary madness left him and he turned +away. He could not do a dishonorable thing even for all he held dearest. + +He walked on in the direction which lay before him, but he took no heed +of where he went, and Mlle. Coira O'Hara spoke to him twice before he +heard or saw her. + + * * * * * + + + + +XXV + +MEDEA GOES OVER TO THE ENEMY + + +They were near the east end of the rond point, in a space where +fir-trees stood and the ground underfoot was covered with dry needles. + +"I was just on my way to--our bench beyond the fountain," said she. + +And Ste. Marie nodded, looking upon her sombrely. It seemed to him that +he looked with new eyes, and after a little time, when he did not speak, +but only gazed in that strange manner, the girl said: + +"What is it? Something has happened. Please tell me what it is." + +Something like the pale foreshadow of fear came over her beautiful face +and shrouded her golden voice as if it had been a veil. + +"Your father," said Ste. Marie, heavily, "has just been telling me--that +you are to marry young Arthur Benham. He has been telling me." + +She drew a quick breath, looking at him, but after a moment she said: + +"Yes, it is true. You knew it before, though, didn't you? Do you mean +that you didn't know it before? I don't quite understand. You must have +known that. What, in Heaven's name, _did_ you think?" she cried, as if +with a sort of anger at his dulness. + +The man rubbed one hand wearily across his eyes. + +"I--don't quite know," said he. "Yes, I suppose I had thought of it. I +don't know. It came to me with such a--shock! Yes. Oh, I don't know. I +expect I didn't think at all. I--just didn't think." + +Abruptly his eyes sharpened upon her, and he moved a step forward. + +"Tell me the truth!" he said. "Do you love this boy?" + +The girl's cheeks burned with a swift crimson and she set her lips +together. She was on the verge of extreme anger just then, but after a +little the flush died down again and the dark fire went out of her eyes. +She made an odd gesture with her two hands. It seemed to express fatigue +as much as anything--a great weariness. + +"I like him," she said. "I like him--enough, I suppose. He is good--and +kind--and gentle. He will be good to me. And I shall try very, very +hard, to make him happy." + +Quite suddenly and without warning the fire of her anger burned up +again. She flamed defiance in the man's face. + +"How dare you question me?" she cried. "What right have you to ask me +questions about such a thing? You--what you are!" + +Ste. Marie bent his head. + +"No right, Mademoiselle," said he, in a low voice. "I have no right to +ask you anything--not even forgiveness. I think I am a little mad +to-day. It--this news came to me suddenly. Yes, I think I am a little +mad." + +The girl stared at him and he looked back with sombre eyes. Once more he +was stabbed with intolerable pain to think what she was. Yet in an +inexplicable fashion it pleased him that she should carry out her +trickery to the end with a high head. It was a little less base, done +proudly. He could not have borne it otherwise. + +"Who are you," the girl cried, in a bitter resentment, "that you should +understand? What do you know of the sort of life I have led--we have led +together, my father and I? Oh, I don't mean that I'm ashamed of it! We +have nothing to feel shame for, but you simply do not know what such a +life is." + +Though he writhed with pain, the man nodded over her. He was so glad +that she could carry it through proudly, with a high hand, an erect +head. + +She spread out her arms before him, a splendid and tragic figure. + +"What chance have I ever had?" she demanded. "No, I am not blaming him. +I am not blaming my father. I chose to follow him. I chose it. But what +chance have I had? Think of the people I have lived among. Would you +have me marry one of them--one of those men? I'd rather die. And yet I +cannot go on--forever. I am twenty now. What if my father--You yourself +said yesterday--Oh, I am afraid! I tell you I have lain awake at night a +hundred times and shivered with cold, terrible fear of what would become +of me if--if anything should happen--to my father. And so," she said, +"when I met Arthur Benham last winter, and he--began to--he said--when +he begged me to marry him.... Ah, can't you see? It meant +safety--safety--safety! And I liked him. I like him now--very, very +much. He is a sweet boy. I--shall be happy with him--in a peaceful +fashion. And my father--Oh, I'll be honest with you," said she. "It was +my father who decided me. He was--he is--so pathetically pleased with +it. He so wants me to be safe. It's all he lives for now. I--couldn't +fight against them both, Arthur and my father, so I gave in. And then +when Arthur had to be hidden we came here with him--to wait." + +She became aware that the man was staring at her with something strange +and terrible in his gaze, and she broke off in wonder. The air of that +warm summer morning turned all at once keen and sharp about +them--charged with moment. + +"Mademoiselle!" cried Ste. Marie. "Mademoiselle, are you telling me the +truth?" + +For some obscure reason she was not angry. Again she spread out her +hands in that gesture of weariness. She said, "Oh, why should I lie to +you?" And the man began to tremble exceedingly. He stretched out an +unsteady hand. + +"You--knew Arthur Benham last winter?" he said. "Long before his--before +he left his home? Before that?" + +"He asked me to marry him last winter," said the girl. "For a long, long +time I--wouldn't. But he never let me alone. He followed me everywhere. +And my father--" + +Ste. Marie clapped his two hands over his face, and a groan came to her +through the straining fingers. He cried, in an agony: "Mademoiselle! +Mademoiselle!" + +He fell upon his knees at her feet, his head bent in what seemed to be +an intolerable anguish, his hands over his hidden face. The girl heard +hard-wrung, stumbling, incoherent words wrenched each with an effort out +of extreme pain. + +"Fool! Fool!" the man cried, groaning. "Oh, fool that I have been! Worm, +animal! Oh, fool not to see--not to know! Madman, imbecile, thing +without a name!" + +She stood white-faced, smitten with great fear over this abasement. Not +the least and faintest glimmer reached her of what it meant. She +stretched down a hand of protest, and it touched the man's head. As if +the touch were a stroke of magic, he sprang upright before her. + +"Now at last, Mademoiselle," said he, "we two must speak plainly +together. Now at last I think I see clear, but I must know beyond doubt +or question. Oh, Mademoiselle, now I think I know you for what you are, +and it seems to me that nothing in this world is of consequence beside +that. I have been blind, blind, blind!... Tell me one thing. Why did +Arthur Benham leave his home two months ago?" + +"He had to leave it," she said, wondering. She did not understand yet, +but she was aware that her heart was beating in loud and fast throbs, +and she knew that some great mystery was to be made plain before her. +Her face was very white. "He had to leave it," she said again. "_You_ +know as well as I. Why do you ask me that? He quarrelled with his +grandfather. They had often quarrelled before--over money--always over +money. His grandfather is a miser, almost a madman. He tried to make +Arthur sign a paper releasing his inheritance--the fortune he is to +inherit from his father--and when Arthur wouldn't he drove him away. +Arthur went to his uncle--Captain Stewart--and Captain Stewart helped +him to hide. He didn't dare go back because they're all against him, all +his family. They'd make him give in." + +Ste. Marie gave a loud exclamation of amazement. The thing was +incredible--childish. It was beyond the maddest possibilities. But even +as he said the words to himself a face came before him--Captain +Stewart's smiling and benignant face--and he understood everything. As +clearly as if he had been present, he saw the angry, bewildered boy, +fresh from David Stewart's berating, mystified over some commonplace +legal matter requiring a signature. He saw him appeal for sympathy and +counsel to "old Charlie," and he heard "old Charlie's" reply. It was +easy enough to understand now. It must have been easy enough to bring +about. What absurdities could not such a man as Captain Stewart instil +into the already prejudiced mind of that foolish lad? + +His thoughts turned from Arthur Benham to the girl before him, and that +part of the mystery was clear also. She would believe whatever she was +told in the absence of any reason to doubt. What did she know of old +David Stewart or of the Benham family? It seemed to Ste. Marie all at +once incredible that he could ever have believed ill of her--ever have +doubted her honesty. It seemed to him so incredible that he could have +laughed aloud in bitterness and self-disdain. But as he looked at the +girl's white face and her shadowy, wondering eyes, all laughter, all +bitterness, all cruel misunderstandings were swallowed up in the golden +light of his joy at knowing her, in the end, for what she was. + +"Coira! Coira!" he cried, and neither of the two knew that he called her +for the first time by her name. "Oh, child," said he, "how they have +lied to you and tricked you! I might have known, I might have seen it, +but I was a blind fool. I thought--intolerable things. I might have +known. They have lied to you most damnably, Coira." + +She stared at him in a breathless silence without movement of any sort. +Only her face seemed to have turned a little whiter and her great eyes +darker, so that they looked almost black and enormous in that still +face. + +He told her, briefly, the truth: how young Arthur had had frequent +quarrels with his grandfather over his waste of money, how after one of +them, not at all unlike the others, he had disappeared, and how Captain +Stewart, in desperate need, had set afoot his plot to get the lad's +greater inheritance for himself. He described for her old David Stewart +and the man's bitter grief, and he told her about the will, about how he +had begun to suspect Captain Stewart, and of how he had traced the lost +boy to La Lierre. He told her all that he knew of the whole matter, and +he knew almost all there was to know, and he did not spare himself even +his misconception of the part she had played, though he softened that as +best he could. + +Midway of his story Mlle. O'Hara bent her head and covered her face with +her hands. She did not cry out or protest or speak at all. She made no +more than that one movement, and after it she stood quite still, but the +sight of her, bowed and shamed, stripped of pride, as it had been of +garments, was more than the man could bear. + +He cried her name, "Coira!" And when she did not look up, he called once +more upon her. He said: "Coira, I cannot bear to see you stand so. Look +at me. Ah, child, look at me! Can you realize," he cried--"can you even +begin to think what a great joy it is to me to know at last that you +have had no part in all this? Can't you see what it means to me? I can +think of nothing else. Coira, look up!" + +She raised her white face, and there were no tears upon it, but a still +anguish too great to be told. It would seem never to have occurred to +her to doubt the truth of his words. She said: "It is I who might have +known. Knowing what you have told me now, it seems impossible that I +could have believed. And Captain Stewart--I always hated him--loathed +him--distrusted him. And yet," she cried, wringing her hands, "how could +I know? How could I know?" + +The girl's face writhed suddenly with her grief, and she stared up at +Ste. Marie with terror in her eyes. She whispered: "My father! Oh, Ste. +Marie, my father! It is not possible. I will not believe--he cannot have +done this, knowing. My father, Ste. Marie!" + +The man turned his eyes away, and she gave a sobbing cry. + +"Has he," she said, slowly, "done even this for me? Has he given--his +honor, also--when everything else was--gone? Has he given me his honor, +too? Oh," she said, "why could I not have died when I was a little +child? Why could I not have done that? To think that I should have lived +to--bring my father to this! I wish I had died. Ste. Marie," she said, +pleading with him. "Ste. Marie, do you think--my father--knew?" + +"Let me think," said he. "Let me think! Is it possible that Stewart has +lied to you all--to one as to another? Let me think!" His mind ran back +over the matter, and he began to remember instances which had seemed to +him odd, but to which he had attached no importance. He remembered +O'Hara's puzzled and uncomprehending face when he, Ste. Marie, had +spoken of Stewart's villany. He remembered the man's indignation over +the affair of the poison, and his fairness in trying to make amends. He +remembered other things, and his face grew lighter and he drew a great +breath of relief. He said: "Coira, I do not believe he knew. Stewart has +lied equally to you all--tricked each one of you." And at that the girl +gave a cry of gladness and began to weep. + +As long as men and women continue to stand upon opposite sides of a +great gulf--and that will be as long as they exist together in this +world--just so long will men continue to be unhappy and ill at ease in +the face of women's tears, even though they know vaguely that tears may +mean just anything at all, and by no means always grief. + +Ste. Marie stood first upon one foot and then upon the other. He looked +anxiously about him for succor. He said, "There! there!" or words to +that effect, and once he touched the shoulder of the girl who stood +weeping before him, and he was very miserable indeed. + +But quite suddenly, in the midst of his discomfort, she looked up to +him, and she was smiling and flushed, so that Ste. Marie stared at her +in utter amazement. + +"So now at last," said she, "I have back my Bayard. And I think the +rest--doesn't matter very much." + +"Bayard?" said he, wondering. "I don't understand," he said. + +"Then," said she, "you must just go without understanding. For I shall +never, never explain." The bright flush went from her face and she +turned grave once more. "What is to be done?" she asked. "What must we +do now, Ste. Marie--I mean about Arthur Benham? I suppose he must be +told." + +"Either he must be told," said the man, "or he must be taken back to his +home by force." He told her about the four letters which in four days he +had thrown over the wall into the Clamart road. "It was on the chance," +he said, "that some one would pick one of them up and post it, thinking +it had been dropped there by accident. What has become of them I don't +know. I know only that they never reached Hartley." + +The girl nodded thoughtfully. "Yes," said she, "that was the best thing +you could have done. It ought to have succeeded. Of course--" She paused +a moment and then nodded again. "Of course," said she, "I can manage to +get a letter in the post now. We'll send it to-day if you like. But I +was wondering--would it be better or not to tell Arthur the truth? It +all depends upon how he may take it--whether or not he will believe you. +He's very stubborn, and he's frightened about this break with his +family, and he is quite sure that he has been badly treated. Will he +believe you? Of course, if he does believe he could escape from here +quite easily at any time, and there'd be no necessity for a rescue. What +do you think?" + +"I think he ought to be told," said Ste. Marie. "If we try to carry him +away by force there'll be a fight, of course, and--who knows what might +happen? That we must leave for a last resort--a last desperate resort. +First we must tell the boy." Abruptly he gave a cry of dismay, and the +girl looked up to him, staring. "But--but _you_, Coira!" said he, +stammering. "But _you_! I hadn't realized--I hadn't thought--it never +occurred to me what this means to you." The full enormity of the thing +came upon him slowly. He was asking this girl to help him in robbing her +of her lover. + +She shook her head with a little wry smile. "Do you think," said she, +"that knowing what I know now I would go on with that until he has made +his peace with his family? Before, it was different. I thought him alone +and ill-treated and hunted down. I could help him then, comfort him. Now +I should be--all you ever thought me if I did not send him to his +grandfather." She smiled again a little mirthlessly. "If his love for me +is worth anything," she said, "he will come back--but openly this time, +not in hiding. Then I shall know that he is--what I would have him be. +Otherwise--" + +Ste. Marie looked away. + +"But you must remember, Coira," said he, "that the lad is very young and +that his family--they may try--it may be hard for him. They may say that +he is too young to know--Ah, child, I should have thought of this!" + +"Ste. Marie," said the girl, and after a moment he turned to face her. +"What shall you say to Arthur's family, Ste. Marie," she demanded, very +soberly, "when they ask you if I--if Arthur should be allowed to--come +back to me?" + +A wave of color flooded the man's face and his eyes shone. He cried: + +"I shall tell them, Coira, that if that wretched, half-baked lad should +search this wide world round, from Paris on to Paris again, and if he +should spend a lifetime searching, he would never find the beauty and +the sweetness and the tenderness and the true faith that he left behind +at La Lierre--nor the hundredth part of them. I should say that you are +so much above him that he ought to creep to you on his knees from the +rue de l'Universite to this garden, thanking God that you were here at +the journey's end, and kissing the ground that he dragged himself over +for sheer joy and gratitude. I should tell them--Oh, I have no words! I +could tell them so pitifully little of you! I think I should only say, +'Go to her and see!' I think I should just say that." + +The girl turned her head away with a little sob. But afterward she faced +him once more, and she looked up to him with sweet, half-shut eyes for a +long time. At last she said: + +"For love of whom, Ste. Marie, did you undertake this quest--this search +for Arthur Benham? It was not in idleness or by way of a whim. It was +for love. For love of whom?" + +For some strange and inexplicable reason the words struck him like a +blow and he stared whitely. + +"I came," he said, at last, and his voice was oddly flat, "for his +sister's sake. For love of her." + +Coira O'Hara dropped her eyes. But presently she looked up again with a +smile. She said, "God make you happy, my friend." + +And she turned and moved away from him up among the trees. At a little +distance she turned, saying: + +"Wait where you are. I will fetch Arthur or send him to you. He must be +told at once." + +Then she went on and was lost to sight. + +Ste. Marie followed a few steps after her and halted. His face was +turned by chance toward the east wall, and suddenly he gave a great cry +and smothered it with his hands over his mouth. His knees bent under +him, and he was weak and trembling. Then he began to run. He ran with +awkward steps, for his leg was not yet entirely recovered, but he ran +fast, and his heart beat within him until he thought it must burst. + +He was making for that spot which was overhung by the half-dead +cedar-tree. + + * * * * * + + + + +XXVI + +BUT THE FLEECE ELECTS TO REMAIN + + +Ste. Marie came under the wall breathless and shaking. What he had seen +there from a distance was no longer visible, but he pressed in close +among the lilac shrubs and called out in an unsteady voice. He said: +"Who is there? Who is it?" And after a moment he called again. + +A hand appeared at the top of the high wall. The drooping screen of +foliage was thrust aside, and he saw Richard Hartley's face looking +down. Ste. Marie held himself by the strong stems of the lilacs, for +once more his knees had weakened under him. + +"There's no one in sight," Hartley said. "I can see for a long way. No +one can see us or hear us." And he said: "I got your letter this +morning--an hour ago. When shall we come to get you out--you and the +boy? To-night?" + +"To-night at two," said Ste. Marie. He spoke in a loud whisper. "I'm to +talk with Arthur here in a few minutes. We must be quick. He may come at +any time. I shall try to persuade him to go home willingly, but if he +refuses we must take him by force. Bring a couple of good men with you +to-night, and see that they're armed. Come in a motor and leave it just +outside the wall by that small door that you passed. Have you any money +in your pockets? I may want to bribe the gardener." + +Hartley searched in his pockets, and while he did so the man beneath +asked: + +"Is old David Stewart alive?" + +"Just about," Hartley said. "He's very low, and he suffers a great deal, +but he's quite conscious all the time. If we can fetch the boy to him it +may give him a turn for the better. Where is Captain Stewart? I had +spies on his trail for some time, but he has disappeared within the past +three or four days. Once I followed him in his motor-car out past here, +but I lost him beyond Clamart." + +"He's here, I think," said Ste. Marie. "I saw him a few days ago." + +The man on the wall had found two notes of a hundred francs each, and he +dropped them down to Ste. Marie's hands. Also he gave him a small +revolver which he had in his pocket, one of the little automatic weapons +such as Olga Nilssen had brought to the rue du Faubourg St. Honore. +Afterward he glanced up and said: + +"Two people are coming out of the house. I shall have to go. At two +to-night, then--and at this spot. We shall be on time." + +He drew back out of sight, and the other man heard the cedar-tree shake +slightly as he went down it to the ground. Then Ste. Marie turned and +walked quickly back to the place where Mlle. O'Hara had left him. His +heart was leaping with joy and exultation, for now at last he thought +that the end was in sight--the end he had so long labored and hoped for. +He knew that his face must be flushed and his eyes bright, and he made a +strong effort to crush down these tokens of his triumph--to make his +bearing seem natural and easy. He might have spared himself the pains. + +Young Arthur Benham and Coira O'Hara came together down under the trees +from the house. They walked swiftly, and the boy was a step in advance, +his face white with excitement and anger. He began to speak while he was +still some distance away. He cried out, in his strident young voice: + +"What the devil is all this silly nonsense about old Charlie and lies +and misunderstandings and--and all that guff?" he demanded. "What the +devil is it? D'you think I'm a fool? D'you think I'm a kid? Well, I'm +not!" + +He came close to Ste. Marie, staring at him with an angry scowl, but his +scowl twitched and wavered and his hands shook a little beside him and +his breath came irregularly. He was frightened. + +"There is no nonsense," said Ste. Marie. "There is no nonsense in all +this whole sorry business. But there has been a great deal of +misunderstanding and a great many lies and not a little cruelty. It's +time you knew the truth at last." He turned his eyes to where Coira +O'Hara stood near-by. "How much have you told him?" he asked. + +And the girl said: "I told him everything, or almost. But I had to say +it very quickly, and--he wouldn't believe me. I think you'd best tell +him again." + +The boy gave a short, contemptuous laugh. + +"Well, I don't want to hear it," said he. + +He was looking toward the girl. He said: + +"This fellow may be able to hypnotize you, all right, but not Willie. +Little Willie's wise to guys like him." + +And swinging about to Ste. Marie, he cried: + +"Forget it! For-get it! I don't want to listen to your little song +to-day. Ah, you make me sick! You'd try to make me turn on old Charlie, +would you? Why, old Charlie's the only real friend I've got in the +world. Old Charlie has always stood up for me against the whole bunch of +them. Forget it, George! I'm wise to your graft." + +Ste. Marie frowned, for his temper was never of the most patient, and +the youth's sneering tone annoyed him. Truth to tell, the tone was about +all he understood, for the strange words were incomprehensible. + +"Look here, Benham," he said, sharply, "you and I have never met, I +believe, but we have a good many friends in common, and I think we know +something about each other. Have you ever heard anything about me which +would give you the right to suspect me of any dishonesty of any sort? +Have you?" + +"Oh, slush!" said the boy. "Anybody'll be dishonest if it's worth his +while." + +"That happens to be untrue," Ste. Marie remarked, "and as you grow older +you will know it. Leaving my honesty out of the question if you like, I +have the honor to tell you that I am, perhaps not quite formally, +engaged to your sister, and it is on her account, for her sake, that I +am here. You will hardly presume, I take it, to question your sister's +motive in wanting you to return home? Incidentally, your grandfather is +so overcome by grief over your absence that he is expected to die at any +time. Come," said he, "I have said enough to convince you that you must +listen to me. Believe what you please, but listen to me for five +minutes. After that I have small doubt of what you will do." + +The boy looked nervously from Ste. Marie to Mlle. O'Hara and back again. +He thrust his unsteady hands into his pockets, but withdrew them after a +moment and clasped them together behind him. + +"I tell you," he burst out, at last--"I tell you, it's no good your +trying to knock old Charlie to me. I won't stand for it. Old Charlie's +my best friend, and I'd believe him before I'd believe anybody in the +world. You've got a knife out for old Charlie, that's what's the matter +with you." + +"And your sister?" suggested Ste. Marie. "Your mother? You'd hardly know +your mother if you could see her to-day. It has pretty nearly killed +her." + +"Ah, they're all--they're all against me!" the lad cried. "They've +always stood together against me. Helen, too!" + +"You wouldn't think they were against you if you could just see them +once now," said Ste. Marie. + +And Arthur Benham gave a sort of shamefaced sob, saying: + +"Ah, cut it out! Cut it out! Go on, then, and talk, if you want to, _I_ +don't care. I don't have to listen. Talk, if you're pining for it." + +And Ste. Marie, as briefly as he could, told him the truth of the whole +affair from the beginning, as he had told it to Coira O'Hara. Only he +laid special stress upon Charles Stewart's present expectations from the +new will, and he assured the boy that no document his grandfather might +have asked him to sign could have given away his rights in his father's +fortune, since he was a minor and had no legal right to sign away +anything at all even if he wished to. + +"If you will look back as calmly and carefully as you can," he said, +"you will find that you didn't begin to suspect your grandfather of +anything wrong until you had talked with Captain Stewart. It was your +uncle's explanation of the thing that made you do that. Well, remember +what he had at stake--I suppose it is a matter of several millions of +francs. And he needs them. His affairs are in a bad way." + +He told also about the pretended search which Captain Stewart had so +long maintained, and of how he had tried to mislead the other searchers +whose motives were honest. + +"It has been a gigantic gamble, my friend," he said, at the last. "A +gigantic and desperate gamble to get the money that should be yours. You +can end it by the mere trouble of climbing over that wall yonder and +taking the Clamart tram back to Paris. As easily as that you can end +it--and, if I am not mistaken, you can at the same time save an old +man's life--prolong it at the very least." He took a step forward. "I +beg you to go!" he said, very earnestly. "You know the whole truth now. +You must see what danger you have been and are in. You must know that I +am telling you the truth. I beg you to go back to Paris." + +And from where she stood, a little aside, Coira O'Hara said: "I beg you, +too, Arthur. Go back to them." + +The boy dropped down upon a tree-stump which was near and covered his +face with his hands. The two who watched him could see that he was +trembling violently. Over him their eyes met and they questioned each +other with a mute and anxious gravity: + +"What will he do?" For everything was in Arthur Benham's weak hands now. + +For a little time, which seemed hours to all who were there, the lad sat +still, hiding his face, but suddenly he sprang to his feet, and once +more stood staring into Ste. Marie's quiet eyes. "How do I know you're +telling the truth?" he cried, and his voice ran up high and shrill and +wavered and broke. "How do I know that? You'd tell just as smooth a +story if--if you were lying--if you'd been sent here to get me back +to--to what old Charlie said they wanted me for." + +"You have only to go back to them and make sure," said Ste. Marie. "They +can't harm you or take anything from you. If they persuaded you to sign +anything--which they will not do--it would be valueless to them, because +you're a minor. You know that as well as I do. Go and make sure. Or +wait! Wait!" He gave a little sharp laugh of excitement. "Is Captain +Stewart in the house?" he demanded. "Call him out here. That's better +still. Bring your uncle here to face me without telling him what it's +for, without giving him time to make up a story. Then we shall see. Send +for him." + +"He's not here," said the boy "He went away an hour ago. I don't know +whether he'll be back to-night or not." Young Arthur stared at the elder +man, breathing hard. "Good God!" he said, in a whisper, "if--old Charlie +is rotten, who in this world isn't? I--don't know what to believe." +Abruptly he turned with a sort of snarl upon Coira O'Hara. "Have you +been in this game, too?" he cried out. "I suppose you and your precious +father and old Charlie cooked it up together. What? You've been having a +fine, low-comedy time laughing yourselves to death at me, haven't you? +Oh, Lord, what a gang!" + +Ste. Marie caught the boy by the shoulder and spun him round. "That will +do!" he said, sternly. "You have been a fool; don't make it worse by +being a coward and a cad. Mlle. O'Hara knew no more of the truth than +you knew. Your uncle lied to you all." But the girl came and touched his +arm. + +She said: "Don't be hard with him. He is bewildered and nervous, and he +doesn't know what he is saying. Think how sudden it has been for him. +Don't be hard with him, M. Ste. Marie." + +Ste. Marie dropped his hand, and the lad backed a few steps away. His +face was crimson. After a moment he said: "I'm sorry, Coira. I didn't +mean that. I didn't mean it. I beg your pardon. I'm about half dippy, I +guess. I--don't know what to believe or what to think or what to do." He +remained staring at her a little while in silence, and presently his +eyes sharpened. He cried out: "If I should go back there--mind you, I +say 'if'--d'you know what they'd do? Well, I'll tell you. They'd begin +to talk at me one at a time. They'd get me in a corner and cry over me, +and say I was young and didn't know my mind, and that I owed them +something for all that's happened, and not to bring their gray hairs in +sorrow to the grave--and the long and short of it would be that they'd +make me give you up." He wheeled upon Ste. Marie. "That's what they'd +do!" he said, and his voice began to rise again shrilly. "They're three +to one, and they know they can talk me into anything. _You_ know it, +too!" He shook his head. "I won't go back!" he cried, wildly. "That's +what will happen if I do. I don't want granddad's money. He can give it +to old Charlie or to a gendarme if he wants to. I'm going to have enough +of my own. I won't go back, and that's all there is of it. You may be +telling the truth or you may not, but I won't go." + +Ste. Marie started to speak, but the girl checked him. She moved closer +to where Arthur Benham stood, and she said: "If your love for me, +Arthur, is worth having, it is worth fighting for. If it is so weak that +your family can persuade you out of it, then--I don't want it at all, +for it would never last. Arthur, you must go back to them. I want you to +go." + +"I won't!" the boy cried. "I won't go! I tell you they could talk me out +of anything. You don't know 'em. I do. I can't stand against them. I +won't go, and that settles it. Besides, I'm not so sure that this +fellow's telling the truth. I've known old Charlie a lot longer than I +have him." + +Coira O'Hara turned a despairing face over her shoulder toward Ste. +Marie. "Leave me alone with him," she begged. "Perhaps I can win him +over. Leave us alone for a little while." + +Ste. Marie hesitated, and in the end went away and left the two +together. He went farther down the park to the rond point, and crossed +it to the familiar stone bench at the west side. He sat down there to +wait. He was anxious and alarmed over this new obstacle, for he had the +wit to see that it was a very important one. It was quite conceivable +that the boy, but half-convinced, half-yielding before, would balk +altogether when he realized, as evidently he did realize, what returning +home might mean to him--the loss of the girl he hoped to marry. + +Ste. Marie was sufficiently wise in worldly matters to know that the +boy's fear was not unfounded. He could imagine the family in the rue de +l'Universite taking exactly the view young Arthur said they would take +toward an alliance with the daughter of a notorious Irish adventurer. +Ste. Marie's cheeks burned hotly with anger when the words said +themselves in his brain, but he knew that there could be no doubt of the +Benhams' and even of old David Stewart's view of the affair. They would +oppose the marriage with all their strength. + +He tried to imagine what weight such considerations would have with him +if it were he who was to marry Coira O'Hara, and he laughed aloud with +scorn of them and with great pride in her. But the lad yonder was very +young--too young; his family would be right to that extent. Would he be +able to stand against them? + +Ste. Marie shook his head with a sigh and gave over unprofitable +wonderings, for he was still within the walls of La Lierre, and so was +Arthur Benham. And the walls were high and strong. He fell to thinking +of the attempt at rescue which was to be made that night, and he began +to form plans and think of necessary preparations. To be sure, Coira +might persuade the boy to escape during the day, and then the night +attack would be unnecessary, but in case of her failure it must be +prepared for. He rose to his feet and began to walk back and forth under +the rows of chestnut-trees, where the earth was firm and black and mossy +and there was no growth of shrubbery. He thought of that hasty interview +with Richard Hartley and he laughed a little. It had been rather like an +exchange of telegrams--reduced to the bare bones of necessary question +and answer. There had been no time for conversation. + +His eyes caught a far-off glimpse of woman's garments, and he saw that +Coira O'Hara and Arthur Benham were walking toward the house. So he went +a little way after them, and waited at a point where he could see any +one returning. He had not long to wait, for it seemed that the girl went +only as far as the door with her fiance and then turned back. + +Ste. Marie met her with raised eyebrows, and she shook her head. "I +don't know," said she. "He is very stubborn. He is frightened and +bewildered. As he said awhile ago, he doesn't know what to think or what +to believe. You mustn't blame him. Remember how he trusted his uncle! +He's going to think it over, and I shall see him again this afternoon. +Perhaps, when he has had time to reflect--I don't know. I truly don't +know." + +"He won't go to your father and make a scene?" said Ste. Marie, and the +girl shook her head. + +"I made him promise not to. Oh, Bayard," she cried--and in his +abstraction he did not notice the name she gave him--"I am afraid +myself! I am horribly afraid about my father." + +"I am sure he did not know," said the man. "Stewart lied to him." + +But Coira O'Hara shook her head, saying: "I didn't mean that. I'm afraid +of what will happen when he finds out how he has been--how we have been +played upon, tricked, deceived--what a light we have been placed in. You +don't know, you can't even imagine, how he has set his heart on--what he +wished to occur. I am afraid he will do something terrible when he +knows. I am afraid he will kill Captain Stewart." + +"Which," observed Ste. Marie, "would be an excellent solution of the +problem. But of course we mustn't let it happen. What can be done?" + +"We mustn't let him know the truth," said the girl, "until Arthur is +gone and until Captain Stewart is gone, too. He is terrible when he's +angry. We must keep the truth from him until he can do no harm. It will +be bad enough even then, for I think it will break his heart." + +Ste. Marie remembered that there was something she did not know, and he +told her about his interview with Richard Hartley and about their +arrangement for the rescue--if it should be necessary--on that very +night. + +She nodded her head over it, but for a long time after he had finished +she did not speak. Then she said: "I am glad, I suppose. Yes, since it +has to be done, I suppose I am glad that it is to come at once." She +looked up at Ste. Marie with shadowy, inscrutable eyes. "And so, +Monsieur," said she, "it is at an end--all this." She made a little +gesture which seemed to sweep the park and gardens. "So we go out of +each other's lives as abruptly as we entered them. Well--" She had +continued to look at him, but she saw the man's face turn white, and she +saw something come into his eyes which was like intolerable pain; then +she looked away. + +Ste. Marie said her name twice, under his breath, in a sort of soundless +cry, but he said no more, and after a moment she went on: + +"Even so, I am glad that at last we know each other--for what we are.... +I should have been sorry to go on thinking you ... what I thought +before.... And I could not have borne it, I'm afraid, to have you think +... what you thought of me ... when I came to know.... I'm glad we +understand at last." + +Ste. Marie tried to speak, but no words would come to him. He was like a +man defeated and crushed, not one on the high-road to victory. But it +may have been that the look of him was more eloquent than anything he +could have said. And it may have been that the girl saw and understood. + +So the two remained there for a little while longer in silence, but at +last Coira O'Hara said: + +"I must go back to the house now. There is nothing more to be done, I +suppose--nothing left now but to wait for night to come. I shall see +Arthur this afternoon and make one last appeal to him. If that fails you +must carry him off. Do you know where he sleeps? It is the room +corresponding to yours on the other side of the house--just across that +wide landing at the top of the stairs. I will manage that the front door +below shall be left unlocked. The rest you and your friends must do. If +I can make any impression upon Arthur I'll slip a note under your door +this afternoon or this evening. Perhaps, even if he decides to go, it +would be best for him to wait until night and go with the rest of you. +In any case, I'll let you know." + +She spoke rapidly, as if she were in great haste to be gone, and with +averted eyes. And at the end she turned away without any word of +farewell, but Ste. Marie started after her. He cried: + +"Coira! Coira!" And when she stopped, he said: "Coira, I can't let you +go like this! Are we to--simply to go our different ways like this, as +if we'd never met at all?" + +"What else?" said the girl. + +And there was no answer to that. Their separate ways were determined for +them--marked plain to see. + +"But afterward!" he cried. "Afterward--after we have got the boy back to +his home! What then?" + +"Perhaps," she said, "he will return to me." She spoke without any show +of feeling. "Perhaps he will return. If not--well, I don't know. I +expect my father and I will just go on as we've always gone. We're used +to it, you know." + +After that she nodded to him and once more turned away. Her face may +have been a very little pale, but, as before, it betrayed no feeling of +any sort. So she went up under the trees to the house, and Ste. Marie +watched her with strained and burning eyes. + +When, half an hour later, he followed, he came unexpectedly upon the old +Michel, who had entered the park through the little wooden door in the +wall, and was on his way round to the kitchen with sundry parcels of +supplies. He spoke a civil "Bon jour, Monsieur," and Ste. Marie stopped +him. They were out of sight from the windows. Ste. Marie withdrew from +his pocket one of the hundred-franc notes, and the single, beadlike eye +of the ancient gnome fixed upon it and seemed to shiver with a +fascinated delight. + +"A hundred francs!" said Ste. Marie, unnecessarily, and the old man +licked his withered lips. The tempter said: "My good Michel, would you +care to receive this trifling sum--a hundred francs?" + +The gnome made a choked, croaking sound in his throat. + +"It is yours," said Ste. Marie, "for a small service--for doing nothing +at all." + +The beadlike eye rose to his and sharpened intelligently. + +"I desire only," said he, "that you should sleep well to-night, very +well--without waking." + +"Monsieur," said the old man, "I do not sleep at all. I watch. I watch +Monsieur's windows. Monsieur O'Hara watches until midnight, and I watch +from then until day." + +"Oh, I know that," said the other. "I've seen you more than once in the +moonlight, but to-night, mon vieux, slumber will overcome you. +Exhaustion will have its way and you will sleep. You will sleep like the +dead." + +"I dare not!" cried the gardener. "Monsieur, I dare not! The old one +would kill me. You do not know him. He would cut me into pieces and burn +the pieces. Monsieur, it is impossible." + +Ste. Marie withdrew the other hundred-franc note and held the two +together in his hand. Once more the gnome made his strange, croaking +sound and the withered face twisted with anguish. + +"Monsieur! Monsieur!" he groaned. + +"I have an idea," said the tempter. "A little earth rubbed upon one side +of the head--perhaps a trifling scratch to show a few drops of blood. +You have been assaulted, beaten down, despite a heroic resistance, and +left for dead. An hour afterward you stagger into the house a frightful +object. Hein?" + +The withered face of the old man expanded slowly into a senile grin. + +"Monsieur," said he, with admiration in his tone, "it is magnificent. It +shall be done. I sleep like the good dead--under the trees, not too near +the lilacs, eh? Bien, Monsieur, it is done!" + +Into his trembling claw he took the notes; he made an odd bow and +shambled away about his business. + +Ste. Marie laughed and went on into the house. He counted, and there +were fourteen hours to wait. Fourteen hours, and at the end of +them--what? His blood began to warm to the night's work. + + * * * * * + + + + +XXVII + +THE NIGHT'S WORK + + +The fourteen long hours dragged themselves by. They seemed interminable, +but somehow they passed and the appointed time drew near. Ste. Marie +spent the greater part of the afternoon reading, but twice he lay down +upon the bed and tried to sleep, and once he actually dozed off for a +brief space. The old Michel brought his meals. He had thought it +possible that Coira might manage to bring the dinner-tray, as she had +already done on several occasions, and so make an opportunity for +informing him as to young Arthur's state of mind. But she did not come, +and no word came from her. So evening drew on and the dusk gathered and +deepened to darkness. + +Ste. Marie walked his floor and prayed for the hours to pass. He had +candles and matches, and there was even a lamp in the room, so that he +could have read if he chose, but he knew that the words would have been +meaningless to him, that he was incapable of abstracting his thought +from the night's stern work. He began to be anxious over not having +heard from Mlle. O'Hara. She had said that she would talk with Arthur +Benham during the afternoon, and then slip a note under Ste. Marie's +door. Yet no word had come from her, and to the man pacing his floor in +the darkness the fact took on proportions tremendous and fantastic. +Something had happened. The boy had broken his promise, burst out upon +O'Hara, or more probably upon his uncle, and the house was by the ears. +Coira was watched--even locked in her room. Stewart had fled. A score of +such terrible possibilities rushed through Ste. Marie's brain and +tortured him. He was in a state of nervous tension that was almost +unendurable, and the little noises of the night outside, a wind-stirred +rustle of leaves, a bird's flutter among the branches, the sound of a +cracking twig, made him start violently and catch his breath. + +Then at his utmost need came reassurance and something like ease of +mind. He heard a sound of voices at the front of the house, and sprang +to his balconied window to listen. Captain Stewart and O'Hara were +walking upon the brick-paved terrace and chatting calmly over their +cigars. The man above, prone upon the floor, his head pressed against +the ivy-masked grille of the balcony, listened, and though he could hear +their words only at intervals when they passed beneath him he knew that +they spoke of trivial matters in voices free of strain or concern. + +He drew back with a breath of relief, and at that moment a sound across +the room arrested him, a soft scraping sound such as a mouse might make. +He went where it was, and a little square of paper gleamed white through +the darkness just within the door. Ste. Marie caught it up and took it +to the far side of the room away from the window. He struck a match, +opened the folded paper, and a single line of writing was there: + +"He will go with you. Wait by the door in the wall." + +The man nearly cried out with joy. + +He struck another match and looked at his watch. It was a quarter to +ten. Four hours left out of the fourteen. + +Once more he lay down upon the bed and closed his eyes. He knew that he +could not sleep, but he was tired from long tramping up and down the +room and from the strain of over-tried nerves. From hour to hour he +looked at his watch by match-light, but he did not leave the bed until +half-past one. Then he rose and took a long breath, and the time was at +hand. + +He stood a little while gazing out into the night. An old moon was high +overhead in a cloudless sky, and that would make the night's work both +easier and more difficult, but on the whole he was glad of it. He looked +to the east, toward that wall where was the little wooden door, and the +way was under cover of trees and shrubbery for the whole distance save a +little space beside the house. He listened, and the night was very +still--no sound from the house below him, no sound anywhere save the +barking of a dog from far away, and after an instant the whistle of a +distant train. + +Ste. Marie turned back into the room and pulled the sheets from his bed. +He rolled them, corner-wise, into a sort of rope, and knotted them +together securely. Then he went to one of the east windows. There was no +balcony there, but, as in all French upper windows, a wood and iron bar +fixed, into the stone casing at both ends, with a little grille below +it. It crossed the window space a third of the distance from bottom to +top. He bent one end of the improvised rope to this, made it fast, and +let the other end hang out. The east side of the house was in shadow, +and the rolled sheet, a vague white line, disappeared into the darkness +below, but Ste. Marie knew that it must reach nearly to the ground. He +had made use of it because he was afraid there would be too much noise +if he tried to climb down the ivy. The room directly underneath was the +drawing-room, and he knew that it was closed and shuttered and +unoccupied both by day and by night. The only danger, he decided, was +from the sleeping-room behind his own, with its windows opening close +by; but, though he did not know it, he was safe there also, for the room +was Coira O'Hara's. + +He felt in his pocket for the pistol, and it was ready to hand. Then he +buttoned his coat round him and swung himself out of the window. He held +his body away from the wall with one knee and went down hand under hand. +It was so quietly done that it did not even rouse the birds in the +near-by trees. Before he realized that he had come to the lower windows +his feet touched the earth and he was free. + +He stood for a moment where he was, and then slipped rapidly across the +open, moonlit space into the inky gloom of the trees. He made a +half-circle round before the house and looked up at it. It lay gray and +black and still in the night. Where the moonlight was upon it, it was +gray; where there was shadow, black as black velvet, and the windows +were like open, dead eyes. He looked toward Arthur Benham's room, and +there was no light, but he knew that the boy was awake and waiting +there, shivering probably in the dark. He wondered where Coira O'Hara +was, and he pictured her lying in her bed fronting the gloom with +sleepless, open eyes, looking into those to-morrows which she had said +she saw so well. He wondered bitterly what the to-morrows were to bring +her, but he caught himself up with a stern determination and put her out +of his mind. He did not dare think of her in that hour. + +He turned and began to make his way silently under the trees toward the +appointed meeting-place. Once he thought of the old Michel and wondered +where that gnarled and withered watch-dog had betaken himself. +Somewhere, within or without the house, he was asleep or pretending to +sleep, and Ste. Marie knew that he could be trusted. The man's cupidity +and his hatred of Captain Stewart together would make him faithful, or +faithless, as one chose to look upon it. + +He came to that place where a row of lilac shrubs stood against the wall +and a half-dead cedar stretched gnarled branches above. He was a little +before his time, and he settled himself to listen and wait, his sharp +ears keenly on the alert, his eyes turned toward the dark and quiet +house. + +The little noises of the night broke upon him with exaggerated clamor. A +crackling twig was a thunderous crash, a bird's sleepy stir was the +sound of pursuit and disaster. A hundred times he heard the cautious +approach of Richard Hartley's motor-car without the wall, and he fell +into a panic of fear lest that machine prove unruly, break down, +puncture a tire, or burst into a series of ear-splitting explosions. But +at last--it seemed to him that he had waited untold hours and that the +dawn must be nigh--there came an unmistakable rustling from overhead and +the sound of a hard-drawn breath. The top of the wall, just at that +point, was in moonlight, and a man's head appeared over it, then an arm +and then a leg. Hartley called down to him in a whisper, and Ste. Marie, +from the gloom beneath, whispered a reply. He said: + +"The boy has promised to come with us. We sha'n't have to fight for it." + +Richard Hartley said, "Thank God!" He spoke to some one outside, and +then turning about let himself down to arm's-length and dropped to the +ground. "Thank God!" he said again. "The two men who were to have come +with me didn't show up. I waited as long as I dared, and then came on +with only the chauffeur. He's waiting outside by the car ready to crank +up when I give the word. The car's just a few yards away, headed out for +the road. How are we to get back over the wall?" + +Ste. Marie explained that Arthur Benham was to come out to join them at +the wooden door, and doubtless would bring a key. If not, the three of +them could scale fifteen feet easily enough in the way soldiers and +firemen are trained to do it. He told his friend all that was necessary +for the time, and they went together along the wall to the more open +space beside the little door. + +They waited there in silence for five minutes, and once Hartley, with +his back toward the house, struck a match under his sheltering coat, +looked to see what time it was, and found it was three minutes past two. + +"He ought to be here," the man growled. "I don't like waiting. Good +Lord, you don't think he's funked it, do you? Eh?" + +Ste. Marie did not answer, but he was breathing very fast and he could +not keep his hands still. + +The dog which he had heard from his window began barking again very far +away in the night, and kept it up incessantly. Perhaps he was barking at +the moon. + +"I'm going a little way toward the house," said Ste. Marie, at last. "We +can't see the terrace from here." + +But before he had started they heard the sound of hurrying feet, and +Richard Hartley began to curse under his breath. He said: + +"Does the young idiot want to rouse the whole place? Why can't he come +quietly?" + +Ste. Marie began to run forward, slipping the pistol out of his pocket +and holding it ready in his hand, for his quick ears told him that there +was more than one pair of feet coming through the night. He went to +where he could command the approach from the house and halted there, but +all at once he gave a low cry and started forward again, for he saw that +Arthur Benham and Coira O'Hara were running together, and that they were +in desperate haste. He called out to them, and the girl cried: + +"Go to the door in the wall! The door in the wall! Oh, be quick!" + +He fell into step beside her, and as they ran he said, + +"You're going with him? You're coming with us?" + +The girl answered him, "No, no!" and she sprang to the little, low door +and began to fit the iron key into the lock. + +The three men stood about her, and young Arthur Benham drew his breath +in great, shivering gasps that were like sobs. + +"They heard us!" he cried, in a whisper. "They're after us. They heard +us on the stairs. I--stumbled and fell. For God's sake, Coira, be +quick!" + +The girl fumbled desperately with the clumsy key, and dropped upon her +knees to see the better. Once she said, in a whisper: "I can't turn it. +It won't turn." And at that Richard Hartley pushed her out of the way +and lent his greater strength to the task. + +A sudden, loud cry came from the house, a hoarse, screeching cry in a +voice which might have been either man's or woman's, but was as mad and +as desperate and as horrible in that still night as the screech of a +tortured animal--or of a maniac. It came again and again, and it was +nearer. + +"Oh, hurry, hurry!" said the girl. "Can't you be quick? They're coming." + +And as she spoke the little group about the wall heard the engine of the +motor-car outside start up with a staccato roar and knew that the +faithful chauffeur was ready for them. + +"I'm getting it, I think," said Richard Hartley, between his teeth. "I'm +getting it. Turn, you beast! Turn!" + +There was a sound of hurrying feet, and Ste. Marie spun about. He cried: + +"Don't wait for me! Jump into the car and go! Don't wait anywhere! Come +back after you've left Benham at home!" + +He began to run forward toward those running feet, and he did not know +that the girl followed after him. A short distance away there was a +little open space of moonlight, and in its midst, at full career, he met +the Irishman O'Hara, a gaunt and grotesque figure in his sleeping-suit, +barefooted, with empty hands. Beyond him still, some one else ran, +stumbling, and sobbed and uttered mad cries. + +Ste. Marie dropped his pistol to the ground and sprang upon the +Irishman. He caught him about the body and arms, and the two swayed and +staggered under the tremendous impact. At just that moment, from behind, +came the crash of the opened door and triumphant shouts. Ste. Marie gave +a little gasp of triumph, too, and clung the harder to the man with whom +he fought. He drove his head into the Irishman's shoulder, and set his +muscles with a grip which was like iron. He knew that it could not +endure long, for the Irishman was stronger than he, but the grip of a +nervous man who is keyed up to a high tension is incredibly powerful for +a little while. Trained strength is nothing beside it. + +It seemed to Ste. Marie in this desperate moment--it cannot have been +more than a minute or two at the most--that a strange and uncanny +miracle befell him. It was as if he became two. Soul and body, spirit +and straining flesh, seemed to him to separate, to stand apart, each +from the other. There was a thing of iron flesh and thews which had +locked itself about an enemy and clung there madly with but one purpose, +one single thought--to grip and grip, and never loosen until flesh +should be torn from bones. But apart the spirit looked on with a +complete detachment. It looked beyond--he must have raised his head to +glance over O'Hara's shoulder--saw a mad figure staggering forward in +the moonlight, and knew the figure for Captain Stewart. It saw an +upraised arm and was not afraid, for the work was almost done now. It +listened and was glad, hearing the motor-car, without the walls, leap +forward into the night and its puffing grow fainter and fainter with +distance. It knew that the thing of strained sinews received a crashing +blow upon backflung head, and that the iron muscles were slipping away +from their grip, but it was still glad, for the work was done. + +Only at the last, before red and whirling lights had obscured the view, +before consciousness was dissolved in unconsciousness, came horror and +agony, for the eyes saw Captain Stewart back away and raise the thing he +had struck with, a large revolver, saw Coira O'Hara, a swift and +flashing figure in the moonlight, throw herself upon him before he could +fire, heard together a woman's scream and the roar of the pistol's +explosion, and then knew no more. + + * * * * * + + + + +XXVIII + +MEDEA'S LITTLE HOUR + + +When Coira O'Hara came to herself from the moment's swoon into which she +had fallen, she rose to her knees and stared wildly about her. She +seemed to be alone in the place, and her first thought was to wonder how +long she had lain there. Captain Stewart had disappeared. She remembered +her struggle with him to prevent him from firing at Ste. Marie, and she +remembered her desperate agony when she realized that she could not hold +him much longer. She remembered the accidental discharge of the revolver +into the air; she remembered being thrown violently to the ground--and +that was all. + +Where was her father, and where was Ste. Marie? The first question +answered itself, for as she turned her eyes toward the west she saw +O'Hara's tall, ungainly figure disappearing in the direction of the +house. She called his name twice, but it may be that the man did not +hear, for he went on without pausing and was lost to sight. + +The girl became aware of something which lay on the ground near her, +half in and half out of the patch of silver moonlight. For some moments +she stared at it uncomprehending. Then she gave a sharp scream and +struggled to her feet. She ran to the thing which lay there motionless +and fell upon her knees beside it. It was Ste. Marie, his face upturned +to the sky, one side of his head black and damp. Stewart had not shot +him, but that crashing blow with the clubbed revolver had struck him +full and fair, and he was very still. + +For an instant the girl's strength went out of her, and she dropped lax +across the body, her face upon Ste. Marie's breast. But after that she +tore open coat and waistcoat and felt for a heart-beat. It seemed to her +that she found life, and she began to believe that the man had only been +stunned. + +Once more she rose to her feet and looked about her. There was no one to +lend her aid. She bent over the unconscious man and slipped her arms +about him. Though Ste. Marie was tall, he was slightly built, by no +means heavy, and the girl was very strong. She found that she could +carry him a little way, dragging his feet after her. When she could go +no farther she laid him down and crouched over him, waiting until her +strength should return. And this she did for a score of times; but each +time the distance she went was shorter and her breathing came with +deeper gasps and the trembling in her limbs grew more terrible. At the +last she moved in a sort of fever, an evil dream of tortured body and +reeling brain. But she had got Ste. Marie up through the park to the +terrace and into the house, and with a last desperate effort she had +laid him upon a couch in a certain little room which opened from the +lower hall. Then she fell down before him and lay still for a long time. + +When she came to herself again the man was stirring feebly and muttering +to himself under his breath. With slow and painful steps she got across +the room and pulled the bell-cord. She remained there ringing until the +old Justine, blinking and half-dressed, appeared with a candle in the +doorway. Coira told the woman to make lights, and then to bring water +and a certain little bottle of aromatic salts which was in her room +up-stairs. The old Justine exclaimed and cried out, but the girl flew at +her in a white fury, and she tottered away as fast as old legs could +move once she had set alight the row of candles on the mantelshelf. Then +Coira O'Hara went back to the man who lay outstretched on the low couch, +and knelt beside him, looking into his face. The man stirred, and moved +his head slowly. Half-articulate words came from his lips, and she made +out that he was saying her name in a dull monotone--only her name, over +and over again. She gave a little cry of grief and gladness, and hid her +face against him as she had done once before, out in the night. + +The old woman returned with a jug of water, towels, and the bottle of +aromatic salts. The two of them washed that stain from Ste. Marie's +head, and found that he had received a severe bruise and that the flesh +had been cut before and above the ear. + +"Thank God," the girl said, "it is only a flesh wound! If it were a +fracture he would be breathing in that horrible, loud way they always +do. He's breathing naturally. He has only been stunned. You may go now," +she said. "Only bring a glass and some drinking-water--cold." + +So the old woman went away to do her errand, returned, and went away +again, and the two were left together. Coira held the salts-bottle to +Ste. Marie's nostrils, and he gasped and sneezed and tried to turn his +head away from it, but it brought him to his senses--and doubtless to a +good deal of pain. Once when he could not escape the thing he broke into +a fit of weak cursing, and the girl laughed over him tenderly and let +him be. + +Very slowly Ste. Marie opened his eyes, and in the soft half-light the +girl's face was bent above him, dark and sweet and beautiful--near, so +near that her breath was warm upon his lips. He said her name again in +an incredulous whisper: + +"Coira! Coira!" + +And she said, "I am here." + +But the man was in a strange border-land of half-consciousness and his +ears were deaf. He said, gazing up at her: + +"Is it--another dream?" + +And he tried to raise one hand from where it lay beside him, but the +hand wavered and fell aslant across his body. It had not the strength +yet to obey him. He said, still in his weak whisper: + +"Oh, beautiful--and sweet--and true!" + +The girl gave a little sob and hid her face. + +"A goddess!" he whispered. "'A queen among goddesses!' That's--what the +little Jew said. 'A queen among goddesses. The young Juno before--'" He +stirred restlessly where he lay, and he complained: "My head hurts! +What's the matter with my head? It hurts!" + +She dipped one of the towels in the basin of cold water and held it to +the man's brow. The chill of it must have been grateful, for his eyes +closed and he breathed a little satisfied "Ah!" + +"It mustn't hurt to-night," said he. "To-night at two--by the little +door in the garden wall. And he's coming with us. The young fool is +coming with us.... So she and I go out of each other's lives.... Coira!" +he cried, with a sudden sharpness. "Coira, I won't have it! Am I going +to lose you ... like this? Am I going to lose you, after all ... now +that we know?" + +He put up his hand once more, a weak and uncertain hand. It touched the +girl's warm cheek and a sudden violent shiver wrung the man on the +couch. His eyes sharpened and stared with something like fear. + +"_Real!_" he cried, whispering. "Real? ... Not a dream?" + +"Oh, very real, my Bayard!" said she. A thought came to her, and she +drew away from the couch and sat back upon her heels, looking at the man +with grave and sombre eyes. In that moment she fought within herself a +battle of right and wrong. "He doesn't remember," she said. "He doesn't +know. He is like a little child. He knows nothing but that we two--are +here together. Nothing else. Nothing!" + +His state was plain to see. He dwelt still in that vague border-land +between worlds. He had brought with him no memories, and no memories +followed him save those her face had wakened. Within the girl a great +and tender passion of love fought for possession of this little hour. + +"It will be all I shall ever have!" she cried, piteously. "And it cannot +harm him. He won't remember it when he comes to his senses. He'll sleep +again and--forget. He'll go back to _her_ and never know. And I shall +never even see him again. Why can't I have my little sweet hour?" + +Once more the man cried her name, and she knelt forward and bent above +him. "Oh, at last, Coira!" said he. "After so long! ... And I thought it +was another dream!" + +"Do you dream of me, Bayard?" she asked. + +And he said: "From the very first. From that evening in the +Champs-Elysees. Your eyes, they've haunted me from the very first. There +was a dream of you," he said, "that I had so often--but I cannot quite +remember, because my head hurts. What is the matter with my head? I +was--going somewhere. It was so very important that I should go, but I +have forgotten where it was and why I had to go there. I remember only +that you called to me--called me back--and I saw your eyes--and I +couldn't go. You needed me." + +"Ah, sorely, Bayard! Sorely!" cried the girl above him. + +"And now," said he, whispering. + +"Now?" she said. + +"Coira, I love you," said the man on the couch. + +And Coira O'Hara gave a single dry sob. + +She said: "Oh, my dear love! Now I wish that I might die after hearing +you say that. My life, Bayard, is full now. It's full of joy and +gratefulness and everything that is sweet. I wish I might die before +other things come to spoil it." + +Ste. Marie--or that part of him which lay at La Lierre--laughed with a +fine scorn, albeit very weakly. "Why not live instead?" said he. "And +what can come to spoil our life for us? _Our life!_" he said again, in a +whisper. A flash of remembrance seemed to come to him, for he smiled and +said, "Coira, we'll go to Vavau." + +"Anywhere!" said she. "Anywhere!" + +"So that we go together." + +"Yes," she said, gently, "so that we two go together." She tried with a +desperate fierceness to make herself like the man before her, to put +away, by sheer power of will, all memory, the knowledge of everything +save what was in this little room, but it was the vainest of all vain +efforts. She saw herself for a thief and a cheat--stealing, for love's +sake, the mere body of the man she loved while mind and soul were +absent. In her agony she almost cried out aloud as the words said +themselves within her. And she denied them. She said: "His mind may be +absent, but his soul is here. He loves me. It is I, not that other. Can +I not have my poor little hour of pretence? A little hour out of all a +lifetime! Shall I have nothing at all?" + +But the voice which had accused her said, "If he knew, would he say he +loves you?" And she hid her face, for she knew that he would not--even +if it were true. + +"Coira!" whispered the man on the couch, and she raised her head. In the +half darkness he could not have seen how she was suffering. Her face was +only a warm blur to him, vague and sweet and beautiful, with tender +eyes. He said: "I think--I'm falling asleep. My head is so very, very +queer! What is the matter with my head? Coira, do you think I might be +kissed before I go to sleep?" + +She gave a little cry of intolerable anguish. It seemed to her that she +was being tortured beyond all reason or endurance. She felt suddenly +very weak, and she was afraid that she was going to faint away. She laid +her face down upon the couch where Ste. Marie's head lay. Her cheek was +against his and her hair across his eyes. + +The man gave a contented sigh and fell asleep. + +Later, she rose stiffly and wearily to her feet. She stood for a little +while looking down upon him. It was as if she looked upon the dead body +of a lover. She seemed to say a still and white and tearless farewell to +him. Her little hour was done, and it had been, instead of joy, +bitterness unspeakable: ashes in the mouth. Then she went out of the +room and closed the door. + +In the hall outside she stood a moment considering, and finally mounted +the stairs and went to her father's door. She knocked and thought she +heard a slight stirring inside, but there was no answer. She knocked +twice again and called out her father's name, saying that she wished to +speak to him, but still he made no reply, and after waiting a little +longer she turned away. She went down-stairs again and out upon the +terrace. The terrace and the lawn before it were still checkered with +silver and deep black, but the moon was an hour lower in the west. A +little cool breeze had sprung up, and it was sweet and grateful to her. +She sat down upon one of the stone benches and leaned her head back +against the trunk of a tree which stood beside it and she remained there +for a long time, still and relaxed, in a sort of bodily and mental +languor--an exhaustion of flesh and spirit. + +There came shambling footsteps upon the turf, and the old Michel +advanced into the moonlight from the gloom of the trees, emitting +mechanical and not very realistic groans. He had been hard put to it to +find any one before whom he could pour out his tale of heroism and +suffering. Coira O'Hara looked upon him coldly, and the gnome groaned +with renewed and somewhat frightened energy. + +"What is the matter with you?" she asked. "Why are you about at this +hour?" + +The old Michel told his piteous tale with tears and passion, protesting +that he had succumbed only before the combined attack of twenty armed +men, and exhibiting his wounds. But the girl gave a brief and mirthless +laugh. + +"You were bribed to tell that, I suppose," said she. "By M. Ste. Marie? +Yes, probably. Well, tell it to my father to-morrow! You'd better go to +bed now." + +The old man stared at her with open mouth for a breathless moment, and +then shambled hastily away, looking over his shoulder at intervals until +he was out of sight. + +But after that the girl still remained in her place from sheer weariness +and lack of impulse to move. She fell to wondering about Captain Stewart +and what had become of him, but she did not greatly care. She had a +feeling that her world had come to its end, and she was quite +indifferent about those who still peopled its ashes--or about all of +them save her father. + +She heard the distant sound of a motor-car, and at that sat up quickly, +for it might be Ste. Marie's friend, Mr. Hartley, returning from Paris. +The sound came nearer and ceased, but she waited for ten minutes before +rapid steps approached from the east wall and Hartley was before her. + +He cried at once: "Where's Ste. Marie? Where is he? He hasn't tried to +walk into the city?" + +"He is asleep in the house," said the girl. "He was struck on the head +and stunned. I got him into the house, and he is asleep now. Of course," +she said, "we could wake him, but it would probably be better to let him +sleep as long as he will if it is possible. It will save him a great +deal of pain, I think. He'll have a frightful headache if he's wakened +now. Could you come for him or send for him to-morrow--toward noon?" + +"Why--yes, I suppose so," said Richard Hartley. "Yes, of course, if you +think that's better. Could I just see him for a moment?" He stared at +the girl a bit suspiciously, and Coira looked back at him with a little +tired smile, for she read his thought. + +"You want to make sure," said she. "Of course! Yes, come in. He's +sleeping very soundly." She led the man into that dim room where Ste. +Marie lay, and Hartley's quick eye noted the basin of water and the +stained towels and the little bottle of aromatic salts. He bent over his +friend to see the bruise at the side of the head, and listened to the +sleeper's breathing. Then the two went out again to the moonlit terrace. + +"You must forgive me," said he, when they had come there. "You must +forgive me for seeming suspicious, but--all this wretched business--and +he is my closest friend--I've come to suspect everybody. I was unjust, +for you helped us to get away. I beg your pardon!" + +The girl smiled at him again, her little, white, tired smile, and she +said: "There is nothing I would not do to make amends--now that I +know--the truth." + +"Yes," said Hartley, "I understand. Arthur Benham told me how Stewart +lied to you all. Was it he who struck Ste. Marie?" + +She nodded. "And then tried to shoot him; but he didn't succeed in that. +I wonder where he is--Captain Stewart?" + +"I have him out in the car," Hartley said. "Oh, he shall pay, you may be +sure!--if he doesn't die and cheat us, that is. I nearly ran the car +over him a few minutes ago. If it hadn't been for the moonlight I would +have done for him. He was lying on his face in that lane that leads to +the Issy road. I don't know what is the matter with him. He's only half +conscious and he's quite helpless. He looks as if he'd had a stroke of +apoplexy or something. I must hurry him back to Paris, I suppose, and +get him under a doctor's care. I wonder what's wrong with him?" + +The girl shook her head, for she did not know of Stewart's epileptic +seizures. She thought it quite possible that he had suffered a stroke of +apoplexy as Hartley suggested, for she remembered the half-mad state he +had been in. + +Richard Hartley stood for a time in thought. "I must get Stewart back to +Paris at once," he said, finally. "I must get him under care and in a +safe place from which he can't escape. It will want some managing. If I +can get away I'll come out here again in the morning, but if not I'll +send the car out with orders to wait here until Ste. Marie is ready to +return to the city. Are you sure he's all right--that he isn't badly +hurt?" + +"I think he will be all right," she said, "save for the pain. He was +only stunned." + +And Hartley nodded. "He seems to be breathing quite naturally," said he. +"That's arranged, then. The car will be here in waiting, and I shall +come with it if I can. Tell him when he wakes." He put out his hand to +her, and the girl gave him hers very listlessly but smiling. She wished +he would go and leave her alone. + +Then in a moment more he did go, and she heard his quick steps down +through the trees, and heard, a little later, the engine of the +motor-car start up with a sudden loud volley of explosions. And so she +was left to her solitary watch. She noticed, as she turned to go +indoors, that the blackness of the night was just beginning to gray +toward dawn. + + * * * * * + + + + +XXIX + +THE SCALES OF INJUSTICE + + +Ste. Marie slept soundly until mid-morning--that it to say, about ten +o'clock--and then awoke with a dull pain in his head and a sensation of +extreme giddiness which became something like vertigo when he attempted +to rise. However, with the aid of the old Michel he got somehow +up-stairs to his room and made a rather sketchy toilet. + +Coira came to him there, and while he lay still across the bed told him +about the happenings of the night after he had received his injury. She +told him also that the motor was waiting for him outside the wall, and +that Richard Hartley had sent a message by the chauffeur to say that he +was very busy in Paris making arrangements about Stewart, who had come +out of his strange state of half-insensibility only to rave in a +delirium. + +"So," she said, "you can go now whenever you are ready. Arthur is with +his family, Captain Stewart is under guard, and your work is done. You +ought to be glad--even though you are suffering pain." + +Ste. Marie looked up at her. "Do I seem glad, Coira?" said he. + +And she said: "You will be glad to-morrow--and always, I hope and pray. +Always! Always!" + +The man held one hand over his aching eyes. + +"I have," he said, "queer half-memories. I wish I could remember +distinctly." + +He looked up at her again. + +"I dropped down by the gate in the wall. When I awoke I was in a room in +the house. How did that happen?" + +"Oh," she said, turning her face away, "we got you up to the house +almost at once." + +But Ste. Marie frowned thoughtfully. + +"'We'? Who do you mean by 'we'?" + +"Well, then, I," the girl said. "It was not difficult." + +"Coira," cried the man, "do you mean that you carried me bodily all that +long distance? _You_?" + +"Carried or dragged," she said. "As much one as the other. It was not +very difficult. I'm strong for a woman." + +"Oh, child! child!" he cried. And he said: "I remember more. It was you +who held Stewart and kept him from shooting me. I heard the shot and I +heard you scream. The last thought I had was that you had been killed in +saving me. That's what I went out into the blank thinking." + +He covered his eyes again as if the memory were intolerable. But after +awhile he said: + +"You saved my life, you know." + +And the girl answered him: + +"I had nearly taken it once before. It was I who called Michel that day +you came over the wall, the day you were shot. I nearly murdered you +once. I owed you something. Perhaps we're even now." + +She saw that he did not at all remember that hour in the little +room--her hour of bitterness--and she was glad. She had felt sure that +it would be so. For the present she did not greatly suffer, she had come +to a state beyond active suffering--a chill state of dulled +sensibilities. + +The old Justine knocked at the door to ask if Monsieur was going into +the city soon or if she should give the chauffeur his dejeuner and tell +him to wait. + +"Are you fit to go?" Coira asked. + +And he said, "I suppose as fit as I shall be." + +He got to his feet, and the things about him swam dangerously, but he +could walk by using great care. The girl stood white and still, and she +avoided his eyes. + +"It is not good-bye," said he. "I shall see you soon again--and I hope, +often--often, Coira." + +The words had a flat and foolish sound, but he could find no others. It +was not easy to speak. + +"I suppose I must not ask to see your father?" said he. + +And she told him that her father had locked himself in his own room and +would see no one--would not even open his door to take in food. + +Ste. Marie went to the stairs leaning upon the shoulder of the stout old +Justine, but before he had gone Coira checked him for an instant. She +said: + +"Tell Arthur, if he speaks to you about me, that what I said in the note +I gave him last night I meant quite seriously. I gave him a note to read +after he reached home. Tell him for me that it was final. Will you do +that?" + +"Yes, of course," said Ste. Marie. + +He looked at her with some wonder, because her words had been very +emphatic. + +"Yes," he said, "I will tell him. Is that all?" + +"All but good-bye," said she. "Good-bye, Bayard!" + +She stood at the head of the stairs while he went down them. And she +came after him to the landing, half-way, where the stairs turned in the +opposite direction for their lower flight. When he went out of the front +door he looked back, and she was standing there above him, a straight, +still figure, dark against the light of the windows behind her. + +He went straight to the rue d'Assas. He found that while he sat still in +the comfortable tonneau of the motor his head was fairly normal, and the +world did not swing and whirl about in that sickening fashion. But when +the car lurched or bumped over an obstruction it made him giddy, and he +would have fallen had he been standing. + +The familiar streets of the Montparnasse and Luxembourg quarters had for +his eyes all the charm and delight of home things to the returned +traveller. He felt as if he had been away for months, and he caught +himself looking for changes, and it made him laugh. He was much relieved +when he found that his concierge was not on watch, and that he could +slip unobserved up the stairs and into his rooms. The rooms were fresh +and clean, for they had been aired and tended daily. + +Arrived there, he wrote a little note to a friend of his who was a +doctor and lived in the rue Notre Dame des Champs, asking this man to +call as soon as it might be convenient. He sent the note by the +chauffeur and then lay down, dressed as he was, to wait, for he could +not stand or move about without a painful dizziness. The doctor came +within a half-hour, examined Ste. Marie's bruised head, and bound it up. +He gave him a dose of something with a vile taste which he said would +take away the worst of the pain in a few hours, and he also gave him a +sleeping-potion, and made him go to bed. + +"You'll be fairly fit by evening," he said. "But don't stir until then. +I'll leave word below that you're not to be disturbed." + +So it happened that when Richard Hartley came dashing up an hour or two +later he was not allowed to see his friend, and Ste. Marie slept a +dreamless sleep until dark. + +He awoke then, refreshed but ravenous with hunger, and found that there +was only a dull ache in his battered head. The dizziness and the vertigo +were almost completely gone. He made lights and dressed with care. He +felt like a little girl making ready for a party, it was so long--or +seemed so long;--since he had put on evening clothes. Then he went out, +leaving at the loge of the concierge a note for Hartley, to say where he +might be found. He went to Lavenue's and dined in solitary pomp, for it +was after nine o'clock. Again it seemed to him that it was months since +he had done the like--sat down to a real table for a real dinner. At ten +he got into a fiacre and drove to the rue de l'Universite. + +The man who admitted him said that Mademoiselle was alone in the +drawing-room, and he went there at once. He was dully conscious that +something was very wrong, but he had suffered too much within the past +few hours to be analytical, and he did not know what it was that was +wrong. He should have entered that room with a swift and eager step, +with shining eyes, with a high-beating heart. He went into it slowly, +wrapped in a mantle of strange apathy. + +Helen Benham came forward to meet him, and took both his hands in hers. +Ste. Marie was amazed to see that she seemed not to have altered at +all--in spite of this enormous lapse of time, in spite of all that had +happened in it. And yet, unaltered, she seemed to him a stranger, a +charming and gracious stranger with an icily beautiful face. He wondered +at her and at himself, and he was a little alarmed because he thought +that he must be ill. That blow upon the head must, after all, have done +something terrible to him. + +"Ah, Ste. Marie!" she said, in her well-remembered voice--and again he +wondered that the voice should be so high-pitched and so without color +or feeling. "How glad I am," she said, "that you are safely out of it +all! How you have suffered for us, Ste. Marie! You look white and ill. +Sit down, please! Don't stand!" + +She drew him to a comfortable chair, and he sat down in it obediently. +He could not think of anything to say, though he was not, as a rule, +tongue-tied; but the girl did not seem to expect any answer, for she +went on at once with a rather odd air of haste: + +"Arthur is here with us, safe and sound. Richard Hartley brought him +back from that dreadful place, and he has talked everything over with my +grandfather, and it's all right. They both understand now, and there'll +be no more trouble. We have had to be careful, very careful, and we have +had to--well, to rearrange the facts a little so as to leave--my +uncle--to leave Captain Stewart's name out of it. It would not do to +shock my grandfather by telling him the truth. Perhaps later; I don't +know. That will have to be thought of. For the present we have left my +uncle out of it, and put the blame entirely upon this other man. I +forget his name." + +"The blame cannot rest there," said Ste. Marie, sharply. "It is not +deserved, and I shall not allow it to be left so. Captain Stewart lied +to O'Hara throughout. You cannot leave the blame with an innocent man." + +"Still," she said, "such a man!" + +Ste. Marie looked at her, frowning, and the girl turned her eyes away. +She may have had the grace to be a little ashamed. + +"Think of the difficulty we were in!" she urged. "Captain Stewart is my +grandfather's own son. We cannot tell him now, in his weak state, that +his own son is--what he is." + +There was reason if not justice in that, and Ste. Marie was forced to +admit it. He said: + +"Ah, well, for the present, then. That can be arranged later. The main +point is that I've found your brother for you. I've brought him back." + +Miss Benham looked up at him and away again, and she drew a quick +breath. He saw her hands move restlessly in her lap, and he was aware +that for some odd reason she was very ill at ease. At last she said: + +"Ah, but--but have you, dear Ste. Marie? Have you?" + +After a brief silence she stole another swift glance at the man, and he +was staring in open and frank bewilderment. She rushed into rapid +speech. + +"Ah," she cried, "don't misunderstand me! Don't think that I'm brutal or +ungrateful for all you've--you've suffered in trying to help us! Don't +think that! I can--we can never be grateful enough--never! But stop and +think! Yes, I know this all sounds hideous, but it's so terribly +important. I shouldn't dream of saying a word of it if it weren't so +important, if so much didn't depend upon it. But stop and think! Was it, +dear Ste. Marie, was it, after all, you? Was it you who brought Arthur +to us?" + +The man fairly blinked at her, owl-like. He was beyond speech. + +"Wasn't it Richard?" she hurried on. "Wasn't it Richard Hartley? Ah, if +I could only say it without seeming so contemptibly heartless! If only I +needn't say it at all! But it must be said because of what depends upon +it. Think! Go back to the beginning! Wasn't it Richard who first began +to suspect my uncle? Didn't he tell you or write to you what he had +discovered, and so set you upon the right track? And after you +had--well, just fallen into their hands, with no hope of ever escaping +yourself--to say nothing of bringing Arthur back--wasn't it Richard who +came to your rescue and brought it all to victory? Oh, Ste. Marie, I +must be just to him as well as to you! Don't you see that? However +grateful I may be to you for what you have done--suffered--I cannot, in +justice, give you what I was to have given you, since it is, after all, +Richard who has saved my brother. I cannot, can I? Surely you must see +it. And you must see how it hurts me to have to say it. I had hoped +that--you would understand--without my speaking." + +Still the man sat in his trance of astonishment, speechless. For the +first time in his life he was brought face to face with the amazing, the +appalling injustice of which a woman is capable when her heart is +concerned. This girl wished to believe that to Richard Hartley belonged +the credit of rescuing her brother, and lo! she believed it. A score of +juries might have decided against her, a hundred proofs controverted her +decision, but she would have been deaf and blind. It is only women who +accomplish miracles of reasoning like that. + +Ste. Marie took a long breath and he started to speak, but in the end +shook his head and remained silent. Through the whirl and din of falling +skies he was yet able to see the utter futility of words. He could have +adduced a hundred arguments to prove her absurdity. He could have shown +her that before he ever read Hartley's note he had decided upon +Stewart's guilt--and for much better reasons than Hartley had. He could +have pointed out to her that it was he, not Hartley, who discovered +young Benham's whereabouts, that it was he who summoned Hartley there, +and that, as a matter of fact, Hartley need not have come at all, since +the boy had been persuaded to go home in any case. + +He thought of all these things and more, and in a moment of sheer anger +at her injustice he was on the point of stating them, but he shook his +head and remained silent. After all, of what use was speech? He knew +that it could make no impression upon her, and he knew why. For some +reason, in some way, she had turned during his absence to Richard +Hartley, and there was nothing more to be said. There was no treachery +on Hartley's part. He knew that, and it never even occurred to him to +blame his friend. Hartley was as faithful as any one who ever lived. It +seemed to be nobody's fault. It had just happened. + +He looked at the girl before him with a new expression, an expression of +sheer curiosity. It seemed to him well-nigh incredible that any human +being could be so unjust and so blind. Yet he knew her to be, in other +matters, one of the fairest of all women, just and tender and thoughtful +and true. He knew that she prided herself upon her cool impartiality of +judgment. He shook his head with a little sigh and ceased to wonder any +more. It was beyond him. He became aware that he ought to say something, +and he said: + +"Yes. Yes, I--see. I see what you mean. Yes, Hartley did all you say. I +hadn't meant to rob Hartley of the credit he deserves. I suppose you're +right." + +He was possessed of a sudden longing to get away out of that room, and +he rose to his feet. + +"If you don't mind," he said, "I think I'd better go. This is--well, +it's a bit of a facer, you see. I want to think it over. Perhaps +to-morrow--you don't mind?" + +He saw a swift relief flash into Miss Benham's eyes, but she murmured a +few words of protest that had a rather perfunctory sound. Ste. Marie +shook his head. + +"Thanks! I won't stay," said he. "Not just now. I--think I'd better go." + +He had a confused realization of platitudinous adieus, of a silly +formality of speech, and he found himself in the hall. Once he glanced +back and Miss Benham was standing where he had left her, looking after +him with a calm and unimpassioned face. He thought that she looked +rather like a very beautiful statue. + +The butler came to him to say that Mr. Stewart would be glad if he would +look in before leaving the house, and so he went up-stairs and knocked +at old David's door. He moved like a man in a dream, and the things +about him seemed to be curiously unreal and rather far away, as they +seem sometimes in a fever. + +He was admitted at once, and he found the old man sitting up in bed, +clad in one of his incredibly gorgeous mandarin's jackets--plum-colored +satin this time, with peonies--overflowing with spirits and good-humor. +His grandson sat in a chair near at hand. The old man gave a shout of +welcome: + +"Ah, here's Jason at last, back from Colchis! Welcome home to--whatever +the name of the place was! Welcome home!" + +He shook Ste. Marie's hand with hospitable violence, and Ste. Marie was +astonished to see upon what a new lease of life and strength the old man +seemed to have entered. There was no ingratitude or misconception here, +certainly. Old David quite overwhelmed his visitor with thanks and with +expressions of affection. + +"You've saved my life among other things!" he said, in his gruff roar. +"I was ready to go, but, by the Lord, I'm going to stay awhile longer +now! This world's a better place than I thought--a much better place." +He shook a heavily waggish head. "If I didn't know," said he, "what your +reward is to be for what you've done, I should be in despair over it +all, because there is nothing else in the world that would be anything +like adequate. You've been making sure of the reward down-stairs, I dare +say? Eh, what? Yes?" + +"You mean--?" asked the younger man. + +And old David said: "I mean Helen, of course. What else?" + +Ste. Marie was not quite himself. At another time he might have got out +of the room with an evasive answer, but he spoke without thinking. He +said: + +"Oh--yes! I suppose--I suppose I ought to tell you that Miss +Benham--well, she has changed her mind. That is to say--" + +"What!" shouted old David Stewart, in his great voice. "What is that?" + +"Why, it seems," said Ste. Marie--"it seems that I only blundered. It +seems that Hartley rescued your grandson, not I. And I suppose he did, +you know. When you come to think of it, I suppose he did." + +David Stewart's great white beard seemed to bristle like the ruff of an +angry dog, and his eyes flashed fiercely under their shaggy brows. "Do +you mean to tell me that after all you've done and--and gone through, +Helen has thrown you over? Do you mean to tell me that?" + +"Well," argued Ste. Marie, uncomfortably--"well, you see, she seems to +be right. I did bungle it, didn't I? It was Hartley who came and pulled +us out of the hole." + +"Hartley be damned!" cried the old man, in a towering rage. And he began +to pour out the most extraordinary flood of furious invective upon his +granddaughter and upon Richard Hartley, whom he quite unjustly termed a +snake-in-the-grass, and finally upon all women, past, contemporary, or +still to be born. + +Ste. Marie, in fear for old David's health, tried to calm him, and the +faithful valet came running from the room beyond with prayers and +protestations, but nothing would check that astonishing flow of fury +until it had run its full course. Then the man fell back upon his +pillows, crimson, panting, and exhausted, but the fierce eyes glittered +still, and they boded no good for Miss Helen Benham. + +"You're well rid of her!" said the old gentleman, when at last he was +once more able to speak. "You're well rid of her! I congratulate you! I +am ashamed and humiliated, and a great burden of obligation is shifted +to me--though I assume it with pleasure--but I congratulate you. You +might have found out too late what sort of a woman she is." + +Ste. Marie began to protest and to explain and to say that Miss Benham +had been quite right in what she said, but the old gentleman only waved +an impatient arm to him, and presently, when he saw the valet making +signs across the bed, and saw that his host was really in a state of +complete exhaustion after the outburst, he made his adieus and got away. + +Young Arthur Benham, who had been sitting almost silent during the +interview, followed him out of the room and closed the door behind them. +For the first time Ste. Marie noted that the boy's face was white and +strained. He pulled a crumpled square of folded paper from his pocket +and shook it at the other man. "Do you know what this is?" he cried. "Do +you know what's in this?" + +Ste. Marie shook his head, but a sudden recollection came to him. + +"Ah," said he, "that must be the note Mlle. O'Hara spoke of! She asked +me to tell you that she meant it--whatever it may be--quite seriously; +that it was final. She didn't explain. She just said that--that you were +to take it as final." + +The lad gave a sudden very bitter sob. "She has thrown me over!" he +said. "She says I'm not to come back to her." + +Ste. Marie gave a wordless cry, and he began to tremble. + +"You can read it if you want to," the boy said. "Perhaps you can explain +it. I can't. Do you want to read it?" + +The elder man stood staring at him whitely, and the boy repeated his +words. + +He said, "You can read it if you want to," and at last Ste. Marie took +the paper between stiff hands, and held it to the light. + +Coira O'Hara said, briefly, that too much was against their marriage. +She mentioned his age, the certain hostility of his family, their +different tastes, a number of other things. But in the end she said she +had begun to realize that she did not love him as she ought to do if +they were to marry. And so, the note said, finally, she gave him up to +his family, she released him altogether, and she begged him not to come +back to her, or to urge her to change her mind. Also she made the trite +but very sensible observation that he would be glad of his freedom +before the year was out. + +Ste. Marie's unsteady fingers opened and the crumpled paper slipped +through them to the floor. Over it the man and the boy looked at each +other in silence. Young Arthur Benham's face was white, and it was +strained and contorted with its first grief. But first griefs do not +last very long. Coira O'Hara had told the truth--before the year was out +the lad would be glad of his freedom. But the man's face was white also, +white and still, and his eyes held a strange expression which the boy +could not understand and at which he wondered. The man was trembling a +little from head to foot. The boy wondered about that, too, but abruptly +he cried out: "What's up? Where are you going?" for Ste. Marie had +turned all at once and was running down the stairs as fast as he could +run. + + * * * * * + + + + +XXX + +JASON SAILS BACK TO COLCHIS.--JOURNEY'S END + + +In the hall below, Ste. Marie came violently into contact with and +nearly overturned Richard Hartley, who was just giving his hat and stick +to the man who had admitted him. Hartley seized upon him with an +exclamation of pleasure, and wheeled him round to face the light. He +said: + +"I've been pursuing you all day. You're almost as difficult of access +here in Paris as you were at La Lierre. How's the head?" + +Ste. Marie put up an experimental hand. He had forgotten his injury. +"Oh, that's all right," said he. "At least, I think so. Anderson fixed +me up this afternoon. But I haven't time to talk to you. I'm in a hurry. +To-morrow we'll have a long chin. Oh, how about Stewart?" + +He lowered his voice, and Hartley answered him in the same tone. + +"The man is in a delirium. Heaven knows how it'll end. He may die and he +may pull through. I hope he pulls through--except for the sake of the +family--because then we can make him pay for what he's done. I don't +want him to go scot free by dying." + +"Nor I," said Ste. Marie, fiercely. "Nor I. I want him to pay, too--long +and slowly and hard; and if he lives I shall see that he does it, family +or no family. Now I must be off." + +Ste. Marie's face was shining and uplifted. The other man looked at it +with a little envious sigh. + +"I see everything is all right," said he, "and I congratulate you. You +deserve it if ever any one did." + +Ste. Marie stared for an instant, uncomprehending. Then he saw. + +"Yes," he said, gently, "everything is all right." + +It was plain that the Englishman did not know of Miss Benham's decision. +He was incapable of deceit. Ste. Marie threw an arm over his friend's +shoulder and went with him a little way toward the drawing-room. + +"Go in there," he said. "You'll find some one glad to see you, I think. +And remember that I said everything is all right." + +He came back after he had turned away, and met Hartley's puzzled frown +with a smile. + +"If you've that motor here, may I use it?" he asked. "I want to go +somewhere in a hurry." + +"Of course," the other man said. "Of course. I'll go home in a cab." + +So they parted, and Ste. Marie went out to the waiting car. + +On the left bank the streets are nearly empty of traffic at night, and +one can make excellent time over them. Ste. Marie reached the Porte de +Versailles, at the city's limits, in twenty minutes and dashed through +Issy five minutes later. In less than half an hour from the time he had +left the rue de l'Universite he was under the walls of La Lierre. He +looked at his watch, and it was not quite half-past eleven. + +He tried the little door in the wall, and it was unlocked, so he passed +in and closed the door behind him. Inside he found that he was running, +and he gave a little laugh, but of eagerness and excitement, not of +mirth. There were dim lights in one or two of the upper windows, but +none below, and there was no one about. He pulled at the door-bell, and +after a few impatient moments pulled again and still again. Then he +noticed that the heavy door was ajar, and, since no one answered his +ringing, he pushed the door open and went in. + +The lower hall was quite dark, but a very faint light came down from +above through the well of the staircase. He heard dragging feet in the +upper hall, and then upon one of the upper flights, for the stairs, +broad below, divided at a half-way landing and continued upward in an +opposite direction in two narrower flights. A voice, very faint and +weary, called: + +"Who is there? Who is ringing, please?" + +And Coira O'Hara, holding a candle in her hand, came upon the +stair-landing and stood gazing down into the darkness. She wore a sort +of dressing-gown, a heavy white garment which hung in straight, long +folds to her feet and fell away from the arm that held the candle on +high. The yellow beams of light struck down across her head and face, +and even at the distance the man could see how white she was and +hollow-eyed and worn--a pale wraith of the splendid beauty that had +walked in the garden at La Lierre. + +"Who is there, please?" she asked again. "I can't see. What is it?" + +"It is I, Coira!" said Ste. Marie. + +And she gave a sharp cry. The arm which was holding the candle overhead +shook and fell beside her as if the strength had gone out of it. The +candle dropped to the floor, spluttered there for an instant and went +out, but there was still a little light from the hall above. + +Ste. Marie sprang up the stairs to where the girl stood, and caught her +in his arms, for she was on the verge of faintness. Her head fell back +away from him, and he saw her eyes through half-closed lids, her white +teeth through parted lips. She was trembling--but, for that matter, so +was he at the touch of her, the heavy and sweet burden in his arms. She +tried to speak, and he heard a whisper: + +"Why? Why? Why?" + +"Because it is my place, Coira!" said he. "Because I cannot live away +from you. Because we belong together." + +The girl struggled weakly and pushed against him. Once more he heard +whispering words and made out that she tried to say: + +"Go back to her! Go back to her! You belong there!" + +But at that he laughed aloud. + +"I thought so, too," said he, "but she thinks otherwise. She'll have +none of me, Coira. It's Richard Hartley now. Coira, can you love a +jilted man? I've been jilted--thrown over--dismissed." + +Her head came up in a flash and she stared at him, suddenly rigid and +tense in his arms. + +"Is that true?" she demanded. + +"Yes, my love!" said he. + +And she began to weep, with long, comfortable sobs, her face hidden in +the hollow of his shoulder. On one other occasion she had wept before +him, and he had been horribly embarrassed, but he bore this present +tempest without, as it were, winking. He gloried in it. He tried to say +so. He tried to whisper to her, his lips pressed close to the ear that +was nearest them, but he found that he had no speech. Words would not +come to his tongue; it trembled and faltered and was still for sheer +inadequacy. + +Rather oddly, in that his thoughts were chaos, swallowed up in the surge +of feeling, a memory struck through to him of that other exaltation +which had swept him to the stars. He looked upon it and was amazed +because now he saw it, in clear light, for the thing it had been. He saw +it for a fantasy, a self-evoked wraith of the imagination, a dizzy +flight of the spirit through spirit space. He saw that it had not been +love at all, and he realized how little a part Helen Benham had ever +really played in it. A cold and still-eyed figure for him to wrap the +veil of his imagination round, that was what she had been. There were +times when the sweep of his upward flight had stirred her a little, +wakened in her some vague response, but for the most part she had stood +aside and looked on, wondering. + +The mist was rent away from that rainbow-painted cobweb, and at last the +man saw and understood. He gave an exclamation of wonder, and the girl +who loved him raised her head once more, and the two looked each into +the other's eyes for a long time. They fell into hushed and broken +speech. + +"I have loved you so long, so long," she said, "and so hopelessly! I +never thought--I never believed. To think that in the end you have come +to me! I cannot believe it!" + +"Wait and see!" cried the man. "Wait and see!" + +She shivered a little. "If it is not true I should like to die before I +find out. I should like to die now, Bayard, with your arms holding me up +and your eyes close, close." + +Ste. Marie's arms tightened round her with a sudden fierceness. He hurt +her, and she smiled up at him. Their two hearts beat one against the +other, and they beat very fast. + +"Don't you understand," he cried, "that life's only just +beginning--day's just dawning, Coira? We've been lost in the dark. Day's +coming now. This is only the sunrise." + +"I can believe it at last," she said, "because you hold me close and you +hurt me a little, and I'm glad to be hurt. And I can feel your heart +beating. Ah, never let me go, Bayard! I should be lost in the dark again +if you let me go." A sudden thought came to her, and she bent back her +head to see the better. "Did you speak with Arthur?" + +And he said: "Yes. He asked me to read your note, so I read it. That +poor lad! I came straight to you then--straight and fast." + +"You knew why I did it?" she said, and Ste. Marie said: + +"Now I know." + +"I could not have married him," said she. "I could not. I never thought +I should see you again, but I loved you and I could not have married +him. Ah, impossible! And he'll be glad later on. You know that. It will +save him any more trouble with his family, and besides--he's so very +young. Already, I think, he was beginning to chafe a little. I thought +so more than once. Oh, I'm trying to justify myself!" she cried. "I'm +trying to find reasons; but you know the true reason. You know it." + +"I thank God for it," he said. + +So they stood clinging together in that dim place, and broken, +whispering speech passed between them or long silences when speech was +done. But at last they went down the stairs and out upon the open +terrace, where the moonlight lay. + +"It Was in the open, sweet air," the girl said, "that we came to know +each other. Let us walk in it now. The house smothers me." She looked up +when they had passed the west corner of the facade and drew a little +sigh. "I am worried about my father," said she. "He will not answer me +when I call to him, and he has eaten nothing all day long. Bayard, I +think his heart is broken. Ah, but to-morrow we shall mend it again! In +the morning I shall make him let me in, and I shall tell him--what I +have to tell." + +They turned down under the trees, where the moonlight made silver +splashes about their feet, and the sweet night air bore soft against +their faces. Coira went a half-step in advance, her head laid back upon +the shoulder of the man she loved, and his arm held her up from falling. + +So at last we leave them, walking there in the tender moonlight, with +the breath of roses about them and their eyes turned to the coming day. +It is still night and there is yet one cloud of sorrow to shadow them +somewhat, for up-stairs in his locked room a man lies dead across the +floor, with an empty pistol beside him--heart-broken, as the girl had +feared. But where a great love is, shadows cannot last very long, not +even such shadows as this. The morning must dawn--and joy cometh of a +morning. + +So we leave them walking together in the moonlight, their faces turned +toward the coming day. + +THE END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Jason, by Justus Miles Forman + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JASON *** + +***** This file should be named 13261.txt or 13261.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/3/2/6/13261/ + +Produced by Kevin Handy, John Hagerson, and the Project Gutenberg +Online Distributed Proofreaders 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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